#alyration

kiss roulette | Accepting! 20. A rough kiss

I do want to know the real you. He had said the words himself. He wanted to know what she was like, not just the lies she wrapped herself up in and who she pretended to be. It's one thing to know that and to promise to try and act on it. It's another to do the scary part and actually act on that.

He makes it a little easier when he's so nice to her. He makes it a lot easier when he rewards her so nicely for taking those steps.

Unfortunately, like any human, she can only ignore her lungs when they scream for air for so long. Yunaka breaks the kiss first, pulling away to catch her breath. She quickly raises a hand to wipe at her mouth before the trail of spit can break and fall on him.

His room is...nice. It's what you'd expect for a divine dragon, even if all the white and lack of walls or windows kind of freaks her out. They at least have the illusion of privacy when the curtains around his bed are pulled closed. The bed is comfy too, but...compared to her current place, perched on top of him while he lies in it, she thinks she knows which spot she likes better.

She lets her hand drop onto his stomach. From there, slowly, it trails upwards, dragging up his chest and neck until she reaches his chin, where she can gently brush her thumbs against his swollen bottom lip. She studies him briefly for a moment, glancing away to his flushed cheeks and eyes before smiling.

"You look cute when you're all messed up." She means it. She presses her thumbs down lightly on his bottom lip until her parts them for her. It's really amazing how he has all the strength in the world, and gives it up so easily...Yunaka's head cocks to the side as she smiles down at him from her throne.

She does her best to be her real self for him. And he rewards her so nicely.

●●○○○ | ATTRACTION ●●●○○ | AFFECTION ●●●●○ | INTEREST ●●○○○ | LOYALTY ●●●○○ | TRUST

Hee hee... Alear? I remember him! It's hard not to, isn't it? There's something about him that feels so familiar... he reminds me of Prince Marth, just a little bit! It's something in his eyes -- oh, and his smile, too! They look a lot alike, don't they? Warm and reliable!

And he is, isn't he? That's the feeling I get! Even if we haven't talked much-- yet! --he really made an impression at the tea party. He's the only one that it felt like everyone agreed was a good choice, and he proved it when we voted after. So I think I voted pretty well, huh? Hee hee! And now that I think about it, Rafal is clear about how much he respects him. That's pretty impressive too, isn't it?

I'd really like to get to know him more! I'm thinking of taking more classes soon... maybe we'll be classmates? I really hope so!

“I am Alear, from the continent of Elyos. And you are...?”

The distinctive hair easily calls forth the memory of their previous meeting, and Andrei gives a courteous nod at the young man whom he'd met at the Ethereal Ball.

And while the continent that Alear names is wholly unfamiliar to him, it is not a surprise — he can hardly claim to have come to know more than a handful of those outside his own homeland, and has asked after the past of even fewer.

"I am Andrei," he replies, "Of Grannvale."

(Would this be similarly meaningless in Alear's mind? A part of him hopes so.)

At least, Alear looks to be more relaxed and light-hearted than he himself feels, and something coiled tight in Andrei's gut seems to loosen slightly at the sight of someone treating this situation as normal. Perhaps Professor Lambert had had the right idea, when he'd advised Andrei to speak to the others and forge a tighter alliance.

I shot at you and not only did you forgive me, you accepted me for who I am! Ah, maybe that's a strange way to start a compliment...

what's a little smooch between homies?

holiday gift ideas for a god:

flowers. maybe just one. he didn't want to look like some kind of a cad and show up with a bouquet of flowers, pink and white and red like a blush in spring. he'd seen more than a handful strewn nearby the altar when he felt brave enough to come and wake the divine one. he doesn't know which were his favorite, or maybe that it was the choice made by the stewards. the texts never spoke of the divine one's favorite flowers, but asking sir vander or the twins felt like admitting that he was still ignorant even as a priest of his faith. maybe clovers? he couldn't get him clovers. and what if he had hay fever? no. no flowers. then, maybe:

music. everybody loved music. he doesn't know a single person who didn't enjoy it, and he certainly knew that there were more than a handful of people on somniel that would've enjoyed it. pandreo may have had to admit that he was lacking in rhythm physically, but he could sing with the best of the birds. better than his sister's miserable crooning at least. ( fond affection, there is always love when he says it. ) though, there lies the rub: he didn't know any song that wasn't one meant for a church choir. singing his praises might've been fine musically, but in actuality? awkward. maybe no singing either.

parties. and he could throw a hell of one, if given the opportunity. though, he'd already thrown a party for the divine one before and invited the best of the best and the whole of his congregation. so, scratch that. no parties either, then.

this felt impossible. how is he supposed to thank someone who didn't need anything? simply saying it doesn't feel right. it feels hollow, like he hadn't the forethought to give a sincere effort when he actually meant it. what was he supposed to say or do? it isn't easy; but, he supposes that it wasn't shouldn't have been. the easy thing would've been to just ignore it altogether and think nothing of it.

that, however, would mean pandreo is ignoring something. pretending that he didn't notice, and he did that an awful lot as a child.

he still pretended to now, at times, only to regret it when he did.

the thought occurs to him that he might've just made a problem out of nothing. that it might not've been the case that the divine one was struggling beneath the weight of things. he was a god, was he not? and gods—still wept for their mothers, still worried about their companions, still knew what burdens were even if pandreo thinks he would never call them that. it could be all in his head. it feels like it isn't. it is difficult, this is difficult, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to try to come up with an answer to the world's worst riddle anyway.

he finds it in a brief moment, without thought or rhyme or reason when his lips press gently into the crown of the divine one's head.

              "What's wrong?" It's a foolish question with an answer Marth already knows. The words of which pass into oblivion, into the charged space between two mouths closed to a dainty sliver, then to nothing at all.

              Sucked into the black hole of another man's fears, he's dragged into a kiss by the cinched belt around his waist. His fingers fist into the tousled hairs at the base of Alear's neck in turn- soothing under most occasions, but hard and comforting in this one. Where the lips lead the rest of the body follows as if tugged by a magnet. A force greater than themselves demanding for the press of their chests and hips together that makes no allowance for space, or for further thought. His brows pinch together in low arches of pleasure. Sometimes, pain.

              Their abandon diffuses over time.

              He swears the name of his god faintly- another divine dragon- into the mouth of the monarch. A cue for passion to cool, for boys to stop their roughhousing, but even more a familiar step to their routine; where one stumbles, the other holds. Kindly waits. Throughout that silence, understanding settles. The mood preceding Marth's long deployments is always the same, a fraught and unspoken tension building in the air- heavy with the weight of the Divine One's anxiety toward abandonment- then sputtering out in release. Today, it had started with Alear hovering by the door. It ended with Marth pressed against it.

He almost didn’t hear anyone speaking. Zelkov methodically ground herbs with a mortar and pestle, mind on the vulneraries he was creating.

However, that familiar cadence, the mysterious *emphasis* just as he accented his own words.

Alear.

Zelkov straightened up, eyes widening with recognition. That was Alear, no mistake. Last they’d spoken, Alear had appeared to be girl and… well, their gender journey wasn’t his business to do anything other than support. He smiled, gaze soft. “It is good to *see* you too Divine One. I am *indeed* seeking more pursuits to fill my *time.*”

Oh, but had Alear only come to the medical wing to say hello?