entangled life

what's anything?

you're still thinking about ethos' mouth. the lines of his lips and the feel of his tongue against yours. how his chest molded to you as he drove it across your teeth. anything is too large a concept when he fills you so in the moment you're in.

how do you begin to imagine? ethos puts your hands far away from him and you want them on his skin. you look at him sprawled out on top of you like this, touching only your body and nothing else, and you think of your hands on his hips, testing the give of his flesh.

your breath

stutters.

' a-anything, ' you stutter and breathe through, ' is ... inadvisable. hands removed. ' the sheets feel cool against the back of them. your palms still warm from having held him, touched him.

you're almost certain you would spend in an instant, should you imagine anything else. with his wetness pressed to you, with his hand on your hardness with only one more layer of fabric between.

ethos eyes' pulse the way his flesh did against your mouth. something in your sternum clenches and releases as your cock twitches. feeling your jaw set as you recover from the feeling, you loosen it again in a soft breath.

it's the zap against your forehead that loosens you further. a tremble of your body with your eyes closing gives you a moment to relax. you flex the fingers of each hand. when you focus on ethos again and think about sitting up to chase his lips, it doesn't feel unbearable to remain on your back.

but it's a near thing.

your eyes track him, taking in every single touch he gives you. everything you can feel and know, rather than all this endless possibility. when you speak, knowing that he'll want an answer to an unspoken question, your voice is still unsure whether he asked it in the first place. but the want is there. it has been there for a while.

a gentle bass, a deep sensation. with nothing else to lean against, the soft tremble of himmel's body is enough to shake ethos whole. in the hollow of his bones, the space between his ribs, the empty.

the sight and feel of him, safe and desperate under ethos. itching for him, yet restrained by his obedience. the aasimar makes a sound about it as his limbs give out, laying atop the other's form, lips against ear — with nothing to say.

sharp breaths, then, with body too spent for slow passage, as his arm snakes between them and further under the loosened waistband of the skirt. he groans against himmel's shoulder at the contact, a rumble, one from distant thunder.

his body reacts by rolling his hips against the both of them, then sliding down the expanse of dark hair and thick skin. there's a brief sensation, along the path, of their scars brushing against one another.

it sends a lighting bolt through his system.

the hand not currently preoccupied comes to cup the bone of himmel's jaw, between chin and cheek, to keep them both safe from it.

eyes closing, a brief failure of the lungs to catch up as his breath hitches and;

it works.

he does not want to let go. having already started wrapping his fingers around himmel's cock appreciatively; thick and heavy. so he pulls the paladin down to him for a quick parting kiss, instead, saying: “ of course. ” before he's back on his way.

himmel's feedback on his hands' predicament goes largely unacknowledged, save for the challenging look ethos shoots him once his face is hovering over where they both want it most.

finally, he yanks the final piece of fabric away.

thin fingers come to brush against the sensitive skin with light touch, down to the base, then more, until he has those heavy balls cradled in his palm. he leans closer, hot breath intertwining with the radiating heat of desire before him.

a gorgeous man.

the tongue is a muscle, starting at the taut skin between the softness in his hold and going up. ethos settles his knees in place and begins to push against the hard flesh on his slow ascend to the tip — until himmel's cock pulses against the flesh of his lower belly.

ethos realizes that he has been staring right at it for some time now, so he makes sure that when he looks back up at the paladin he does it slowly — using his other hand to keep the hair himmel tucked away behind his ear in place.

he places a kiss to the side of the head, lips wrapping around his poking tongue as though to drink.

your breath wheezes out of your lungs pathetically when you're laid upon your back and ethos' hips press into your own. for a body that is a machine, you have awfully little control over it now.

you try to regain some of it. moving your wings into a resting position, one of them splays out on the mattress underneath, the other loosely placed over your face. the golden gaze peeks out beneath black feathers. it's sharply pointed at ethos.

he knows how to move his body. how to move it to speak, to answer and to question. you're not envious of it— you seek to watch, like a birdwatcher who has found a rare breed on the horizon. one who wants to understand what each call means.

' hot, ' you answer earnestly after a beat of silence. your hands hang in suspension for a moment, as you're thinking about where to put them. ethos had pushed you, still holding onto your head and your shoulder. how do you say what you want to say?

you reach for both of his wrists and move them. without his support there, your body sinks further into the bed. his hands are placed onto the rise of your chest. not quite onto the scar, that'd be too bold too soon, but you give him a better angle for pressing you down like this.

you'll stay.

