‘ carving or biting, we bleed for keeps. ’

The cavern walls harbored the same vein of minerals as the entrance, but here the lamp caught them differently. Whole shelves of glittering mass erupting from the rock face, throwing back a light that nearly matched the cold gleam of Ąžuolas’ eyes. They reflected near cat-like, holding a glow that was always noticed through the windows of peering children towards the woods. He gave a nod of his head in response to the question. “This cave has been abandoned for years. The last known hunters made their headquarters in it. Since then, they retreated to safer grounds.” Away from the town as well. “A few of their old weapons are still here.” Scattered across the natural shelf of rock were old coffee mugs, rusted canisters, the black ring of a long-dead fire was on the cave floor. “The natural spring never dries up and always stays warm.”

A waterfall was heard deeper into the cavern, a small stream acting as breadcrumbs to its location. “I have never ventured farther than the wide basin where the stream empties.” He assumes it was a lengthy cave, eventually breaking out onto the cliffside for a breathtaking view of the mountain valley spreading out below it.

The young man was mesmerized by how beautiful the cave and its minerals are. So much to admire and record into his sketch book, perhaps. He doubted he'd do it justice, however, without implementing some colors and paint to capture its shine. Despite that, he paid attention to Ąžuolas' words, imagining the old hunters inhabiting the place, eyes following the details of the items and marks left behind by them. Each told a story, but none that would gain sympathy from the young fae man. “I'm glad they're not here anymore” he'd be more willing to take care of them for his stag, however, even if they were to still be around.

“Maybe we could explore this place more together? Whenever you feel like it” he offered. This place is basically theirs now anyways, doubting any of the villagers brave enough to venture in this far and made it out alive to tell the tale. If they did, this place definitely will turn into a tourist attraction and the forest will be far too hectic to live in comfortably.. but would that mean more possible food for Ąžuolas? He wondered many things as he moved his legs under the water. He'll save this topic for later.

SETTINGS.

[01.] finding privacy in a cramped dressing room.

[02.] cramming into the backseat of a car together.

[03.] slipping into the lonesome alleyway behind the bar for "time alone".

[04.] pulling them away from a party after hours of relentless teasing.

[05.] getting handsy under the table at a fancy dining establishment.

[06.] taking the long way home and pulling over on a dark stretch of road.

[07.] staying behind at the venue after everyone else has left.

[08.] the hotel room door barely clicks shut before hands are on them.

[09.] a tent in the middle of nowhere where no one can hear anything.

NEW TERRITORY.

[10.] finding yourself staring at their mouth and getting caught.

[11.] pulling back from a kiss to look at them, then immediately going back in.

[12.] memorizing the shape of them for the first time with your palms.

[13.] that exploratory first kiss, reserved and shy.

[14.] a gentle first kiss that morphs into intense want.

[15.] feeling the shape of their body through their clothes.

[16.] asking for permission to remove one of their garments.

[17.] finally succumbing to the thick tension & colliding feverishly.

[18.] fumbling with buttons or zippers because your hands won't stop shaking.

[19.] admitting out loud that you've been thinking about this for a while.

HEATING UP.

[20.] pulling them into your lap in the midst of a heated kiss.

[21.] discovering that they're wearing [ GEAR / LINGERIE ] under their clothes.

[22.] kissing away from their lips, down the length of their neck.

[23.] desperately grinding on them through layers of clothing.

[24.] dirty talking directly into their ear to turn them on even further.

[25.] pushing them onto a piece of furniture before straddling them.

[26.] lifting them onto the countertop while making out.

[27.] tugging their hair to expose more of their throat to your mouth.

[28.] the wrecked way they say your name for the first time.

[29.] fabric tearing because neither of you has the patience for buttons.

[30.] removing an obstacle of clothing with your teeth.

UNRAVELING.

[31.] biting down on their shoulder to muffle how good it feels.

[32.] the sound they make when you find the spot that undoes them.

[33.] begging without any trace of pride left and meaning every word.

[34.] their composure cracking for the first time, they finally stop holding back.

[35.] repeating "don't stop" like it's the only language left in their mouth.

[36.] leaving possessive marks in places only they'll see.

[37.] whispering "look at me" right before you take them apart.

[38.] trying to be quiet and failing, so they clamp a hand over your mouth.

[39.] flipping positions so fast neither of you remembers who initiated it.

