Crave that Muneral

((I am glad you like Nate, he is a precious child to me. A little drabble ^^))

Blonde hair. Big eyes. They were Ignatius’s weaknesses. Holding the skinwalker after the rope session felt like clutching kryptonite to his chest, even now the blood and ever present tension within the skinwalker calling to him. He stroked Tea’s hair, arms circled around the smaller as he recovered from being bound. Rocking them, the cambion let himself hum. It was a rare occurrence, perhaps as rare as the chuffing Tea had shared with him earlier.

((Sometimes I pick a character, sometimes a character shoves everyone else aside and says I got this. That just happened. Consider this the beginning of a session.))

Aren hung heavy from his silks, legs together, arms bound. The cloth was tight around his hips and chest, those being the primary supports seconded only by his bound calves. His face was red and his hair hung in his face as he dangled helplessly.

Magara Sidero, a cambion he had only met once, stood beneath him. Her gaze clouded and unfocused, she ran her fingertips lightly over the skin he had left exposed. The sensation was doubled by the pressure his silks were putting on his body, a soft keen leaving his lips and bringing forth a devilish grin from hers. “I can just imagine what you look like, darling,” she murmured. Aren gasped, unsure what to expect from the blind woman. A purr sent shivers down his spine. She grasped his chin, startling him. Her fingers were soft yet … firm. “You’re so tense. I would love to get you to,” she ran a finger over his bottom lip, “loosen up.” Her grin widened, revealing sharp incisors. “If you would like me to, just whisper two words.” He had a feeling he knew the words. “Please Mistress.”

They hit him in spite of his expectations. His body went rigid, but then a full shiver wracked him. Something about her felt … inviting … .

Safe … .

And she was patient and didn’t push him. She gave him time to decide, again brushing her fingers over his exposed skin and pulling more keens from him. He was certain if he requested she stop she would. He was right. The second he asked, she pulled away.

And for that reason (as well as the flutes of alcohol he was starting to really feel in this elevated and suspended position), he caught himself whispering, “Please Mistress.”

((The poetry of me being able to fulfill this request when Tea needs some love is getting to me. Please don’t hesitate to send selfish requests cuz 9 times out of 10 they aren’t selfish to me))

“Aren?” The shadow prince sat with his arms folded, back turned toward Tea as he entered his dressing room in Club Kismet. “Are you okay?”

Aren didn’t respond immediately, squishing himself against the arm of the couch as if to put more distance between himself and Tea. “I’m … not. Not very pleased with myself right now.” His jaw tightened. Like he wanted to say more … but didn’t. “If you want to go, please don’t hesitate. I am not good company right now.”

Tea’s eyes left the prince and ventured to the floor. He clasped his hands in front of himself, standing as if waiting for a reprimand of some sort. It didn’t come. He didn’t really expect it to, it was sort of … habit. Habit to respond to tones like this in such a way. Tea hummed. “Do you need to talk about it?”

“In all honesty, I would rather not. It’s … a bit too hard.” Tea understood that. He’d been there more than once. He struggled with his own anxiety on the matter, wanting to do something but unsure. “It isn’t anything you did. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

While that was a relief to hear, Tea was still anxious about what to ask. What to offer. What to do, really. Taking a deep breath, he stowed away his own fretting for a later date. Exuding a calm that felt unnatural at first but then bled into the rest of him. Soon he was free of the anxiety that was a mix of Aren’s and his own, and the appearance of someone soothing was easily adopted. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Aren shook his head, but Tea caught a feeling that he knew wasn’t his. A desire. A desire Tea recognized intimately … too intimately … .

Perhaps he should have been a bit more conscientious of the motion, but instinct took over. Sitting down on the small couch beside Aren, he waited for the other to acknowledge him before he offered his open arms to him. Aren stared at him for a moment, almost bewildered by the gesture. Several beats passed between them.

Before Aren leaned forward and all but fell into Tea’s embrace.

