There's methods to my madness

Hauling his sketchbook out and plopping into a well-worn beanbag chair in the corner, his charcoals (current preferred medium) and sketch pencils within arm's reach. He started sketching with nothing specific in mind, trusting that before long something would spark inspiration— especially once Sable was finally ready to begin recording her podcast.

Sable never failed to inspire him, but like this? Headphones nestled among messy hair; pale legs awkwardly criss-crossed with her knees poking out from under the arms of her computer chair, the look of deep concentration on her face highlighted by the artificial glow of her monitor... She was breathtaking.

Mind you, Danny always thought Sable was attractive, there was simply something about her like this. Dressed down in a tank top and sleep shorts; emotions so free on her face, relaxed and open for him to see every flaw and perfect imperfection. Her vulnerability, her faith and trust in him— how could he ever ask for a more graceful, more beautiful sight?

"Good evening fine listeners."

Sable's voice broke Danny out of his starry-eyed staring, and he ducked his head to return his attention back to his sketchbook. He wouldn't want to psyche her out by so blatantly reminding her of her physical audience, after all.

"Tonight, I'll be talking about the mysterious "Love Letter Murderer". Strap yourselves in folks, this one's not your average serial killer- and if you're triggered by stalking, this is your warning to stop listening now."

For her, Danny had tried to resist. Had kept his gaze firmly on the paper in his hands, refused to be swayed... But Sable's voice (the passion, the melodic lilt, how powerful she made her words) was a siren's song his valiant attempts crumbled beneath.

By the time Sable was describing the murders, voice low and hushed for both dramatic effect and respect for the dead, Danny was ensnared. His hands skimmed listlessly over his sketchbook; his eyes transfixed on the way Sable gestured as she spoke, his ears hearing her voice but not taking in her words. She was beautiful, ethereal even. Something not of this world, brought into his life to tempt him— tempt him into what, he wasn't sure, but he had fallen hard.

Fallen into fantasies, his thoughts consumed by her. Thoughts of date nights and cozy mornings in. Of her pale skin, how easily it would bruise, how beautiful it would look blooming purple in the shape of his handprints. Of her voice, lovely and serene— the sounds of her screams (of pleasure, of pain) beneath him (his hands, his knife).

Danny didn't hear his sketchbook clatter to the ground as he stood, abrupt and urgent like a man entranced. Sable (headphones on and engrossed with her podcast) didn't notice his approach, his presence looming behind her or his hands reaching towards her.

"— One of many unanswered questions about these killings, is 'were they crimes of passion?'— huh?"

Danny's fingers pushed against Sable's jaw, tilting her head back so she could see him standing behind her. Confusion flickered across her face, but before she could finish asking "What's up?" Danny leaned in and rendered her silent by melding his mouth against hers.

Sable gasped, but didn't draw away. For those few heartbeats, this blissful eternity, nothing but this precious first kiss existed in the world.

It couldn't last forever, though, and soon Sable was pulling away from his touch and removing her headphones— the soft, fond look on her face was one Danny would cherish.

"What brought this on?" She asked, voice as gentle as her expression.

Danny shrugged and settled his hands on her shoulders, thumbs idly rubbing circles into them. "You're just..." he waffled for words before settling on kissing her forehead. "So damn beautiful."

Sable’s hands rose and settled over his, giving them an affectionate squeeze. “Am I now?” The bemused tone of her voice made Danny kiss her cheek, something very much like love unfurling in his chest.

“You’re spectacular.” Another kiss to her cheek, causing her to laugh oh-so-sweetly. “Breathtaking, inspirational,” his kisses swept over her face and pressed against her jaw, “simply amazing.”

“My my~” Sable laughed and titled her head to give him more room at her throat. “Should I talk about murderers more—” she cut herself off with a strangled sound, flailing slightly as she pulled away from Danny “—I’m still recording!”

Danny laughed and leaned over her shoulder, watching as she fussed with her recording and adjusted her equipment. Like this, flustered and huffy and real, she was less a fantasy and more… A tether to reality. This was what he wanted. Laughter, tender touches, the trust in her eyes when she gazed up at him with his hands so close to her neck.

“—I think if I just re-record from here, it should be fine—”

Content, he rested his head against Sable’s, soaking in her presence, allowing the warmth in his chest to take root. Maybe it wasn’t a fairy tale first kiss, but he was no Prince, and Sable was a witch not a Princess. He may have been charmed, swayed by dark temptation, but just as she had unwittingly bewitched him she had brought him to the light again.