[40.] their nails dragging down your back hard enough to sting later.

[41.] being told to open your mouth and doing it before the sentence is finished.

[42.] having your hands pinned above your head.

[43.] the desperate scramble to get closer when there is no closer to get.

COMING DOWN.

[44.] fingers lazily tracing the marks they just left on your skin.

[45.] pulling the blanket over both of you without being asked.

[46.] that silent, dazed smile when they catch your eye across the pillow.

[47.] the shaky laugh when neither of you can remember where your shirt is.

[48.] going to get water and bringing a glass back for them without asking.

[49.] lying chest to chest, feeling their heartbeat slow back down against yours.

[50.] the quiet "hey" that means something completely different now.

[51.] "come here" said softly — not urgently. just wanting them close again.

“A place where you won’t get hypothermia.” To any witness of this odd scene, it would appear as if some blackened creature had absconded with its prey, except this prey hung limp and unresisting, and Ąžuolas had a feeling that he never would fight back. The trees blurred past as he ran through the undergrowth, one arm wrapped around Faust, dead leaves and snapping branches swallowed behind them. It wasn’t long before the tree line broke against a jutting cliff face and the low dark mouth of a cave. He angled himself sideways to squeeze through, Faust’s weight shifting against him.

The cave’s walls were dotted with small glittering rocks; minerals ran deep along with the remnants of volcanic rock. It felt humid the deeper he traveled until the narrow passage until it opened up to a cavern. Somewhere in the dark, water dripped in a slow and patient rhythm into a thermal spring, steam rising off its surface in slow coils. A hunter’s lamp sat on a natural shelf of rock where he had left it.

“This was used by others that harmed me before I relinquished it.” In the far corner sat a wooden box, its lid shut over tools Ąžuolas did not touch unless he had to. Bedrolls had been spread across the flatter stretches of ground, and crude tables still stood where their previous owners had left them. He lowered himself until Faust’s feet found the ground, then crossed to the lamp and turned the flame up until the cavern walls swam with warm light.

Faust held his breath once the other started to move. It was way faster than he would have expected, even from a mystical creature such as Ąžuolas. He didn't even bother keeping his eyes open, he wouldn't be able to see anything nonetheless, and so focused on the body he pressed against and that hold Ąžuolas had on him. It felt- comforting.

Once the stag slowed down, the young man finally felt safe enough to pull back ever so slightly to give attention to his surroundings. He wondered how a humid cave of all places would be keeping him safe from hypothermia until he saw the hot spring within it. He took his time checking out the abandoned camp, curious about those who were once here. Dead, he reckoned. And not recent. He swore his heart felt extremely full when Ąžuolas made it known that he was the first one here. Pride? Perhaps.

Eventually there were nothing else to check out except for the spring itself. “This place is nice,” he commented, definitely somewhere he'd be staying over often if he were to know of its existence prior. Faust proceeded to take off his shoes and socks, as well as folding up his pants up above his knees before sitting down by the spring. The butcher scars are present here too. His ankles, his knees— precise and surgical. Made by someone with steady hands, the tools and knowledge.

Hannibal countered the smidgen of a smile. He gave a nod of his head, eyes closing momentarily at the movement. “Do not worry. I take the protocol of patient-doctor confidentiality quite seriously.” And he did. It was a psychiatrist’s most sacred obligation. Besides, there was no need to speak of Faust beyond this room. He would prefer it if the young lad were that of a shadow in this town. If Faust had means to befriend him in the woods, there would be complications of keeping such a gifted relationship a secret.

“Foraging?” Hannibal asked, steering on with their conversation. “What is there to consume out in those woods? Perhaps I should take a stroll one of these days.” Would Faust find it strange that the Stagman would be nowhere in sight when a stranger entered the woods?

Faust would hope so. For the doctor's own good. It's a good trait to have when one is able to distinguish what to share and what to take to the grave. He supposed the stag won't be having this doctor as a gift any time soon. So far, the young man didn't particularly find Hannibal annoying enough to keep away from his sight. He barely ever spoke to anyone else in town unless strictly necessary.

