#ayyyyyyyyyy

@ofhope i mean anon

puts my thing in your inbox #mything

YOUR THING !!!!! now my thing #mything

Becoming a fixture in someone's life wasn't something he'd anticipated if he was honest. Being the Scribe of the Garden of Recollection often entailed a fleeting presence, traversing the galaxy at a pace that memokeepers blitzed past, but hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. This familiarity had been brewed of rare understanding, of a Garden tenant that remaining alongside the movers and shakers of history was in their best interest as history was most commonly begun and advanced by people of this ilk. Of planetary orphans, the last of their kind; Nuncio had conjured a mirror portal in Aventurine's apartments that hadn't moved in weeks, a rarity in his line of work.

It was familiarity, something truly dangerous, but a thing he didn't want to escape from just yet.

On an evening where the garish lights and bombastic atmospheres of Penacony were a world away, there was little else on his mind except the book in his hand that was solid and real, a work of science that would bore the average person to tears. A familiar blond made his approach, but it wasn't the sort of pace on part of someone unfamiliar. It was knowing and known, and Al-Haytham greeting him with a familiar tease that elicited a familiar pucker of brow.

This was also familiar, but that time around, its reaction wasn't.

Aventurine boldly straddled his lap and moved his book aside, discarded and forgotten on another cushion with eyes as kaleidoscopic as Al-Haytham's own locking together, a dizzy conflagration of color. The heat betwixt their bodies sizzled, the Scribe's breaths mingling with the Avgin's; the warmth on his lap was intoxicating, begetting his arms coiling loosely.

"What an excellent show of restraint," Al-Haytham simpered as he gave the Stoneheart ample access to his neck, a hooded eye watching him as the blond suckled on his skin and devoured him with a starving mouth. But, it wasn't pressuring. That didn't mean Al-Haytham was oblivious that he couldn't sense the powder keg about to implode.

Capsizing them, he pinned Aventurine to the couch. "This is probably closer to what you wanted, right?" he said, settling between the blond's thighs that opened on reflex. Strands of silver that tapered to white spilled over his shoulders; Aventurine was arrested by his wrists, but Al-Haytham did nothing else.