Tea’s arms draped comfortingly over Aren, the prince squeezing Tea’s waist hard enough Tea felt a give in his chest where his binder was tightest. He elected to give it a few moments.

“Red is a very lovely color on you, velichestvennost. It matches your eyes well.” Sasha brushed a finger under Aren’s eye, the fingertip seemingly cooler than his cheeks.

Which were blood red like his eyes.

Mouth clamped shut, Sasha was as charming as ever. Flirtatious. Attentive. He waited for the rebuttal that usually came from Aren, and yet it simply did not.

Aren was frozen, rooted to the ground where he stood as Sasha’s fingers traveled down to his shoulder before ghosting down his bare arm. It was when Sasha attempted to take his hand and bring it to his lips for a soft kiss to the knuckles Aren lost what little composure he had. “SorryIshouldgetbackstagelikefiveminutesago!”

He attempted to pull away, but was stopped by Sasha’s hand tightening on his. Aren turned back to Sasha with wide eyes, that same smile from before plastered on Sasha’s lips. He looked amused. There was even a little bit of color in his cheeks, like he was withholding laughing.

That didn’t sit well with Aren.

“May I see you after the show?”

The noise that left Aren’s throat but was halted by his tightly closed lips was not human. It wasn’t even a shade walker noise. It was just an indescribable noise, perhaps one of a cryptid caught on camera.

He should really stop drinking.

“Maybe!” he shouted uncomfortably before pulling away successfully this time. He fled to the back.

The man was tall. Perhaps even handsome in a rugged way. Aren had met larger and more intimidating in his lifetime, but there was a chill to Sasha’s gaze.

And craze to his smile.

Aren didn’t miss that for the most part Sasha kept a somewhat neutral expression when in the company of those who were supposed to be his subordinates. As soon as they were out of earshot, that playfulness piped up.

That unpredictability.

Sasha leaned on the counter, drink in hand and smile directed at Aren. “You are far too, what is the right word … fetching, to be here on your own.” Sasha’s eyes stayed respectfully on Aren’s face, but those same eyes said the man had glimpsed other parts of him before addressing him. They glittered more now that he was away from his men. He seemed friendlier even.

Aren didn’t share in that trait. “Who says I’m on my own?” He took a sip of his drink, which he held closer to himself now.

That grin widened. “Whoever you are here with must be very lucky. Or perhaps neglectful, as you are in fact sitting alone.”

“I’d rather drink alone.” It kept people he didn’t know at a certain comfortable distance.

“Ah, but drinking with others can lead to some fun experiences.”

“You think you are that experience for me?” Aren glared, but Sasha appeared undeterred. He tilted his head, flashing that white smile and those tricky blue eyes at him. Aren had had enough alcohol not to blush, and just enough to comment, “How … forward.”

“Does forward suit you?”

Aren didn’t miss a beat. “I’d throw my glass at you, but that’d be a waste of good alcohol.”

This did not deter Sasha. In fact, it encouraged him. “Just as witty as you are beautiful. Beautiful … as a rose.”

Aren’s glare intensified as he hissed through his teeth, “I. Hate. Roses.”

Sasha did get the hint then, but only just. He didn’t lose his pace in the slightest. “Perhaps belladonna would suit you more?”

“You going elsewhere would be best actually.”

Sasha was slow to move. He polished off his drink, and left a generous tip. Then he turned one final smile at Aren and declared, “I hope to meet you again. This brief talk was quite engaging.”

‘And you waltzed right up to me.’ Aren glanced up, slowly at first. Blue eyes, white grin, wide wide grin. So, a cocktail of potential unpleasantness. ‘There are plenty other folks you can bother here you know.’

‘Yet I bother you.’ Sasha spoke, head tilting in smug fashion. He seemed to know more than Aren at that very moment and instead of a glare it garnered a brief glance to the side. ‘Yet again you are sitting alone.’

‘Yes, and? Have you found a kite to fly yet?’

‘No, but I found a tail to chase.’