He's happy about the subject change, a small tilt of his head, not in question but simply in thought. There were many things that's ripe for the picking at the moment, if you knew where and how to look. “Many wild mushrooms are in season right now. I've seen many Chanterelles and Trumpets. Chicken of the Woods as well, I planned to go gather them today” he shared, quite passionate about foraging it seemed. “Curly docks..wild onions, chickweed— greens are not that available during this time of year. I've been eyeing some black walnuts however. It's not too far into the pines, if you'd like to gather some yourself ”

In a way, Hannibal could relate to this poor creature. There is a sense of loneliness when you don’t believe you belong with humanity. At times, he diverted his existence to being a creature of the woods. There was no need to follow the rules of humanity there; he was a beast, an animal, following the natural instinct of one. It was all too easy to get lost in that thought process, to let instinct take over. Ąžuolas based its existence on primal urges. Ąžuolas knew nothing else, no guilt, no justification, only the clean arithmetic of hunger and survival. It wasn’t any wonder why Faust chose to enter the woods now, where the scent of the earth was far more comforting than anything else the town had to offer. Perhaps he was turning into a fae and, in time, the urge to become what Ąžuolas was.

There was a halt in his thoughts, broken away by what Faust had said. “Courting?” The word surfaced in him strangely, and a laugh followed that resonated deep in his chest. “There is no courting a beast.” Faust did not see him as a monster; that word was dropped from their conversations. Replaced by something Hannibal had not yet found a name for. Beautiful, Faust had implied. He let that sit. “I think you’re doing fine with the amount of time you spend in the woods.” With him. The sun had slipped behind the mountains, and the temperature dropped immediately. The cold came off the ground as much as the air.

“You’ll freeze before long.” He considered what he was about to offer. The smell of blood still threaded through the nearby undergrowth, faint but unmistakable to him. “I’ll show you somewhere safe.” He guided Faust’s hands up and around his neck and held them there. They were about to travel.

“It's possible if you give me a chance.” This young man is both very brave and a fool (mostly for Ąžuolas, evidently), quite determined to have this creature that's doubled his height and able to brush his bones to dust to take him, his devotion and admiration seriously. Or perhaps the fact that he's still alive here and sitting in the creature's lap was enough prove that the stag enjoyed his presence to let him loiter this close. Faust huffed at the laugh, endeared at the sound but felt like he's not being taken seriously.

The young man thought the stag was about to order him to leave once the sun had set, only to be surprised by the words that followed next. He held on tight, fearing he might fall if Ąžuolas were to move a tad bit too fast.

Hannibal ate those who were rude. The ones that slighted him in any way and this extended outward, like a stain, to the deployment of their rudeness onto others. A screaming teenager directed at their parents could find themselves on the platter. No one was spared any mercy.

Then there was Faust.

Who openly went into the woods to stare into the maw of a creature with very sharp teeth, and an affinity for the taste of human flesh. Ąžuolas (and Han) wondered what he tasted like at times when the heartbeat could be heard far more thunderously than before, when he could feel the heat rising off his skin, the curvature of his jaw fitting into the crease of his palm like something made to rest there. He could crush him so easily. The bones would give before the boy even had time to understand what was happening. He should, but he doesn’t. Faust goes against all the principles that he told himself never to indulge in. But he was curious about how this would play out.

“Are you looking for a religion? Have all those before me failed you?” As much as Hannibal wanted Faust to come to him about his past, he found that this young man would rather relate to a monster in the woods instead. “So tell me who has failed you, that you find solace in something you should be running from.” His hand slowly retracted. He used it to lower himself further onto the ground, no longer alert, his broad back settling against the rough and grooved bark of the aged cedar. “Come.” He patted the space just beneath his ribcage, where the last of his warmth gathered. There were times when he desired the weight of another against him; slight, warm, still breathing.

Are you looking for a religion?

Faust lingered. Pressing his nose some more against the other's palm, letting the coldness of it soothe his skin.

He was unsure of what kind of answer to give. He's never been a religious man; especially after being marked and cut like a livestock from someone who supposedly loved him— that oughta messed his view on how love and devotion should be displayed. He doubted any kind of Gods existed. No one helped him, not that he is as aware of. Prayers go on deaf ears, he reckoned, if something above them really existed out there, then they're only watching over them for entertainment and not care.

But would Hannibal be different?