Like this, Danny affectionately by Sable’s side, their perfect evening faded into a domestic night in. When the yawns seemed to never stop, when eyes were more closed than open, the couple retreated to bed. Sleep came for them quickly, but while Sable’s was restful and calm, Danny’s was plagued by murky dreams.

Dreams of a sketchbook filled with haunting and grotesque images, each page a different depiction of him intimately and violently murdering his muse, his beloved. A voice, timeless and ancient, spoke to him in these dreams, commanding him to follow, guiding him to a fog so dark it was a misty abyss.

The silence engulfing you was deafening.

Nothing but the shuffle of your footsteps across the dirty stone floor, the quiet crackle of your torch, the steadying thump of your heartbeat in your chest. Perhaps you should have been concerned than you were, not even hearing faint sounds of the others in the distance, but you were only searching an abandoned cave for old ruins—your companions were seasoned adventurers, more than capable of handling a little trouble, what could happen?

Ha.

You had tried brushing it off, but the thought began taking root and before long a headache was forming. 'What could happen?' The same thing that always happened; someone got hurt, battles were fought, another layer of exhaustion was added to your already weary shoulders, and the group trudged ever onward. Nothing changed, nothing ever did, but deep down... You had to wonder, guilty and shameful, what if did?

Lost in the hell of being alone with your thoughts for far, far too long, time slipped away from you. What could have been moments, or even hours, of the same rocky walls and dusty path. Of contemplating the merits of turning back, of rejoining your companions so you no longer had to suffer the company of your own demons. What could happen? You would find out—not with a shout or crash, or even further silence. With a faint 'click', and the bone-deep resignation that you just fucked up.

You immediately removed your foot from the pressure plate you'd stepped on, but the damage had already been done. Blessedly, it was a single dart that shot forth to strike you. Simple and quick to remove from your skin, but maddening in that you were now on edge for not only other traps but also whatever effects it would cause—you had lived this life for too long to be naive enough to believe that the dart was ​​​​​​​not coated in something.

You had barely taken a handful of steps before the very thing you had feared began manifesting. By the time you had found a cave to weakly stumble into you felt feverish and ​​​​​​​aching​​​​​​​ in a way that you knew were not symptoms of most poisons. You were struggling to pinpoint ​​​​​​​what​​​​​​​ you had been struck with, however. Your thoughts were hazy, reduced to smoke, your limbs weak and your breathing laboured. You had already collapsed to your knees, if only—

"What's this?" A deep, powerful voice rumbled through the cave.

You could barely lift your head to look for the source, and when you did your chest constricted at the blurry sight of a red dragon prowling closer. You knew it wasn't ​​​​​​​him, but for a stuttering heartbeat... You had hoped.

"It seems a ​​​​​​​mouse​​​​​​​ has scurried into my lair."

"I did not mean to trespass." Try as you might to steady yourself, your voice wavered as you forced yourself to stand on shaky limbs, unwilling to kneel before the beast now proudly looming over you.

"Oh, but you ​​​​​​​did​​​​​​​." The end of the dragon's scaly tail nudged under your chin to tilt your head further so your gazes could lock. "Trespass, that is." A moment later the tail was gone, winding around your middle to support your weight as your legs gave out. "I doubt it was intentional, given your... Current state."

Your vision spun as you were dragged closer, your words catching in your throat as the tip of a claw came to rest on your cheek. "Poor little mouse~" the dragon crooned, tracing the claw down your cheek, sharp and threatening. "Falling victim to such a ​​​​​​​simple​​​​​​​ trap."

You wanted to defend yourself, to be offended, demand to be released... But again you were silenced, this time by the dragon carelessly ripping through your shirt, claws scratching across your skin and blooming aching lines of bliss over your chest. Instead of indignation, it was a breathless moan that left you. You trembled, not in fear, but from ​​​​​​​want​​​​​​​, the cloud over your thoughts demanding you beg for more.

"Don't worry, mouse." The mocking amusement in the dragon's voice was gone, replaced with greedy hunger. You found yourself moving as between claws and tail the dragon rearranged you, your back now against its rumbling chest. " ​​​​​​​I​​​​​​​ know what you need."

What you ​​​​​​​needed was to get away. Flee from the danger cradling you close to its breast. You needed to ​​​​​​​think, to gather yourself and take control of the situation—lines of blissful agony etched across your skin as too-sharp claws tore you free from your clothing, every brush of its paw against you soothing the fire inside as the fog consumed you—needed to... Needed...