' and ... starved, ' comes slowly, obvious uncertainty in your choice of words. hunger didn't seem right. you don't care much for hunger, only pay attention to it when your body can't keep up with your decisions anymore. this is a necessity seated deeper.

easing the furrow of your brow that had placed itself there instinctively, one of your thumbs smoothes over the bone of his wrist. your expression softens. ' glad to have served well, ' you say lightly, meant humorously. your mouth still feels sticky, as well as a few of your fingers. unexpected marks of finally having tasted ethos, temporary as they may be.

hot, like their body temperature, heightened by the settling summer wind of druidcraft. the way he looks right now. pleased and brimming with endorphins, lust, inertia.

his servitude brings him to such places.

ethos can't help but lounge ahead when his arms are moved, spine taking a dip between his shoulder blades. the adjustment settles his hips onto himmel's thighs quite erotically.

which is why the look ethos gives him, through hoods of lashes and fairy rings, should be all too familiar to his pointed gaze; a destructive wave of dedication.

“ it is, yes. ” it's equal parts affirmation as it is an answer, voice equally humorous; if somewhat duplicitous.

that's when his palms twist inside himmel's grip — fingers digging into the nerves of the aasimar's thick wrists, loosening the hold. his hands wriggle out and launch the other pair, shoving them down onto each side of a winged head.

ethos trusts he'll stay.

so he lets his palms return to the rise of himmel's chest. to feel the softness of skin there, squeeze it. trail down further, in admiration.

“ just say it. my mouth- -- ”

lowering one hand down the paladin's soft belly, he finds the obvious tent of fabric, grasps at the girth beneath, feels it.

violet eyes widen not out of surprise, but the sudden jolt of adrenaline shooting up his veins. he can't tear his gaze away from the concealed gold watching him.

his antennae land, pointedly, onto the top of himmel's forehead. the feeling of skin buzzes through the sensitive appendage and disturbs the gritty blood flowing in the marrow.

chest still heaving from his orgasm, the intensity of his stare shakes his rapidly expanding pupils. “ anything, himmel. ” he brushes his teeth against the skin of himmel's chest, a gentle scratch.

He watched the vehicle roll away, and then he turned back to the other (Ethos), and he gave a sheepish smile, one hand going to the back of his head to nervously card sharp fingernails through his hair, before dropping them both behind his back formally.

Not a good first impression there. He chastised himself internally. You can't just stop busy people like that, it's rude!

Then, of course, he realized that a moment of silence had passed, and that he was leaving the other person hanging.

This could also not stand, because that was also considered rude, so he cast his mind out wildly again, trying to find something to say that didn't sound like exactly what he'd done--which was stop a person to ask about them because they were a new person to him.

But who does that?

Oh no. He was still not talking. He flapped his arms a moment--an action to get his mind moving again.

for some time, it's oddly silent. one could hear the sound of miniature wheels reeling away in the distance. his eyes glance in that direction, whole body curving to the side, arms behind his back.

the exclamation comes after.

ethos looks up at the stranger from this new angle briefly, letting his antennae respond with a few cautious bounces. for show.

“ yeah? ” the druid asks, straightening up to eye-level. that's where his gaze remains.

"...those don't cause you pain, do they?"

In reflexive mirroring, his hand clutches his own shoulder: the mushrooms on Ethos' sit parallel to this. (He's seen this on dead animals, out on hunts, or growing on trees. But not on a living person.)

A beautiful color, nonetheless. Watery, shimmery, blue-violet -- almost like the teasets his mother was fond of back home. Still, any person would be concerned, even having lived here for some time; he's naturally one to worry about the pain or injuries even a stranger could have.

"They're a very beautiful color."

“ they do not. ”

and beautiful, they are. the common musroom, infested with magic, gaining its own radiance. it's the signature of his entire circle.

anyone should get to see them, really. ethos wears but a small fraction of their image. but he's the only one who can present a glimpse.

his elbow bends to pull the rest of his arm into an elegant arch, showing the floating particles which surround the fungal growth at all times.