He realized that his devotion to the stag on its own was already a worship. But love in general is one, is it not? The thought of taking care of Ąžuolas' altar wasn't really unwelcomed. “My... Mentor, failed me. Those I considered friends, too, but it was mostly due to my naivety,” words flowed so simply around his Ąžuolas, his hand, ungloved, ran over the meticulous scars over his wrists, then his arm. Another kind of fidgeting as he searched for the words.

“There are so many layers to humans. Ones I can see through now. There's honesty in you I don't see from them. It's... Comforting. Even if that honesty were to be you feasting on me.” Faust knew that the answer probably wasn't enough. But it was more than evident as to how much the boy struggled to put his trauma and feelings into words. It's easier to ignore them than face them, after all. There's a kind of tiredness in him that buried deep within his marrow, something sleep won't ease it out.

Faust often displayed these words to him. Words that people of his caliber should never utter to a creature of the forest that dines on the flesh of humans. There is a pause while Ąžuolas ponders this over, wondering what would be the appropriate sentence to make out of all this. “Have you ever thought of yourself as a murderer? Or to snare people in your trap out of delight?” Did he find a thrill in this? Did it go beyond just seeking a monster out? “Do you feel justified in killing if it is wielded by my hand?” Ąžuolas could feel the heat simmering within him as he sat close. He was always aware of the temperature that Faust gave off. Being sensitive to such a thing would create such a thing; he’s felt the hunters in the woods with their weapons to weaken him. Those weapons held heat in them, even if they were not alight with the licking flames themselves.

“Anything can be justified if one tries hard enough and have the will,” Faust couldn't help but find the creature's curiosity to be endearing. Each time they had such conversation, it always sounded like Ąžuolas was a pastor, trying to herd the lost sheep back into what he thought was Faust's rightful place. In the light. But Faust couldn't see himself there.

He didn't belong. Not after what he had done, what he had went through — he'd be burnt at the stake if others were to know. One more crime won't make the sins he had committed any worse than it already was. He's simply courting. He's simply bringing food to the table and watch his muse try to find the logic behind it.

The young man gently reached up to hold the stag's hand, bringing it up to his face and cup his cheek while he looked up to meet those beautiful voided pearls. He nuzzled his nose into Ąžuolas' palm, followed by a small kiss. It was soft and gentle, feather light, worried his body heat would bother the creature too much. “I don't find pleasure in killing. I simply see it as a courting gift for you- to prove to you I'm devoted” perhaps his morals as a human was all warped. One would see how wrong this was— and perhaps, if he really cared, Faust would see it too. He's simply ignoring it. Putting his Ąžuolas first and foremost.

@corxner inquired — “Did you go and make promises you couldn't keep?”

" 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. " His breath is shaky—hands clambering to unpack the small duffle bag he brought with him on this excursion. It was to Spain again, but this time the job held a very different goal. One of which Airin didn’t succeed in, a rarity.

It’s a damn good thing that half of that island has been eradicated. Airin grabs a pack of cigarettes and places it between his lips. " You think you see a good amount of fucked up labs in your day, but seeing one desecrated with Regenerador's running amok? Prefer să mă arunc pe mormântul diavolului. " He’s speaking mostly to himself, lighting his cigarette before finally standing up.

Even with his frazzled nerves, having Faust here prevented him from being any worse. Maybe he can keep him here longer and delay the inevitable—being sent back. " He knows these little excursions don’t guarantee results. I have no idea why he sends me out anyway. "

Sighing, he forces his tone to shift. Higher pitch, forced friendliness despite wanting Faust’s presence. " Anyway, anywa—y… How was your weekend, mielușelul? Didn’t do anything that would fuck up your bloodline, da? "

“We can just not go ” Faust suggested, knowing that if Airin of all people is so afraid of a place and things dwelling within it really must be fucked up being imagination. “He could come here himself if he oh so want results so desperately. I don't know why he'd send us to grab samples from” he picked up his clipboard to check the details, eyes squinting and brows furrowed at the texts and pictures.

“Something that's even taller than him. I'm going to become paste if I follow with this mission” Faust tried to joke a little before turning his head to look at the older man, shaking his head as a reply. “Ah, no. I was just dwelling in the woods. Was collecting mushrooms since they're in season. Drying them to make risotto in a day or two” the switch between topics with these two (or anyone working in that damned place) is quite... Fascinating.