"That's a good mouse."

The praise had your legs spreading open just as much as the dragon's touch did. You had already felt feverish, but here, sprawled over the dragon as you were, pressed against those warm scales, you were burning. Thoughts of 'no', or why you shouldn't were fading with each heavy breath you panted—only a desperate desire for ​​​​​​​more remained, skin-to-scale contact not nearly enough as the moments dragged on.

"Don't worry, I'm going to take care of you." A tongue, wet and warm, laved over your cheek, and your needy mewl was matched with the dragon's own eager groan. "Such an ​​​​​​​easy broodmare I've found, maybe I'll just have to keep you." your thighs were pulled on, shifting you further down the dragon's body until something blunt rubbed against your folds. "Would you like that, bitch?"

You could only give a choked moan as the tapered tip of the dragon's cock began pressing inside, slow but steadfast.

"Look how wet you are—" gods you were soaked "—you didn't have to drug yourself just to have me stuff you full." The dragon rumbled with laughter, and you were far too gone to be bothered by how mocking it was. "I would have rutted you even if you had put up a fight~"

It would have tried. Drugged and weak as you were, you still knew you ​​​​​​​would have fought (right?). You would not have submitted so easily (surely not), let alone to a dragon that wasn't him. You would have fought Arvos too, because that's how your relationship was, that's what you did, but would you have let Arvos ​​​​​​​have you? Keep you? You didn't know, but with scales beneath skin and a ridged cock entering you, it was all too easy for your clouded mind to imagine it was— "A-Arvos—"

Pain pierced your shoulder moments before you near screamed, body aching and convulsing around the large cock suddenly roughly sheathed inside of you. The dragon growled lowly as it removed its fangs from your shoulder, upper legs crossing over your body to dig its claws into your sides and trap you against its chest. "It isn't ​​​​​​​polite, mouse, to say another's name while you're being bred."

"S-Sorry..." You could barely whimper the word out, and it slipped free without conscious thought. You were trapped; held down by strong limbs, pinned in place by a thick cock, weak and mindless—what else ​​​​​​​could you do, but apologize? Your hips shifted, trying to ease the stinging discomfort you felt, and another tiny noise escaped you as all you did was squeeze around the dragon's length. You didn't mean to say Arvos' name, and you shouldn't have to apologize, not when you didn't want this to begin with (... you didn't)— but you also didn't want to stop being fucked, the thought of being empty ​​​​​​​now making you clench tight around your penetrator, as if that alone could keep it inside.

"You will be." A panicked sound left you as the cock began pulling out, only for you to gasp as it harshly thrust in. "I was going to give you time," again it pulled free just to shove back in, "but now? Now I'm going to fuck you the way you ​​​​​​​deserve."

You were ​​​​​​​ravaged.

Every thrust was a punishment, reminding you who was claiming you, whose cock you were writhing on. The dragon's voice never left your ear; reminding you of what a slut you were, demanding you cry out ​​​​​​​its name, telling you to beg for it to breed you. You begged, pleaded—were ​​​​​​​desperate for it. "As you demand." the dragon had mocked, before giving you what you wanted.

The feeling of its knot swelling inside of you (stuffing you so full you'd never feel complete again without it), the throb of its cock filling you with cum, its murmurs of what a good bitch you were for it... You had tried to pretend, in the beginning, that you didn't want this. That this wasn't your deepest most private fantasy. But screaming on this dragon's cock as yet another orgasm wracked your body, as the clouds over your thoughts faded leaving you face to face with the truth of your own feelings—you didn't want it to be over. Not yet. It felt too ​​​​​​​right for it to end like this.

"Don't get your hopes up, mouse." The dragon began moving, every minute shift of its cock inside of you making you moan. "I'm far from finished with you."

In the end, you didn't know how many times you were knotted. How many loads of cum you were dripping with, how many orgasms had been wrung from you. The fucking didn't stop until you were both physically unable to continue, weak and trembling after the dragon had mounted you one last time and fucked you until you collapsed upon the floor, leaving you sobbing from pleasured overstimulation. Exhausted was not just a word, it was your very state of being; your body ​​​​​​​ached and you could not move, but you could not find it in yourself to regret anything.

