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trying to corral the muses back into working order, so of COURSE this is where I go first. š¤£
~
Heās accustomed to being in danger. Really, itās par for the course; detective work seems to involve about one quarter research and fact checking, one quarter chasing down leads that go nowhere, and the rest is running for their afterlives. And Charles, as the self-proclaimed brawn, will always be the one to put himself on the front line.
He wasnāt expecting it this time, heāll admit. Largely because heās not on a case, heās not dealing with a hostile apparition, and heās feeling less afraid than he isā¦
Okay. Well. Heās just a bit turned on.
Because the Cat King has a slender, elegant blade to his throat, just barely touching; enough iron in it to make the ghostās skin feel it, though it doesnāt burn like pure iron does. Itās not the knife that has the detective off guard, though. Itās the almost feral look in the shapeshifterās eyes, a dangerous sort of smirk curving his lips, flashing the barest hint of gleaming fangs.
āWouldāve thought youād use your claws if you wanted to threaten somebody,ā Charles manages to get out, though he stays stock-still, chin tilted up under the pressure of that deceptively delicate blade.
āWho says Iām threatening?ā The voice is a dark purr, the knife sweeping slowly down, pricking at the hollow of Charlesā throat, slicing through the half-corporeal fabric of his shirt, a hint of smoke curling off the blade.
Charles swallows hard. Heās seen the Cat King pissed before, certainly. And heās seen him when heās playing, toying with any one of his lovers for the sheer thrill of it. This is something between the two, and thereās something that lurks beneath that cold facade.
Oh, fuck.
āā shit. Sorry. Case went long, we should haveāā
His voice trails off as that blade drags along his chest, the briefest touch that sears like lightning along his nerves. Thomas knows just what will ignite Charlesā ability to feel, and what goes beyond that to true pain. Heās still firmly on the former side of the line, but his temper is obvious nonetheless.
āYes, you should have.ā The words are cold, but he sees the slightest softening in golden eyes. āLuckily, you can make it up to me.ā
Idk if you're still taking prompts but if you are I'd love to see some primal play with the cat king and Charles. I need to catch up on your tarot fic btw I adore it but I'm like three chapters behind lol
Iām so sorry this one took so long, itās definitely been simmering in my head a while and just needed a spark! Also hope youāve caught up, and hope you enjoyed. š
Cat King/Charles primal play. NSFW.
~
Charles is a city boy; heās not much at home in woods and forests, but he still moves through them easily, trusting his ghostly nature and his instincts to guide him. Itās rare he even has reason to be out somewhere like this. Especially without Edwin. Especially when theyāre not on a case.
Tonight, heās here because of an invitation he couldnāt resist.
He and the Cat King have sorted out most of their issues, the serious ones at any rate, though they still tend to disagree on things and needle each other seemingly just for the fun of it. It keeps an interesting heat between them, and theyāve found a number of⦠entertaining ways to play with that. Thomas is always one to nudge his lovers into new experiences, and despite his initial hesitation, Charles has found that going along with it ends up really well for him most of the time.
So yeah. Heās here because of Thomas, really; because the other suggested he needed to blow off steam in a way that he isnāt quite willing to with Edwin or Monty. Heās still careful with both of them, after a fashion. Charles, though⦠Charles has always been a fighter. And he can take whatever the Cat King can dish out.
Thatās the assumption, anyway.
All right, itās still a bit odd, being out in the woods knowing heās being tracked by something animal and supernatural. Usually the things hunting him arenāt so clear in their intentions. It gives him a bit of a leg up, or so he thinks.
He always tends to forget that the Cat King doesnāt play fair.
Thereās not the usual burst of violet fire or the subtle chorus of catās meows. A sleek, dark figure rushes from the shadows, and Charles has to admit heās caught totally off guard. If someone had been trying to hurt him, heād have been utterly screwed.
As it is, the glancing scrape of catās claws against his back is so light itās nearly ticklish rather than painful. Just enough to make him aware of the otherās presence. He braces himself, turns and settles into a fighting stance, hands up. He doesnāt have his cricket bat, of course, because this isnāt really a fight.
That doesnāt mean it isnāt dangerous, though.