‘Unbelievable.’ Aren exclaimed, downing his drink in one go. He reckoned he didn’t have enough alcohol yet to tolerate this. ‘Are you going to try and woo me with all that stuff about Belladonnas again?’

‘I was perhaps thinking more along the lines of larkspur.’ This time Aren simply stared at him, not flinching in eye contact as he ordered another drink. ‘You are as hurtful as you are beautiful.’

‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’ Aren snapped, impatiently tapping the counter. ‘You were far smoother last time around.’

‘Oh, was I now?’

Aren turned to look at Sasha upon overthinking what he had actually said and was met by quite far the smuggest grin he had seen so far. It was amusing and rather charming in it’s own right when Aren assessed it but at the moment he turned away to hide a fluster he knew was brewing on his face. ‘Don’t feel so good about yourself.’

‘I will feel good about myself if I please to do so.’ He shifted. ‘How can I make you feel good about yourself?’ He grinned as if he was already expecting a witty comeback.

A comeback that seemingly took a while to come to fruition. Maybe it lay somewhere in Aren’s questioning stare behind the eyes. He now first noticed they were in fact a deep red, bordering a wine color.

‘I was going to say it was going to be you leaving but I used that one last time.’ Aren finally replied in absentminded fashion, redirecting his attention back to a new drink. ‘… What’s your name anyway?’

‘Sasha Zharkov.’ He spoke, easy and clear. He seemed far too overjoyed to Aren personally but that perhaps was the least of his questions. He for now had decided the wide grin and cheerful expression denotes nothing other than mischief. He continued. ‘Now would you grace me with your name?’

‘Aren. And before you ask, it’s just that.’ He took a sip from his drink and drew it a bit closer. Yet, for all his wariness his posture did grow more open. ‘What would someone like yourself be doing here, mister Zharkov?’

‘I could ask you the same.’ He replied, leaning in slightly. ‘But if you want to know, my presence here is purely… For fun.’

‘I’m here to forget without being chastised for it.’ Aren bluntly replied, taking a hefty sip of his drink. ‘Does your fun pertain excessive flirting or do you do other things?’

‘I was thinking we’d dance.’

Aren held his hand up in protest but said nothing. He simply frowned. ‘And how do you know I am not a terrible dancer?’

‘You have a dancer’s thighs.’ Sasha replied, his tone remaining humoured as ever. ‘I’d say I’d have a pretty good chance you are one.’

‘You’ve been staring at my fucking thighs of all things?’ Aren didn’t desire to repeat himself but again, it was unbelievable. Sasha was persistent, he had to give him that. He would have given it more credit as it was a trait he admired if the situation was different. ‘You know, I can crush a watermelon between those and by extension, a man’s skull, don’t make me demonstrate it.’

If only for a moment, Aren could notice Sasha glancing down.

‘Do I want to know what you are thinking of?’ Aren asked, closing his eyes with a resigned sigh and punching the bridge of his nose.

‘I can absolutely indulge you.’

On that note he opened his eyes again. Something had changed, there was something more hardened to the glow of it. ‘Fine. I will dance with you.’ Glee, dangerous excitement, Aren could directly spot it. Before his conversation partner had time to speak any further Aren held up his hand and extended it. ‘So?’

Sasha took Aren’s hand in a heartbeat. This was in fact, a mistake on his behalf. Aren was far lighter on his feet, and there was an incredible force the way he swept along Sasha and jerked him into the pattern of the dance he had in mind. And from that, control shifted to another, flow into a dictated pattern and a thoughtful movement to Aren’s feet. Initially the dance had been normal at first, Sasha’s arm mostly hooked around Aren’s waist. Soon however, postures shifted and Aren had quite expertly worked himself out of a straining hold. He danced far better with some controlled distance and no hands he had to hold on to to guide. The dance went from two to one, and Aren turned it into a performance on it’s own. While Sasha’s pace slowed, his picked up and in a flurry he was quick to step forward, and start the teasing he knew he needed. Grinding, lingering touches, lean ins that were far too close yet not close enough, the prospect of something more that would never come.