"Rest well, little mouse." You slowly opened your eyes, unaware that you had even started drifting off, as the dragon nudged its snout against your neck. "I have not decided if I will keep you forever, but I do know that I am not ​​​​​​​done with you."

The heated promise in those words made you shiver. “As if you ​​​​​​​could keep me.” You murmured, rubbing your cheek against the top of the beast's head with lazy affection—too close to the edge of sleep's abyss to care you were being so soft and gentle with your defiler.

“As if you would leave.” The dragon huffed, then curled further around you, warmth and comfort encompassing you and finally tipping you over the edge. “Maybe I should keep you, if only to prevent your precious Arvos from having you.”

“As if….” try as you may, unconsciousness was enveloping you and your speech became slurred and slow “... he would let you…”

"L-Lav!" As surprised as he sounded, he wasn't making any moves to push her away or tell her no, so she didn't falter in her impatient attempts at freeing him.

"Of course I'm distracted—" she took a few moments to prove herself right, wicked teeth biting down on his hip as she made a happy noise in her throat at the thought of the mark it would leave, at the moan it pulled from him "—all I could think about was how much I wanted your dick in me."

Finally he was revealed to her, and a satisfied sigh left her as she ran her hands along his thighs. "Please, Ouri?" Through the mess of her bangs she stared up at him with wide, hungry eyes, fingers impatiently scritching against his skin. "Let me taste you?"

"You'll be the death of me I swear—" she took pride in how ragged his voice already was, in the way his hand minutely trembled as it so gently brushed her hair from her face (a touch so tender deserved appreciation, and she did just that by lovingly nuzzling her cheek into his palm). "I'm yours, Lav. I always have been."

The admission, sincere and weighted, made her wings quiver as shivers danced along her spine.

"As if I'm not also yours." She shot back, fingers slowly curling around his growing erection (the hitch in his heavy breathing bringing such a proud smirk to her face). "As if I don't already know you won't let us walk away from this without both of us being satisfied."

Basil perked at that, and without thought to the blade at his throat tried jerking out of the bandit’s hold. “D-Don’t touch that!”

Of course, he didn’t want to be robbed, but there was only a handful of items he truly, truly didn’t want to lose. The spider silk blanket held in (literally) filthy hands, was one such item. A dear gift, a most precious token of love. The mere sight of it being mishandled by some stranger, someone who didn’t know its true sentimental worth–Basil had to fight back a whine as his eyes threatened to tear up.

“Feels fancy, dunnit?” His plea was ignored, and the blanket traded hands, the new defiler even rubbing the material against his face as he ‘ooh’d’ and ‘aww’d’ over it. “Must be worth sumfin at least.”

Basil didn’t get the chance to snap at them how wrong they were.

Behind them, from the darkness, branches cracked and crashed to the ground. Leaves rustled as something swiftly moved through the night. While the bandits reached for their weapons, Basil let out a quiet sigh of relief and relaxed against his captor–he was not in danger, this he knew down to his very marrow.

“They touch that which does not belong to them.”

They do, and Basil had never been more grateful to see that familiar too-many-limbed shape emerging from the shadows. He had tried getting these bandits out of there quickly, whatever happened next they brought upon themselves. If they were smart, they would stop touching that which didn’t belong to them, but alas it would seem they were all rather frozen in fear at the moment.

They’d realize quickly.

…Hopefully.

“I-I t’ink t’ere’s been a uh, a misunderstandin’.”

The blade against his neck was quickly removed, only to be replaced with a ‘friendly’ arm around his shoulders. Similarly, the blanket was poorly hidden behind the other man’s back, while the rest of the raiding thieves attempted to shove things back into their respective bags. “We er, we was invited fer dinner, y’see–”

Kale hissed, a deep clicking noise of horrors, and all movement at the camp froze. He crept ever closer, towering over the campsite and glaring down at the intruders found within. “They touch what is mine.” His eyes locked onto Basil, and while the elf gave him an affectionate smile the arm around him immediately removed itself from his shoulders. “They should thank Mine, that they will not be dinner.”

“I haven’t ruled it out yet, honestly.”

Many pairs of eyes swivelled to stare at Basil with identical expressions of horror, to which he merely shrugged his shoulders and glared back at them. “Don’t look at me like that, you–” he whirled around to accusingly point a finger at the knife wielder “–held a knife to my throat! And you–” it was time for him to point in the general direction of the others “–were robbing me!”