“ they're a part of me. ” he smiles, then, looks the young man up and down. concern must be a common expression on his features.

for a moment all you know how to do is breathe. even that is a complex task with ethos wrapped around you, suffocatingly close.

the kiss to your temple is more potent than the leg pressed to your hardness. ethos thanks you for a service well done. you don't really know what that does to your mind, his words the root of a plant that festers in your steadfast determination. to serve another, and to have done it well, almost pleases you more than his sweet moans.

you still don't say anything. breathing takes up most of your focus, lowering the other aasimar and letting him push and pull you as he desires. only when he prompts you with a question does your blurry gaze focus.

you take your time, picking him up again. gently sliding your arm underneath his knees, you look to him for approval before lifting him up. walking to your empty bedroom with empty hands didn't feel fitting. like this, you cradle ethos in your hold until you slowly lower yourself onto the side of your mattress.

he sits in your lap. the dent in your skirt is much more noticeable this way— bashfully, you slide a hand up to ethos' face to distract yourself. you feel your face burning, your heart pounding. they are all sensations so strong, entirely unfamiliar to you. at least like this, in a quiet comfort rather than a raging battlefield.

your touch, half-golden by your scarred hand, tucks his hair behind his ear. you are soaked, the both of you. ethos has a few hairs stuck to his forehead, so you brush those aside as well. you look at him, you look, and then you lower your head to tuck it into the crook of his neck. your wings are pressed closely to your face so that you may fit, hiding yourself in the cocoon that you've turned ethos into.

it's not much easier to breathe there. but ethos smells of himself now. and of you, and your wet hair, and your skin. you stay. you're quiet.

when you speak you pull back so that he may see your face, a silver and golden eye blinking at him between strands of dark grey. with your cheek pressed to his shoulder, your voice is not hesitant when you ask, but it's very soft.

ethos' grounded form is short lived, though he does manage to undo the top layer of himmel's skirt while there.

he's hoisted up once more and, for a moment, he entertains the thought of the skirt being there to personally spite him.

but himmel is not speaking, he is barely breathing — so ethos mellows out and lets himself be carried to the empty bed without a fuss. and how can he complain, when he gets seated atop the heavy weight of the desire there.

he sighs when the short breaths coming from himmel's nose tickle the skin of his neck. they exchange an asymmetrical gaze, then, after which ethos lowers to kiss his paladin.

his lips drag slowly, thrice, before his tongue comes to lick at the other's upper teeth. even his chest rises up and closer to himmel with the motion.

surely, it is answer enough.

the druid's fungal arm circles around in order to rest on the back of himmel's head, fingers lightly dipping into the base of a feather. he tussles the hair there, summoning a gust of warm wind which spreads in violet magical particles and dries them both.

with heavy eyelids, ethos parts enough to gasp against those full lips. he's still buzzing with sensation, still feverish, having just had a taste of himself. there's a smile he gives himmel, one which mirrors a sheepishness.

though he leans his full weight forward regardless, uses the grip he has on dark hair when its not enough, to lay himmel down on his back. sprawling atop him, ethos grinds his hips down once. hard.

“ very much. ” he does not have a tail to accompany the purr of his voice, pressing another quick kiss to himmel's lips.

ethos says your name and your body moves. it's a pushing of your arms, rolling your shoulders back, straightening your back, righting your feet. an instinctive stride into action before he even finishes his sentence.

your nod, to communicate that you will listen, only comes belatedly— you almost think you don't even need to tell him that.

so you dip into the kitchen and get the towels he asked for. you make a point not to pick the ones with patterns on them, the only thought that really slows you down in your task. ethos may not like them stained. when you enter the terrace again, you're holding a tower of fabric, as well as a bucket with warm water.

you put the bucket down and bend forward so that ethos can reach one of the towels. it's a bit awkward. you're still wearing your armour, since you took a trip to town. kneeling in the dirt could prove more difficult. and he hasn't told you to do that yet.

you're quiet for a moment before asking a question.

the druid uses his time alone with the borzoi to settle them both into position. ethos, sitting on his knees before her. if all goes right, they should be staying here for a couple of hours.

himmel returns not longer after, holding a mountain of towels with a level of stoicism that's so endearingly misplaced. he sets the bucket down, and ethos thanks him with a smile.

“ she'll do most of this herself. ”

so no, she doesn't need healing. instead, ethos distributes a few towels into a makeshift bedding beneath her body, for comfort. he gives her head a soft scratch, for good measure, before looking back at the other aasimar.

"Oh~ Don't threaten me with a good time!"

There was rustles in the leaves while they moved closer into view, sitting on the tree branch and made the effort to drop down thud.

