the dragon and the sea.

relevant links: about, memes, threads, promo.

rules.

IC =/= OOC. no infomodding/godmodding.

no plagiarising my content. this includes writing, names, imagery, etc.

don’t send meme prompts unless you intend to thread.

platonic shipping: go hogwild with it. pre-established stuff appreciated.

romantic shipping: OK with m/m, m/f, m/nb, m/*. no polyam.

smut: ryu’s a top. refs here. i tag smut #nsfw and do not put it under read more unless requested, but don’t care what you do. no underage (player is 21+).

time taken to reply may vary. i’m backtag-friendly.

don’t be a dick. OOC bigots are blocked instantly.

Human creativity. The place is a monument to it: paintings, statues, collages, photographs. Ryuujin hadn't had an opinion on it until a painting of the sea at night had him stopping, and before he knew it, he'd spent the past fifteen minutes unmoving.

Fifteen minutes-- gods, the humiliation. Made even worse because he can still sense Reilly at his side, and he fears the worst of what this interaction has given him in terms of insight.

Ryuujin's eyes are torn, briefly, from the painting before him, so he can affix Reilly with a flat look. His human face is so much less pleasing to look at than the paints that were chosen to make the sea a scintillating jade green.

John of course goes for a pint. American beer isn’t too bad if you aren’t too focused on the taste. Wasn’t like the beer back home was any better in some cases. Hell sometimes it seems like it was almost worse. John paid for the two sets of drinks before scanning the bar. Making a quick list of possible marks if he needed to get some extra money later. He spent too many days in pubs and bars. That made John a little too good at this game. Came in handy even if it could cause him a little bit of trouble.

Right to the point. John couldn’t say he minded that. It wasn’t a terrible question. Someone like this probably tried to hide that fact about themselves. John smirked when heard the question. “I’m sure you can tell a little somethin’ about me mate.” He knew that there was something he got from his magic, at least on a base level anyway. “In all honesty wasn’t lookin for ya. Just happened to find you. Because you happened to be around wha’ I was lookin for.”

“And what was it you were looking for?” Ryu asks, like his mind hasn’t just been blown wide open.

The notion that Constantine could tell what he was, even vaguely instead of directly pinpointing his species, is proof enough of his magical prowess. Most humans adept in magic can notice Ryu’s own magical affinities, granted, but most of them can only determine that whatever he is, he’s strong.

Constantine, from the beginning, seems to already have a good idea as to what Ryu is. And, even worse than that, Ryu now owes him a favour. (On the bright side, at least he’s incapable of granting favours that’d hurt a human in any way.)

Olivine beams warmly at the other, grateful that he doesn’t push the subject.

“If you’d like, you’re more than welcome to come to the temple. You wouldn’t need to worry about dealing with crowds if you are able to visit during the day. The most activity is from parishioners bringing donations and other clergy.

“Otherwise if there’s somewhere you’d like to meet, I’d be more than happy to go there as well!”

Ryu thinks about entering the temple of a god he doesn’t much care for, and the immediate lack of respect he feels tells him it’s probably best he doesn’t.

“The docks,” he suggests, picking up a fruit to put in his basket. “I’m not sure I’d be a good match for the priests you work with.”

Especially considering his lack of approval of their practises in Olivine’s case, at least.

“Of course. You go first. Take your time,” Haruto responds after a moment, not having realized he was staring almost curiously at Ryu until a beat too long. He’ll chalk it up that it’s out of amazement for what Ryu had just done for the stranger or intrigue as to what caused such scarring against his flesh.

In truth, part of it was. But there was still a part of him yet that kept going back to the warmth of his hand against his belly when he held Haruto still in his lap.

There’s another mental shake of the head as the prince looks back at the keeper, polite smile on his lips.

“I’ll get lunch ready for you for when you’re done.”

Not that it’d be much more than a sandwich and chips, but at least he can make himself useful (and distract himself) in the meantime.

With nothing more than a lift of the hand to acknowledge Haruto’s words, Ryu disappears into the bathroom.

Bathing as a necessity’s only ever become relevant to him in his human form. For all that his insides aren’t powered by blood the way humans are, the emulation of humanity means filth builds up on him the way it would on any other person. It took a few years to discover the importance of soap and shampoo (among other things), but now he’s dutiful in the use of everything. He smells of blueberries when he leaves the bathroom, and in silence makes his way to his bedroom to put something decent on.

Besides that, he doesn’t bother getting neat about it. In the end, he finds Haruto in the kitchen with wet curls falling messy over his forehead. The whole thing couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes.

★. ―

Daigo’s breath hitched when Ryu began to touch his face. His stare was practically molten  ―  burning with a fearsome desire that made his chest and pants suddenly feel too tight. The former Chairman leaned into the caresses his lover offered, clearly pleased ; for a moment, his eyes half - closed as he reveled in being handled so gently. ‘ My Daigo. ’ The words echoed in his ears. 