Hands are on him before he can think, the weight of a body bearing him down to the ground. He strikes out without thinking, and hears a husky chuckle in return as calloused hands block his strikes, pin him to the ground. He can see the gleam of golden eyes, the faintest flash of a fanged smile. āNot good enough, ghostie.ā
It makes a flash of heat roll through Charles, makes him lash out in earnest. He gets one good strike to center mass, earning a rough grunt from the Cat King, but he catches the other, harshly pinning the offending hand against the soil. The hiss that rises on his lips is more animal than human as his other hand wraps around Charlesā fist, with pressure tight enough to hurt if he wanted to. Itās a warning, a threat.
And yeah; usually, he would fight back until his last undying breath. But with these hands on him, these claws pricking at his flesh, he folds, giving in with a slow exhale, tilting his chin up to expose his throat.
A familiar face floats above his own, but there is something foreign in those golden eyes, a distant, wild note that he has never seen before. It sends an honest shiver down his spine, and he sees the Cat King grin at the reaction from his trapped prey. Heās never felt so vulnerable before, not even a few steps away from Death herself. He feels raw and exposed, every inch of his flesh suddenly so fragile.
Thomas bends his head, sharp teeth scraping over the delicate skin of his neck, and Charles whimpers.
Heās prey, he realizes. Heās a mouse in a trap, at best. Because the Cat King has him, well and truly, and he wonāt let him go.
And fuck if that doesnāt send a spike of unexpected arousal through him.
A clawed hand traces down his chest, shredding fabric in its wake, and he canāt do anything but shudder at the delicate brush as those claws touch skin. His trousers are shredded in like fashion, and heās shaking as a sharp point traces oh-so-delicately down his length. He wants to pull away, and at the same time, he wants more.
Even when he looks up, that familiar face is a mask of animal need, of lust and rage and cruelty. The Cat King is showing the basest elements of what he is, and Charles can either run from it, or embrace it.
He meets those cold, glazed golden eyes and flashes a cocky smirk. Heāll never back down, ever - and heāll also never hold what Thomas is against him. He can take it.
The Cat King snarls, and a hot mouth presses over his own, body pinning him to the ground. A hand snakes between his legs, and Charles muffles a whine into Thomasā mouth as two fingers push into him, no hesitation, no preparation. He can handle it, though, trying in vain to catch his breath when the other is intent on stealing it.
Magic flickers along his nerves as slick lube presses into him as an afterthought, but he canāt focus on that when Thomas is biting his way down the line of his throat, leaving harsh red marks against his skin. The Cat Kingās hands are surprisingly rough as they roll Charles over, push him onto hands and knees.
Thereās no teasing or drawing things out, as Thomas usually enjoys. Just a hot body plastered against his back, cock pressing against his hole, shallow thrusts driving him inside. Charles bites back another whine, and the Cat King just buries himself deeper, making the ghost see stars. His hands are grasping almost desperately at the earth and dead leaves beneath them, wanting something to hang onto. He hears a low hiss pressed against the back of his neck, but it sounds somehow pleased, and he canāt help the tiny little moan that escapes him in return.
Itās enough encouragement, apparently. Hips snap harshly against his ass, and the shock of pain-pleasure makes him moan, automatically arching for more.
He canāt help himself when it comes to making his partners feel good.
The Cat King is ruthless, pounding into him, sharp teeth leaving their marks along his neck and shoulders. Claws dig into his hips to keep him still, and Charles whimpers but endures. Heās hard as a fucking rock, too damn close coming untouched, but his whole focus is on Thomas. Whatever he needs, fuck it, heāll give.
A snarl is buried against the nape of his neck when the feline finally comes, and Charles can smell the blood where claws prick into his skin. He doesnāt so much as ask for a breath - heās pressing himself back for more, offering himself like a sacrifice beneath the otherās predatory need.
Heāll fight if he wants, oh fucking yes. But if the Cat King just wants willing prey, heās here for that too. And hell if he doesnāt love either prospect.
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kink prompt one for the night!
charles/cat king + blindfold for @artemisadore
~
Charles usually doesn't enjoy being robbed of his senses. It's dangerous, for one thing, means anything could sneak up on him, get the drop on him. But he's not on the case right now - not anywhere close, in fact. There's nothing likely to sneak up on him here in the cannery in Port Townsend.
Except, of course, for the man he's here visiting.
He's never quite sure what to expect of the Cat King, as he's discovered he's a man of quite... varied tastes. Which technically he knew from observation alone. Experiencing those tastes, though... it's something very different. Charles is learning more than he bargained for, perhaps. Doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy it.
Trust wasn't exactly second nature between the two of them, not the way it is with him and Edwin, or even him and Monty. It's grown over time, though, and Charles is definitely willing to trust the other enough now.