The bandits only had a few moments to look sheepish and chastised before they were back to being scared, Kale’s many limbs now stepping through the throng to cross the campsite and arrive in front of Basil. Absently Basil heard the bandit beside him flee, but he was more focused on reaching out to his partner and gleefully nestling in against him once he was pulled into Kale’s arms.

“I’m fine.” He murmured against Kale’s neck, nuzzling him reassuringly as he did so.

“They are grateful you are.” One of Kale’s hands pet through Basil’s hair and the elf melted with contentment. With his eyes closed, he missed the menacing glare that Kale was giving the bandits, who themselves were discreetly tiptoeing towards the edges of the campsite. “They must leave… Now.”

Not wanting to risk becoming dinner for the demonic spider, the assailants were quick to flee, though it wasn’t for a while yet that Kale finally set Basil back down to the ground. Even then, Basil made sure to touch their foreheads together, a gentle reassurance that yes, he really was fine.

“Mine will not be left alone again.” Kale groused, while Basil set about tidying the campsite–taking great care to dust off his beloved blanket before packing it away. “Mine is like honey, attracting trouble flies.”

“I appreciate bein’ called sweet,” evident by the faint blush on his face, “but everyone runs into trouble when they travel, not just me.”

“Mm.” As soon as Basil was done, Kale settled in with his arms once again around him, content to have his elf safe within his embrace. “If Mine says so. I will stay close, protect Mine.”

Basil affectionately rubbed along one of Kale’s arms, hoping to soothe his worries. “I’d never say no to having you travel with me.”

Kale kissed the top of Basil’s head and held him closer, making a soft noise of contentment. “Then Mine will always have me.”

They met on a train.

He had noticed her first. Animated and lively as she chatted to the person beside her, quiet and expressive with her tongue sticking out while she typed away at her phone. She was bubbly and bright, he was quiet and dull. He’d never felt confident enough to approach her even to say ‘hi’, so he admired her from afar and simply hoped she was happy.

Until she stopped smiling.

Not just smiling, but talking to others and animatedly typing on her phone. She became lifeless, her light darkened.

He didn’t have the confidence before to approach her, but now he found that he had the compassion.

“H-Hey.” He cleared his throat and nervously tightened his grip on the strap of his bag. “Is um, th-that seat taken?”

Even though they were dull, her eyes still made his heart skip a beat when they met his. “No.” Halfheartedly she moved her bag closer to herself and gestured to the empty seat. “Fill your boots.”

Hoping he didn’t appear too eager, he sat with his bag settled on his lap, drumming his fingers against it as he looked everywhere but her as he worked up his courage. He’d come this far, part of him wanted to say that it was enough progress for today, but another part of him said that he’d waited too long as it was.

“S-So.” He cleared his throat again and glanced in her direction before nervously staring straight ahead. From the corner of his eye he saw her tilt her head in this direction, and by gods had his face ever felt this warm before? “I um. My name is Dean, and I’ve um, seen you around before.”

“... Venus.” Was he imagining things or did she sound amused? “I’ve seen you around before too.”

“Y-You have?” He didn’t know what to think of that, aside from maybe wanting to flee now that he knew he’d been noticed. “That. That’s cool.” He coughed, then breathed in deeply to steady himself. ‘Come on Dean, you can do this! Just let her know that someone cares!’ “I uh, I’ve noticed that, you’ve seemed k-kind of…”

He trailed off, fingers drumming faster against his bag as if that could settle his nerves. Was this out of line? He just wanted to express concern, but maybe she wouldn’t want that? He’d already started though, would it be weirder if he just stopped now?

“I’ve seemed…?” He glanced over to her and gulped; she had her chin resting in one hand while with the other she gestured for him to ‘go on’. He couldn’t tell what kind of expression she had on her face, but he felt like she was either bored or unimpressed.

“K-Kind of… Sad?” He whispered the last word, and was glad he was still looking at her because otherwise he would have missed the way her eyes widened and the wry smile on her lips, as if to say ‘That obvious huh?’. “A-And I just um, w-wanted to say that…” Here he lost his nerve again and he glanced down at his lap, shoulders scrunching as he huddled in on himself. “I know we d-don’t know each other, b-but… If you w-want anyone to talk to, I wanted to o-offer.”

To his surprise, a hand settled over his and gently wrapped their fingers around his. He jumped and shot his gaze to hers, heart tripping over itself at the small smile on her face, the gentleness of her gaze. “You know…” Her voice was soft, and her hand felt so warm against his. “I think I’d like that.”