It was far easier keeping track of two brilliant blue eyes than any other, outside of knowing Aren completely had caught someone’s attention.

When he finally decided to end the dance he borrowed a bright purplescarf off someone’s neck and used it for a few more wide swerving motions that seemed to scatter the light around him as he moved. Round in a perfect circle he swerved and ended up right by Sasha again.

‘And what are you thinking now, mister Zharkov?’

‘That would be simple.’

Aren came to a jumping halt and swung the scarf around Sasha’s neck, first swinging himself backwards, then forwards to shove the other man backwards into a chair. Aren himself balanced with one foot firmly on the ground, one foot on Sasha’s abdomen, and his face positioned on what other’s might have called an uncomfortable and heated distance, far too close yet not close enough.

‘I hope you enjoyed this little performance, mister Zharkov.’

The man was tall. Perhaps even handsome in a rugged way. Aren had met larger and more intimidating in his lifetime, but there was a chill to Sasha’s gaze.

And craze to his smile.

Aren didn’t miss that for the most part Sasha kept a somewhat neutral expression when in the company of those who were supposed to be his subordinates. As soon as they were out of earshot, that playfulness piped up.

That unpredictability.

Sasha leaned on the counter, drink in hand and smile directed at Aren. “You are far too, what is the right word … fetching, to be here on your own.” Sasha’s eyes stayed respectfully on Aren’s face, but those same eyes said the man had glimpsed other parts of him before addressing him. They glittered more now that he was away from his men. He seemed friendlier even.

Aren didn’t share in that trait. “Who says I’m on my own?” He took a sip of his drink, which he held closer to himself now.

That grin widened. “Whoever you are here with must be very lucky. Or perhaps neglectful, as you are in fact sitting alone.”

“I’d rather drink alone.” It kept people he didn’t know at a certain comfortable distance.

“Ah, but drinking with others can lead to some fun experiences.”

“You think you are that experience for me?” Aren glared, but Sasha appeared undeterred. He tilted his head, flashing that white smile and those tricky blue eyes at him. Aren had had enough alcohol not to blush, and just enough to comment, “How … forward.”

“Does forward suit you?”

Aren didn’t miss a beat. “I’d throw my glass at you, but that’d be a waste of good alcohol.”

This did not deter Sasha. In fact, it encouraged him. “Just as witty as you are beautiful. Beautiful … as a rose.”

Aren’s glare intensified as he hissed through his teeth, “I. Hate. Roses.”

Sasha did get the hint then, but only just. He didn’t lose his pace in the slightest. “Perhaps belladonna would suit you more?”

“You going elsewhere would be best actually.”

Sasha was slow to move. He polished off his drink, and left a generous tip. Then he turned one final smile at Aren and declared, “I hope to meet you again. This brief talk was quite engaging.”

((i.e. they both started pouting xD))

Lola groaned. Tea whined.

Abaddon had enough.

“The two of you aren’t getting out of bed until you spit out what’s wrong.” With that, he tucked the quilts in around them and forced them to settle on the large, soft mattress. Surrounded by pillows, they were tucked in deep as he lay at the foot of the bed in cat form watching over them.

The two were still for a moment, collectively chirping and yipping as they refused their entrapment initially. Tea was the first to settle.

And the first to curl in a tight ball.

There was a steady thumping against the sheet, the slightest yet still powerful foot wiggle from Lola. She continued to grunt and toss, only giving up when she rolled into Tea and caused the skinwalker to yelp. The sharp sound made her go still.

Still enough for him to open up some and spoon against her back.

Lola was completely still as Tea buried his face in her hair and held her around the waist. His legs curled against hers, she let out a series of little huffs.

Then a whimper of surrender.

There was quiet as she settled into the hold, allowing Tea’s warmth to smother her. Both still and quiet, Abaddon relaxed.