          Ryu moving Daigo’s head toward him prompted the ex - yakuza to rouse from his contented stupor. His lashes fluttered open. At the realization of what the deity wanted, Daigo looked at Ryu as if he were a parched man being offering the world’s clearest water. The ex - yakuza’s breathing was shallow. EXCITED. He whimpered, finally unable to keep the vocalization back, at the encouragement to open his mouth further. In his eagerness, Daigo reached for Ryu. Calloused palms settled on the fabric of Ryu’s boxers over his thighs. 

          Daigo didn’t dare let his fingers go any closer than the edge of Ryu’s underwear, though they curled into the material pleadingly. They had barely started, yet the ex - yakuza was already coming unwound. He kneeled before the captured god with a fearsome dedication to his acts of worship. The sort of raw, feverish devotion that brought one to prostration in front of an altar or to kiss the feet of a beloved idol hummed through his being. Around Daigo’s neck was the pendant  ―  Ryu’s pendant, the physical representation of how often the man in front of him was on his mind.

          “I love you,” Daigo said softly, deep voice carrying an airy quality due to his opened mouth. “I want  .    .    .  to show you that.”

Daigo’s affection sears him in his chest, but washes over the rest of him with a cool sensation-- it strengthens him, too, but not quite as acutely as hearing the human say he loves him at all.

Humans have a way of it, learning how to find meaning in their short lives, so profound and deep that it escapes even a god’s comprehension. Daigo tells him he loves him, though, and a thread of want darts down Ryu’s spine, then twists itself into the base of his stomach. Human love is incomprehensible, but what he feels as he cards his fingers through the hair at Daigo’s temple seems close to it.

The corners of his eyes crinkle. “I love you, too.”

(It’s because his time with Daigo is finite that he wants to give him everything he can.)

“I’ll allow this,” Ryu decides, the tips of his fingers still light against the side of Daigo’s head while his other hand moves to meet Daigo’s on his underwear.

“You can take it off.” His fingers stretch out, swiping rough pads over Daigo’s knuckles until they’re touching the back of his palm. “Show me how grateful you are with your tongue.”

Ryu’s mouth curves again, a crooked little pull that exposes the tip of a sharp canine against his lip.

“But once you’ve gotten me hard” -- his head tilts, fingers brushing the shell of Daigo’s ear -- “remind me why you need it, Daigo.

Isui stills slightly as he notices the seriousness in Ryu’s tone. As much as he’d love to go around and tell his future human friends about his home, he’s been told plenty of times that no land dweller should know. Isui’s never really understood why, but for everyone to have made that agreement, the reason must be serious.

He gives a curt nod, eyes downcast ever so slightly.

“I won’t tell anyone, but…” he trails off, knowing that they why doesn’t matter. With a soft sigh, he nods once more and moves his gaze to meet his king’s once more. “No one will know because of me. I promise.”

“Good,” Ryu says, firm and clear as a hand falls atop Isui’s chest and stays there. “Your word is your bond, Isui.”

And that means there’s no turning back from it.

The water around them sloshes gently, rising against their skin in waves, and though Ryu’s fingers curl in slightly over Isui’s skin, a few more beats and his touch falls away.

Returning from his keeper duties on the island back into his house, Ryu stops in his tracks at the sight in his kitchen. The open bottle of alcohol is one thing, sure, and maybe he has things to say about the eggs in his fridge being used without permission for breakfast, but what really gets him is the little human sat at the table.

The shirt John Constantine is wearing is not the shirt he came here in.

Of course, in Constantine’s defence, the shirt had sort of gotten singed in a brief skirmish with some elemental sprites. Ryu had only brought him to his home out on a nearby island because the poor idiot hadn’t even had a motel to go back to. Still, in his lizard brain Ryu hadn’t computed the fact that a burnt shirt would lead Constantine to take his clothing.

“You went into my room?” he asks, setting a basket full of blueberries down on the counter. Ryu’s eyes take in the shape of Constantine’s shoulders and the way the fabric hangs off of his body, and then exhales slowly through his nose.

“How?” he repeats almost dumbfoundedly, eyes going wide slightly. 

How exactly is a priest supposed to explain that he was a part of a harem that existed to regulate the essence of men who were born with jewels embedded in them since birth? And that the only reason he left it was because the man questioning his connection to Dante was the sole reason he realized Eito’s intentions were just as impure as the high priests?

“Oh, just through some mutual friends,” Olivine laughs off. “He visits from time to time, and I’m sure he wouldn’t turn away anything business related.”

A part of him feels guilty for lying to the man, but it was so much better than the truth.

“Ah,” Ryu says. “All right.

“I’ll make a list of items, then. As soon as I finish shopping.”

That said, he turns back around, making his way down the street lined with stalls. Once again, it doesn’t occur to him to tell Olivine to follow explicitly.