Something amazing happened then.

She laughed.

Just a small laugh, but it was a laugh and he felt like he was floating through the clouds with how happy it made him feel.

“I’ve been waiting forever for you to talk to me, by the way~” Wait, what? “I know I don’t look like much right now-” and how wrong she was, because she never stopped being beautiful, “-but I could go for a coffee right now, and I’d love if you came with me.”

    Soren was accustomed to being stared at.

    He had, after all, been dealing with this his entire life. The burning hate-filled stares of beorc and the empty unseeing frosty stares of laguz, both had been part of his life from a tender young age that he had never forgotten. Never truly escaped either; those judgemental eyes forever following him as he grew, though over the years a handful of kind (or a least tolerant) gazes joined in they would never erase the darker ones from his memory. 

    That was never more true than when he grew more into an adult. When his figure grew more slender than outright stick thin and awkward; when his hair was longer (much better kept, thick and so soft looking) and his face slimmer- he learned quickly how it felt to be stared at with desire (lust, not desire; they were different, desire meant they wanted him whereas lust was purely his body- not that they’d want it once they learned of his cursed blood), and just as quickly he learned to ignore it. 

    In the beginning, he lashed out. Confronted and threw insults (even a spell on one occasion), though it was not long before he simply grew tired of dealing with it and simply ignored instead. Ignoring had worked for the laguz against himself, why then could he not use it as a weapon of his own? For the most part it worked, there were times when he was approached regardless of his lack of reaction to their gazes, but overall he was left alone- which pleased him, though he did feel slight empathy for the females he presumed they would attempt to ‘woo’ (ha) in place of himself.

    Ike’s presence likely played a factor in this as well, to be honest.

    He was not called the man’s shadow for nothing, where one was the other was frequently right beside if not shortly behind. Soren grew accustomed to stares over that as well. Reverent gazes directed towards Ike; awe, admiration, want, envy, a fair share of lust as well, and then confused, jealous and even near murderous stares towards him joined his already vast array of how people viewed him. He had long since learned to accept the feel of other’s eyes on himself in such ways, his deeply rooted feelings for Ike made it more difficult to accept the same for those gazes falling on Ike.

    It took time, but eventually even Ike began to take notice of the stares- both directed towards himself and to Soren. He did not have the same hardened skin in this circumstance as Soren did, meaning that they tended to bother Ike much more than they did his boyfriend- it was flattering, and it made Soren’s heart swell with furthered affection whenever Ike would step in to defend his honour or otherwise chastise someone for their staring, but he wished that Ike would adjust quickly just as he had. He hated Ike being upset, especially if it was caused by something regarding Soren himself.

    It only became worse after the wars were over and all of Tellius worked on rebuilding what was broken (before they left hand in hand to live their lives free of the burdens of reputation and the fear of more war one day); Ike was, of course, the more famous of the two but (to his surprise) Soren’s name was not as obscure through the lands as he had assumed- the strategist, a powerful wind mage, always by the Hero’s side, though the stares had begun shifting with the whispers of himself into more positive than the previous negative, the negatives still lingered and Soren still ignored.

    Again, Ike on the other hand, was not quite one to simply ignore- no he tended to deal with the things that bothered him, and when he finally acted it… Truthfully it took Soren by surprise. After all, he had never really envisioned Ike to be possessive (protective, yes), though he wasn’t about to complain. At all. Or, at least not much- there was no denying the pleasure he felt at being the one Ike gave his affections to, the one that Ike cared about in this way, the one whose body his hands touched in such a way. Ike was his, and by the Goddess was he ever Ike’s.

    “I-Ike.” If he had any thoughts to spare, Soren might have been concerned that his nails (always kept neat and not overly long but sharp) were digging too harshly into the skin of Ike’s upper arms where it felt as though he were holding himself upright by that grip alone. Soren, however, did not have any thoughts to spare, so he would simply have to kiss the scratches with murmured apologies later. 

    Much later; after he was no longer caged in Ike’s arms (those strong broad hands gripping wonderfully firm onto his hips), once he could finally breathe again (as he was damn near panting for air currently), once he was no longer dizzy with the arousal throbbing through his entire body, brought on by the very deliberate and surprising actions of his boyfriend. Soren’s face was burning, no doubt a deep crimson from his blushing, his knees were weak and if he outright slipped from Ike’s arms due to them giving out he wouldn’t be surprised.

    He wasn’t going to ask Ike to stop, though.

