who would prepare for peace take up the sword

Aether's brain turned off a while ago. He's floating, mentally, and physically. Body suspended above the floor. He's twisted, One knee bent forcefully towards the ceiling, hooked to a hard point, wrapped tightly in deep blue rope. The waistline digs into his hips, cuts across his belly, digging dimples into soft skin. His arms are pinned to his chest, fingers grazing his chin if he lifts his head--which he hasn't, not for a while. Mountain can't help but stare at him as he hangs. He's a vision like this. Limp against the rope, letting it take his weight despite the pain. The way the rope bites into his skin is devastating. Mountain wants a thousand pictures of him like this. A whole photo album.

Mountain can't wait to untie him. To see the way he wears the marks from the tie for hours. The way his skin bruises delicately across his thigh. But for now? For now, he wants to touch.

He strokes a hand up the inside of Aether's thigh that isn't bound, hanging limp toward the floor. Aether twitches under his hand. He gasps. Mountain always finds his responsiveness funny. He's tied. Most of his weight loaded onto ropes digging into his hips and thigh. He takes that--the pain of it--like a champ. But the brush of Mountain's fingers on his skin when he's like this? He moans when Mountain drags his fingers over the rope on his thigh, pressing against the flushed skin between the gaps. Mountain will never get over the way rope looks on Aether's body. He could tie him a hundred ways, but this is his favorite. Anything to accentuate his thighs, his waist. It's a good thing they're in the basement. Or someone might hear Aether's wail of relief when Mountain drags his fingers further up to ghost over his balls and then his cock, half hard, between his spread legs. "Color," Mountain says softly. Admiring the way he only needs the barest touch to have Aether's cock fattening back up.

"Green," Aether moans. Mountain shifts so he can look at Aether's face, neck bent back, cheeks flushed.

The problem with Aether--is that he'll stay up here all day if Mountain lets him. He would hang forever. When Aether gets like this he doesn't care about a single consequence. His brain clicks off as soon as Mountain pulls him into the air. And Mountain wants to let him, wants to indulge this. But he knows better. He knows it's almost time. But there's something he wants to do first. Mountain walks around to his head and strokes his fingers up Aether's cheek.

"Hands,"

You hated haunted houses, mazes, and trails. Of course, your friends insisted on bringing you. They said to have fun for Halloween during the spooky season. A haunted maze, connected to a bar, about 40 minutes away from your city. You dress modestly: jeans, comfortable sneakers, and a plain black shirt with daisies. A light jacket as the fall chill comes in. Two other girls, Tessa and Sara, along with your mutual guy friend, Seth, would be going with you. You all stand in the line outside. They are beyond excited, shaking you with excitement—maybe from a drink or two they had before going. Anxiety laces your system. You hated being scared, which is why you hated agreeing to go in the first place. You wanted to be brave. Soon enough, your turn comes. Tessa is pushing you forward. You feel your stomach drop as you enter the trail. It's a dark, barely lit trail. It's not even five seconds before a guy with a bloody head jumps out. Everyone screams. You don't exactly scream. Instinct kicks in, fear clogging your throat. Reaching out to one of your friends, you grab a leather jacket. Seth, maybe? It was too dark to tell, and you were so caught up in the anxiety that you forgot what he was wearing. Either way, the person you grabbed didn't object, and you were already preparing yourself for the next scare. It's the most fearful thing in the next 30 minutes as you go along the trail. More loud noises, people jumping out. You assume Seth is behind you, rubbing your wrist comfortingly. It wasn't much, but you were grateful as it helped you through. You are gripping this jacket like your life depends on it. At the end, finally, a man with a chainsaw comes running out. It hits you as you see Tessa, Sara, and Seth run as this chainsaw man chases them, leaving you and… Wait, whose jacket were you holding? You let go immediately. A whole new kind of fear fills you. An embarrassing kind of fear. "I am so sorry!"