on a gathering storm

𝙸, 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚍𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝. 

𝙸𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝙸 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝:  

𝟷. 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚕𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎.  

𝟸. 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍.   

𝟹. 𝙸 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚡𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚠𝚊𝚢:  

𝚂𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚊 𝚅𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚕𝚜𝚝, 𝟽𝟶% 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎. 𝙸𝚗 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝙻’𝙴𝚗𝚏𝚎𝚛, 𝙻’𝙲𝚒𝚎𝚕, 𝙻𝚊 𝙶𝚊𝚟𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚎, 𝙰 𝚃𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚏. 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛.

𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚎 𝙰𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚕𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚛, 𝟸𝟶% 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎. 𝙸𝚗 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚁𝚞𝚎 𝚂𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝-𝚈𝚟𝚎𝚜.  

𝚅𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚎 𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚞, 𝟷𝟶% 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎, 𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚛𝚞𝚋𝚢.

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚔, 𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚁𝚞𝚎 𝚊 𝙻𝚊𝚙𝚒𝚗, 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚏.  

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎 𝙵𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚝, 𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎. 

𝙰𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚘 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝙸𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚛í𝚗, 𝚌𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝙰.𝙷. 

𝙰𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 𝙰𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚎 𝙼𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚡, 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚌𝚑 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚍.  

𝙱𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚒 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚞𝚜 𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚛, 𝚝𝚒𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚍.  

𝚂𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚎𝚍,

How strange it was, not feeling the pain when he knew he ought to. He could not quite think when he had stopped feeling it. Perhaps when he rounded the corner, stumbling with deep crimson staining his usually crisp white shirt, a shaky hand clumsily pressing against his wound. Maybe he was used to being hurt. Bearing the scars of years past, this would just be another one. He was certain.

Yet as he reached blindly for the wall beside him, he found his knees giving in as he fell indelicately. He could only manage a grunt when he wanted to yell; he wanted to scream to shake the heavens up above and to crack the walls of hell down below. Instead of words, all that dripped from his lips matched the vivid sanguine upon his fingertips.

His feet struggled beneath him, he was one-handedly attempting to push himself up but to no avail. All he could feel was a faint tingling in his limbs as they finally gave out. His body was failing him. After so long too.

With his face pressed against the floor and his mouth agape, he choked. Flecks of red painted the cobblestones before him. It was not his first time tasting his own blood in his mouth but it tasted like it had not before.

He managed only a few more blinks. His thoughts were no longer unconscious. He tried his best to use his failing mind.

He could only conjure faint images.

A little blonde girl with blue eyes looking up at him.

A hand slipping a ring on his finger.

A woman’s smile.

He was tired.

He had never been quite so tired before, and yet there was a calm and a silence around him. He finally closed his eyes and all he could hear was the sound of hurried feet toward him, though he could not quite make out the voice or the words.

He realised what was happening. He did not expect it this way. He did not expect it in any way.

He didn’t want to go.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

With Charlotte he watching her swallow every drop. It’s a satisfying sight.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

It’s the 1920s, I have no idea what personal grooming habits are and it’s too late for me to look it up so I’m going with modern Anthony who keeps it neat.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Depends on who he’s with. He’s one to reach for a cigarette regardless of who it is though. He might share one with his partner, if not he’ll make a quick exit if they mean nothing to him. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Answered.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Anywhere he can get the do. He doesn’t prefer anywhere in particular as long as he’s getting it.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Answered.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Again, lazy in research. But if they existed in the 1920s, Anthony’s a fan of buttplugs and assplay in general. There’s something quite satisfying in having all her holes filled, including his fingers in her mouth.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Particularly enjoys coming on a girl - face, tits, ass etc. Anywhere he can see his “work”.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Answered.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Yes, though more so when he was younger. He has been known to have sex quite publicly (just in a booth in his bars/restaurants), in his car, under a bridge...he’s just done it everywhere that makes sense. He’s still up for most things, depends on his mood too but the limit is pretty far away.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

For a long time when he had first started having sex he thought he had no limits, but in his youth he had gotten close to an older woman who really tested them. She was the one he had explored with the most and treated him as roughly as he treated her. Alas, there was a near immediate stop the day she suggested scat and from that point, he knew he definitely had a limit.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Receiving. As with most men it took him a while but with the years came more of a want to please his partner unlike in his formative years. He’ll happily go down on a woman for as long as they want and is always pleased to have her writhing under his lips/at his fingers.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on who he’s with but more often he’s the fast & rough type. Likes gripping onto asses, hands round the neck and the like. Slow and sensual comes out when there’s actually something more than just sex/wanton need.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s old enough to know what he’s doing by now and he still enjoys sex - due to his places/line of work it’s readily available.

@mxmmon​ ❈ closed.

                                   “Anthony! Mister Holst!” 

Feet pounded the pavement as Bhari chased after the man, who caught his eye when the sunlight hit his timeless cream colored suit. It was the first time he’d seen Anthony in what was about seven months, but what felt like years for the writer. He’d been meaning to find him, but he wasn’t sure how to go about that as he wasn’t a regular at the Moulin as much as he used to be. 

     “Anthony!” he called, trying to get the man’s attention as soon as he was within hearing range. 

“You are a difficult man to catch! Where have you been, my friend?” 

Turning at the sound of his name, his eyes met the sight of a man he had not seen in quite some time. Though Anthony was not a man to show an incredible amount of emotion at the best of times, he couldn’t help the wide smile on his face when he saw Bhari Sinclair walking towards him.

“Well, well Monsieur Sinclair back in Paris at last. I knew it would only be a matter of time.” He reached out for his hand, shaking it and patting the back of it with the other. “I have been here and there.” He chuckled as he reached around to place a hand on the man’s shoulder. “But you, yourself across the pond, boy. What misadventures did you find yourself in there?”

     It would appear wherever you are. 

Lord, how that hurts him. Anthony’s words cut him so deeply that he fears they’ve reached bone. The forgotten maestro let out a sound that was not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh, and hearing it himself makes him turn his head away. A question without an answer. How many of those had he received from the man over the years?

Arturo’s eyes jump between the faces of strangers, and for a moment he thinks of what their lives are like, what they’ve made of them. A man in a blue suit with a carnation in his pocket brings him to a night sitting on a bench in the garden of some rich stranger’s estate. There are no cigar’s to be found in the train station, yet his nose burns of tobacco, of aftershave from sitting far too close to a friend. 

A friend. Yes. That’s all this ever was. 

                              “What say you to the life of indulgence, Challen? Is it the life for you?”

“Yes,” he says quietly. His voice did not purr as it used to when he reaches such deep tones. “And I came out the other end, worse for wear, as I am sure you’ve heard.” 

Anthony’s gaze had remained on the other’s face though it was not reciprocated. It was all at once familiar and jarring to see him again there at the station. Figures of strangers flitted to and fro and yet there they were in a bubble of their own. Near and yet far. Close enough to touch, and yet not daring to.

“I rarely pay attention to the talk - you know that.” His lips pressed together at his facetious words as he mirrored the man and looked forwards though his focus were not anywhere in particular.

“What brought you back?”