Enough to let him bind his hands and tie a strip of black silk over his eyes, anyway. He's sprawled out on the other's bed (he swears it's more massive than it was the first time, leaving space for more bodies just in case), trying to focus on sound alone to indicate where the hell the other is. He's a dab hand at moving silently, though, so Charles is completely surprised when a hot tongue drags up his stomach, seemingly out of nowhere. The Cat King laughs, low and taunting, as the ghost jolts away from the contact before arching into it.
Okay, maybe this is more interesting than Charles had thought it would be.
Thomas toys with him for... fuck, he doesn't actually even know how long, draws away and leaves him straining to guess where or when the next touch will come from. A hand trailing ever so lightly up his inner thigh, or sharp teeth nipping at his collarbone; a brush of hot breath over his cock, or a teasing flick of fingertips against his cheek, as if just to drive the point home that Charles is absolutely terrible at guessing where he'll touch next. It's maddening in the best of ways, but it won't break him.
Mostly because by the time he's really drawn out the teasing, Charles has wormed his way out of the knots binding his wrists. The next time the Cat King touches him, he's on him in an instant, pulling the other close, rolling to pin him against the mattress. He tugs off the blindfold with a grin, leans down to kiss the so-frustrating and so-fascinating feline, nipping at his lower lip, grinding against him with an insistent need.
When he pulls back, though, it's with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "My turn."
13 for charles/cat king? the last one you did was incredible i was āØenrapturedāØ
Ahhhh Iām so glad you enjoyed! <3
Absolutely happy to do this - a little somnophilia goodness for Charles & the Cat King.
NSFW, of course.
~
Ghosts donāt sleep. It can be kind of a hassle, sometimes, being constantly awake and aware. Thereās other ways to rest and let the mind recover, of course, but sometimes Charles misses the opportunity to just conk out for a couple of hours, let his brain and body both reset themselves.
At the moment, though, heās actually glad he doesnāt have to sleep. He has something far more interesting to pay attention to.
Itās not often that he shares a bed with the Cat King, especially not without the added company of Edwin or Monty or both of them. They hadnāt actually intended to end up here tonight, but the last case kicked the absolute shit out of all of them, and Thomas had ended up crashing at the office. Montyās on concussion watch in the girlsā room, Edwin getting a few metaphysical injuries tended to by the Night Nurse, but neither are hurt enough to warrant their partners hovering. Besides, since Thomas stepped up to the plate in a big way by actually fighting the supernatural nasty that was causing trouble, heās utterly exhausted himself.
Heās not sure why it was Charlesā room rather than Edwinās that the other ended up stumbling into in search of an actual bed (heās bitched about the couch being too small more than once, and is apparently too tired to shift into his cat form), but it doesnāt matter.
Charles is pretty drained himself, but not enough not to notice that despite his exhaustion, the Cat King seems to be having⦠pleasant dreams.
By now heās used to the haze of arousal that lingers near-constantly around the man; heās a creature of desire, and while he can be serious, it still only ever takes a matter of moments for that desire to come rising back to the surface. Apparently that happens even when heās unconscious. The way the shapeshifter is sprawled out across the sheets makes his erection obvious, and every so often a pleased little murmur or purr will escape his lips. The expression on his face is slack and peaceful, and Charles finds himself studying it for a long moment before his attention slips lower once again.
The Cat King did sort of save their asses today; maybe he deserves a thank-you of some sort. And itās a hell of a lot easier to give him that when heās not awake and arrogantly snarking about how amazing he is.
The thought tickles Charlesā sense of humor, and heās moving before he considers it too much, lips tracing a slow line down the otherās bare chest. He doesnāt bother to linger or tease, quickly settles himself between Thomasā legs, lips sliding around his cock. The familiar weight settles against his tongue, and Charles lets his own pleased little hum vibrate against the sensitive flesh before he starts to suck him in earnest.
Itās slow and easy so as not to wake him, and he savors those content little sounds from the sleeping man, guessing the real physical sensation has wound itself into whatever dreams had him excited in the first place. Charles has all the time in the world, and he doesnāt pull back until heās worked the other to orgasm. Even without the benefit of the Cat Kingās extra bit of magic to make him experience sensation, he can faintly taste the other on the back of his tongue as he swallows.
When he raises his head, he flushes to see a familiar pair of golden eyes on him, half-lidded and hazy but still focused. āYouāre welcome,ā he mumbles with a sleepy laugh, and pulls Charles up to rest against his chest as he drifts off again.