A sturdy thud and the sound of soft clacking of what sounded closer to porcelain moving together, crouched from the fall before lifting their doll body up.

Fully presented in front of the young man and grinned showing their sharp teeth, yet they kept a respectable distance between themselves and the other.

"What are you doing out here wandering in the dark? Don't you know there's monsters out here." with a playful tone in their voice, ecstatic to actually see another person out and about at this hour.

ethos watches with some fascination as the doll like body presents itself before him. he would probably appreciate it more, were it not for the sheen of those sharp teeth, grinning.

instinctively, the aasimar turns his fungal shoulder away from the stranger; as if to shield it from a potential threat. because, at the moment, it may as well be.

under the moonlight, his mushrooms have a violet hue. one ethos knows makes them stand out like a venomous animal.

so, leaning into that, he says:

you enjoy a great many things about ethos.

it's a humbling matter of fact. you enjoy seeing him as he is, with his loose fabrics fluttering around the curves of his body. you enjoy seeing him in the grander outfits he indulges in every so often. you enjoy the flustered twitch in his expression when you say something that exasperates him. you enjoy seeing him laugh at something you've said, even if you hadn't meant it as a joke.

and you enjoy his voice. calling you sweet.

something in your mind shuts down. there's another tease he tries, but it doesn't reach you. the fingers wet with slick and water have retreated for your hands to wrap around both thighs again. you pull, sliding him further down the wall.

in your greed, stability is a far away priority. you know you can hold him up. you know you want him closer. you know you could catch him, should he fall. so you pull, slide your tongue further, grip tightening. let him ride your face as much as he can.

only following the insistence of greed, you draw senseless shapes with your tongue in between each push back inside. try to reach the same spots as you did with your fingers, only listening for his noises in the back of your mind. just to make sure he's enjoying himself.

but ethos has made it rather clear that something about you asserting yourself makes his thighs tremble, so you're mostly free to drown yourself in it. there's not much else to do, nose and mouth buried so deep inside the other aasimar.

something in himmel's mind shuts down. without it, everything gets more intense. potent.

ethos feels it when, the next time he rolls his hips into the other's face, there isn't a moment of respite where a part of himmel is not inside. he doesn't think himself capable of being aware of anything else.

soap-slick legs are wrapped around the winged head tight, though it no longer feels like the wall against his back is close enough. which is why ethos' hands retreat from their paladin, open palms ensuring the cold tiles are there still.

and, stars, it is greed. himmel's tongue shows no lack of it. the way some of the strokes would open him up just so, to feel the building wind.

in the space of short, hot breaths — taken only when there's time — the druid would listen for a growl. but there wouldn't be one, because himmel is a mountain. so he simply pulls him back.

until the build up reaches its breaking point, under sheer sensation.

it sweeps through the aasimar like a cyclone, sparking with shocks and shaking with the current. his long lashes brush against his cheeks with how tightly his eyes are shut. in addition to equal sweat and water dripping down them, he feels a sting of tears.

it's an intolerable wave of pleasure. his shoulders rise as his body moves — just to make sure it can. his antennae twitch in rapid succession. but himmel's face is right there. his tongue is right there. no matter where he goes.

“ himmel… ” ethos calls, somewhere between awe and plea, like a satisfied groan.

he no longer wishes to stay suspended above something he desires. so he clings, throws his arms around himmel's shoulders, lets his body drop and demand it touch the ground again.

although not without the heart's gentle landing. moving his face so close, lips brushing against the other aasimar's temple. at the same time, his dangling calf shifts with purpose — brushes against the growing desire through heavy fabric.

“ you serve me well. ” he says, still catching his breath. “ allow me to thank you. ”

it works; he's on his feet in no time. it takes just a moment longer to adjust. before he sighs and his eyelashes flutter — looks — at nothing but himmel.

moving forward, then, he pushes into the other's broad chest until it, too, starts moving back. his hand casually shuts the tap before it joins the other on the waistband of the skirt.

Ah, so Us's glamour didn't work on everyone.

"It - doesn't have a leash." He looks down at the devourer in his hands before looking back at Ethos. "It's not a danger. I promise."

Only after he says it does he take in Ethos's appearance, tilting his head a little bit to one side.

mind flayers, intelect devourers. worms under the earth, neighborly.

but not for ethos. he is moreso the fruiting body, head above grass, with emotions — such as concern for a dear companion - resonating from the sight before him.

personal history aside, being the only delicacy from his circle, the creature is still, to some, a friend.

ethos' hand lowers, though the stone remains clutched in his fist.