    Ike did that all on his own, actually. 

    Pausing in his (rather thorough) task of sucking marks along Soren’s throat (very thorough; every press of his lips against skin, every scrap of teeth against his pulse, every gentle kiss after a sufficient mark had been made only made Soren all the more desperate to be pinned beneath Ike’s weight as just as thoroughly ravished) so he could chastely (such a stark difference to the determined near hungry actions of just moments prior) press his lips against Soren’s jaw. “Are you asking me to stop?”

    Dear Goddess- the way lust roughened Ike’s voice never failed to make Soren’s heart stutter, the cocky knowing tone he had asked in yet Soren himself knowing that Ike would stop if asked made the mage’s breath hitch in his throat. With great effort he uncurled his fingers from Ike’s biceps so he could instead tangle them with wild navy locks of hair (noting very briefly that yes he had left scratch marks on Ike’s arms that he would need to tend to after) before using that firm grip in an attempt to pull Ike even closer against himself. 

    “D-Don’t you dare stop.” His demand was raspy and laced with a plea but a demand nonetheless, resulting in Soren releasing a soft moan as Ike shifted their positions just slightly- Soren was never disappointed by his partner’s strength, and he loved the ease in which Ike could grasp his thighs and just pull them up to around his waist (this resulting in an even more needy moan that would have embarrassed Soren were he aware of himself to realize he even made such a lewd desperate sound). 

    If he thought he was dizzy before it was nothing compared to now; with how he could feel Ike’s own arousal pressing against him, how all-enveloping yet comforting it was to be pinned against the wall in this manner (only because it was Ike, the one Soren trusted with the entirety of his very being), how his skin tingled with the anticipation of what was to come. He was wound rather tightly, and he has a suspicion that he was going to be exhausted by the end of this. Happily exhausted.

    “I-I am c-curious, however,” the need to fill the air with words is sparked by his need to get himself at least slightly under control (already so needy and desperate, he almost does want to stop just for a moment so he can clear his mind even slightly), “What brought this on? You’re ah,” his eyes flutter shut as Ike nips in just the right spot to make him whimper, “N-Not usually one for leaving so many marks.”

    For a second time, Ike pauses. 

    Soren isn’t concerned, though. He knows Ike well, better than anyone, and he can only assume that Ike needs a moment or two to collect his thoughts. The man was never the best with words, Soren knows and accepts this, and he will give him all the time in the world to compose himself and attempt to think on how best to explain his actions. As he waited he would brush his fingers through Ike’s hair and let himself be calmed by this brief lull in their passion; breathing still heavy but no longer coming out in pants, body still crying out for attention but no longer as desperate.

    “I don’t like the way they look at you.”

    Finally Ike speaks, words followed by him lifting his attentions from Soren’s neck to press a loving kiss against the brand on Soren’s forehead. “I’ve been noticing them more and more; the ones who look at you as if you’re something to be conquered, as if you can be owned and tamed and theirs. I hate it.”  His hands had since returned to Soren’s hips and now they squeeze, thumbs briefly rubbing against his hip bones in a possessive yet comforting way. Please never stop touching him.

    “I know you ignore them, you don’t let them bother you but-” a sigh, then another kiss at his brand as Ike’s hands slide up and down along his sides in a soothing motion that has goosebumps flaring over Soren’s sweat-damp skin. “I can’t stand it. Especially the ones who saunter over all cocky like and expect you to fall at their feet as if you owe them everything just for giving you attention.” 

    “They don’t know you; they don’t respect you and I just-” this time a huff, Soren can tell Ike is flustered by this and it warms his heart how much Ike cares. “I thought, maybe if there was something to make them not want you, they’d leave you alone. Maybe something they’d notice at first glance, besides the fact you almost always sit so close to me you might as well just sit in my lap.” A kiss his pressed to his cheek and Soren adores the feel of Ike’s grin against his skin. 

    “So I decided to leave my mark on you; maybe seeing them might keep people from trying to bother you, might make them realize that you don’t want to give them any of your time and keep them from approaching you.” By the time he is done speaking Ike has their foreheads pressed together and his hands are cupping Soren’s cheeks in his palms. The protective gleam in his eye has Soren’s heart doing flips while melting at the same time, he’s incredibly touched that Ike is so protective of him and he adores that he values his boundaries so much. He wouldn’t have minded if Ike had made the marks just to show the world that Soren was his, but this? 