Both of them knew that would be a stupid move. But Faust himself had always preferred the woods over buildings, the flora over people. The fact that he hadn't been able to lay upon the leaves that fell from the trees and watch the night sky as he fall asleep was, all in all, horrible for his mood. Maybe that's why he hadn't been able to behave as well as of late. Or was it just because of Marisa being near? Who knows.

There was a long pause after the request, however, his mind still trying to be reasonable and responsible for them both, but alas— “Okay,” he murmured, kissing at the doctor's neck with a sigh, caved in. “Let's not go too far though, alright?” he clung to Marisa a little more, still unsure if this was welcomed at all. He wasn't being pushed away— but a hug would have reassured him better than he could hold her a little tighter.

Hannibal’s eyelids lower; he mulls over this information. There is a fine line between probing and allowing a patient to arrive at a subject on their own, and he has always known exactly where that line is. He decides to delve into the reason. “You enjoy work,” he says, “ yet you’re taking an undetermined amount of time away from it. I had presumed stress.”

He wanted to know why this man had chosen this particular town and everything it had apparently offered him. The stagman he would not mention. That card he would keep face-down on the table until Faust chose to turn it over himself. But he was hungry to hear it described in Faust’s own words: the woods, the thing inside them, whatever pull it exerted. Hannibal’s curiosity had no ego threaded through it. It was cleaner than that. More anatomical.

“It's stressful work, but without it my days feel rather boring,” Faust admitted. His work was one that couldn't avoid stress even if one tried their hardest. Faust welcomed it. It made his brain busy and kept the horrors at bay. Made everything more manageable when he had things to think about. He was never safe when it was too quiet.

“This whole thing was actually suggested by my old psychiatrist.. but as you can see, I can't really keep at it very well” Faust didn't seem like he could care less, however. He was ready to go right back to the city and pretend the attempt at following good advice wasn't in vain. But now that he had met the stag? He'll play around in this town a little longer.

There were others out there that had bizarre tastes; Hannibal had tasted them himself, literally and otherwise. They had sat in some of his plush chairs, spoke of their fetishes, their desires, the things that kept them going on particularly grim days. Hannibal did not judge; he had no room to do so. He found the peculiar to be interesting, something to be studied. When Faust shared the blood that had been spilled, Hannibal did not paint himself surprised. His expression remained the same: attentive, almost courteous. It was only behind his eyes that the cogs were turning.

And then the offering.

He drew a long breath, deep enough that his chest visibly expanded, and moved closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off the other man’s skin despite the heat already pooling in his own. A wendigo was insatiable by nature, but Hannibal had always been a different kind of creature, a different kind of man. He had inquired over and over again if Faust invited death. He had his answer now.

He did.

There was always a lingering fear; he could smell it. But it was faint, pumping swiftly through his system from the fluttering heart. His hand reached across and found the other man’s waist, fingers spreading over the ridge of it, drawing him forward until there was no meaningful distance left between them. The exhale that followed was slow and warm against the curve of Faust’s neck, and he became aware of the fine dark hair falling loose along the side of his face, the particular architecture of his throat. He could sink his teeth in here. Every animal instinct he possessed narrowed to that single point.

He did not.

A frustrated breath left him instead. He drew back, and his eyes moved along the raised line of a scar. He understood with perfect clarity that if he gave in now, he would not be able to stop, and the story would be lost to him. The scar would go unexplained. The man would go unfinished.

Faust let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. When the sharp pain and the warmth that was supposed to cover his neck and down his torso didn't come— the young man didn't know what to do with himself. Was that a feeling of relief that he hadn't died yet? Or was it regret, that he wouldn't get to feel his life leaving his body while holding onto the most gorgeous being he'd ever seen.

It was now that he realized he did feel scared. Not to the extreme like many would have been, but scared nonetheless. His body was slightly trembling within the stag's grasp. But was it the relief due to him realising that he just escaped death, or was it that he couldn't understand why he was still alive? The unknown tend to make the poor thing rather confused, and he hated not knowing what to expect next.

Faust gently held onto the mystic creature above him now that the distance between them were basically nonexistent. How funny it was that being able to touch and hold onto the very thing that had his life in its hands calm him down so? He caught his breath and felt comforted by the rumbling no. “I see,” he chuckled. It was a dry little sound, devoid of any humour. Faust's eyes still looked up and stared into those deep ink, curious as what was going on in his mind, what was the reasoning this particular night that had this stag spare his life once again.