“ so it is free to approach strangers? ” he says with some disapproval, though, ultimately, it's none of his concern.

instead, he shifts his focus to the man's vibrant eyes.

ethos does not startle. from outside perspective, he might have simply tripped over a pebble while making his way through the woods.

it was a simple harvest outing, nothing exciting. still, his senses should have picked up on another presence. especially one watching so intently.

“ perhaps they could. ” he's squinting, voice monotone due to the effort put into trying to see.

a task which proves considerably harder than expected, as his mind appears to be playing tricks on him — even with the aid of darkvision.

or were there pieces actually missing?

long fingers with sharp talons sweep through layers of feathers. a deep contentment sinks into your bones. with each twist of the particular feather ethos had chosen, heavy weight becomes a stronger presence in the back of your mind. it's that same weight that makes it harder to keep your eyes open.

you do not tire on the battlefield. hordes of monsters have fallen to your greatsword, yet your determination never falters and your breath doesn't stutter.

now you feel sluggish. slower. for the first time since you pulled the druid around your hips, you start to notice the growing strain against the fabric of your skirt. its material too stiff, not amendable to any appearance of desire. it's uncomfortable and it makes it much harder to listen to what ethos is saying, lust-addled as his mind is.

but you are not a man of flesh and bone. you are a blade.

and yet. his words almost pass you by. your answer late and softly exasperated. you were much too preoccupied with the soft give of his inside around your finger, too reluctant to go any faster. more of a careful exploration of his folds and how they bend to the smallest slide of your touch. and how deeply he will take you if you're deliberate about it.

' perhaps you should stop talking then. '

a playful refusal to engage any more than you have for the moment. there are more important things to think about. you briefly glance up at him with mirth. he won't see it with his eyes so tightly shut. nor the way your eyes soften at the sight of him, desperate and ecstatic. he'll be sad to have missed it.

' come on, ' is the gentler urging.

you push in with your finger another time, curl it the smallest amount. until you find something to rub and tease. it's greed, nothing else, that replaces your finger with your mouth. your tongue finds its way slowly, lining the base of his hole, before you push in and drink him in.

you grunt. harsh, unprepared. you feel your thighs clench, near trapping your cock between, if it didn't harden so at just that moment.

if you didn't know any better, you'd call it intoxicating. you do know better, and still the words fail you. you do know this: you could stay here, drinking until ethos is empty, for a long time. your eyes squeeze shut in a mirroring of his own, the hand still around his thigh tightening an inch.

the whispering halo gets drenched by the noise of rushing water, sticks to the skin and turns steady, resonant, not unlike echoing droplets in a cave system.

a magnificent one at that, complex. with fleshy walls that constrict and release its explorer. drawing him deeper, further, to the depth at which most fossils form.

he'll immortalize the shape there, the hook of it as it rises, presses, makes him sing.

falls into place?

“ bold. ” it's a hissed sound, between the teeth. if it wasn't, it would've been a gasp. “ i'd wager you rather enjoy the sound of my voice. ”

evidently, it is far from the only source of enjoyment for the paladin. the sharp line of muscle beneath ethos' thighs goes lax — turns softer — makes for a much more comfortable seating.

enough for his legs to spread a little wider, for his back to slide a few inches down the shower wall. for ethos to decide to show a little mercy, perhaps.

because himmel is enjoying this, contagiously so.

and so he relaxes in tandem, stops talking as his nails press into the pin feather of the left wing, opening the keratin sheath which crumples and gets washed away in an instant.

whether the feeling it evokes causes the aasimar to lunge ahead and enter with his tongue is up for debate. what's for certain is that the inexperienced explorer had caused the cave to rattle with the sound, shake something loose, a river of slick that one could not empty in a single lifetime.

just like that, the pact of mercy shatters.

“ o-oh, sweet bird, ” he falls back, no longer in an arch above the paladin. the motion does jolt his hips up, however, clashes his risen clit into a sharp nose. wherever the statement was going, it is now gone. he can't exhale without a moan accompanying his breath.

so he holds tight, onto dark feathers, onto his dampened senses, chases the sensation again.

hostility, provocation, you name it. featuring both actions and scenarios where tension can fester; add +reverse to reverse the roles.