    This was admittedly a much sweeter and cherished reasoning

    “They’ll know that I’m not interested when I tell them they’re not worth my time.” His fingers had paused in their stroking of Ike’s hair, though now they continue after giving a gentle little tug. “But I appreciate your sentiment, Ike love.” A soft smile tilts his lips, turning his head slightly enables him to gently kiss Ike’s palm before nuzzling his cheek against it. “Always my protector aren’t you? I can’t say I mind, I’ll wear any marks from you with pride, after all.” Ike may not be quite as possessive as Soren was, but the mage didn’t mind; he meant what he said, anything to show that he was Ike’s and in return the Hero of Tellius was his.

    “I know you would.” A kiss is pressed to his cheek before Ike begins dotting them along his jaw, then moving back down to his throat (his hands having drifted down to once more grasp Soren’s hips). “But I don’t want to do anything you wouldn’t like, and I know you’d be willing to suffer discomfort just to make me happy or keep from bothering me.” 

    “I’m glad you were so enthusiastic about it all.” The lips at his neck curl into a smirk before Ike nips. ”I was rather enjoying myself as well. So what do you say,” a slow and rough grinding of their hips together makes Soren give a soft startled gasp of pleasure; all at once the heat and need from before setting his body aflame once more, “We move this to our bed, and I finally stop teasing you hmm?”

    “I say,” Soren’s fingers curl more tightly around Ike’s hair before pulling (the soft hiss his actions caused making Soren smirk slightly, knowing that it was going to wind Ike even further), “There’s a perfectly good wall right here, and I demand to be ravished oh Hero of mine~” The tightening of Ike’s hands at his hips and the low near growl of arousal that came from the man told Soren that he was going to get exactly as he desired, and as Ike drew him into a rough needy kiss, Soren found himself in the depths of his mind noting that he would care even less about the stares now… 

"I know how much she upsets you." Lillian's voice drifted out from the walk-in closet, sweeter than the lingering scent of her perfume in the air. "You're trying your best, and she just doesn't understand, does she?"

"That's okay though—" one of her stocking-clad legs peeked out from the closet door, followed by the rest of her slender body as she spoke "—because I understand, Daddy."

She stepped into the doorframe and posed, accentuating her curves and showing off the black dress clinging to her body.

A dress that belonged to his own stepdaughter.

"You do so much for her," Lillian pushed herself away from the frame and swayed over to him, hands reaching out to tenderly take hold of his tie, "and she just doesn't appreciate you."

Gloss-covered lips pressed a sticky kiss to the fabric as she peered up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

She even wore the same style of eyeshadow.

Dramatically shrugging out of his jacket was something Shane took great pleasure in, being the dramatic bastard he was.

Michael, being the nerdy gremlin he is, took great delight in asking "So are you like a Jedi or a Sith-Lord?"

"I'm whatever's about to kick your ass."

Instantly the friendly light in Michael's eyes was replaced with the gleam of a predator, his grin growing fangs as he squared his shoulders. "That so?"

Shane rolled his neck to the effect of several satisfying pops while he cracked his knuckles. "What do you think, Mogar, first one stripped bottoms?"

That got Michael to snort, even as he moved into a battle-ready position. "You almost never bottom, Jester."

"Yeah," Shane copied Michael's position and shot him a wink, "I also don't plan on losing."

---

That was the plan, and to be fair Shane wasn't naked.

He was, however, on his back. Arms pinned beside his head, Michael snug between his legs, both of their erections ignored in favour of the fervent kisses they were trading.

"What was that—" Michael paused to bite at Shane's lip, his words panted out against them afterwards "—about 'I don't plan on losing'?"

Breathlessly Shane laughed and half-heartedly tried to fight out of Michael's grasp, moaning at the warning growl Michael gave him. "I mean, I haven't lost yet."

He rolled his hips, being sure to grind against Michael as teasingly as he could, and yelped when teeth dug into his neck. "I'm pretty sure I'm the one winning right now."

"Is that so?" Michael's teeth dug in harder and Shane whined as his body went limp. "You know what? I'm altering the deal- I'll let you fuck me, but baby you sure as shit won't be on top."

Shane's dick twitched and he found himself nodding, only to wince when Michael growled and bit down again.

"I didn't fucking say you could move." Shane's arms were released in favour of Michael going for the button of his pants, Shane kept them right where they were. He knew not to argue with that tone. "You're my prey, I caught you, and now I'm gonna take as much fucking time as I want with you."