and. well. it's a convenient thing that julien has never been one to shy away from putting on a... personal show for anyone that asks

- cup

Yes, cup, and you want to know the funny / kinda fucked up thing?

It's not just the exhibition that's getting Julien off here.

It's something in the way Occtis studies his body, like it's not really even Julien he's looking at, just the body. Julien is just a butterfly pinned for a bit, an experiment being researched.

He gets so hard when Occtis makes him wait, or moves him so he can see a line of muscles better, or changes something not to make it better for Julien, but purely so he can see what happens.

Between that and the distracted tone of voice, just a minute Julien, move your leg a bit.... Now hold on we're going to try.... Oh don't be like that it's not that much bigger..... It's just cold Julien your body will ... See it's fine....

He should, cup. (hey this is an older ask, if you've got another name by now let me know and I'll combine)

Julien lives for the adrenaline, and there's something almost more thrilling because he knows exactly how it will end. It doesn't matter where the Chase starts out, it could be through the streets of city, through brambles and orchards, through the trees of the forest, it will end with him trapped and cornered.

Occtis has a style, he's learned. He likes to draw it out, he likes to play with him a bit. Make just enough sound that Julien can duck away. Let himself be glimpsed through the brush. Brush fingers so lightly against his hair in a crowed street hat he's not even sure if he was imagining it or not. Occtis is never there when he whips around.

Julien suspects wizardry.

Occtis has never caught him before he was out of breath. He likes to make his quarry run, make him pant and sweat and be so acutely aware that he's being too loud, that anything could hear him try to breath, anything could be there in the darkness watching and waiting. That being caught is his own weakness.

It when he's jumping at every sound, when his breath is coming hard, when he can feel the sweat weighing down his hair, when his muscles are starting to protest.. he knows the end is near.

The end of an ally, the corner of a room, the edge of a cliff. His heart beats so loud when he looks around and there's no where to run. No way to get away.

He's on his knees, neck bared as Occtis approaches, his chest tight and his mouth dry and not bothering to hide the dark need in his eyes.

Never let it be said that Julien Davinos concedes without a fight.

Never let it be said that he will fail to concede when a worthy opponent has earned it.

The first feeling of teeth in his neck is the part that Julien will come back to later, feeling the mark and touching himself shamelessly. Occtis is far stronger than he looks, and he doesn't need or particularly cares to wait for Julien's leave to drag him, to put him down on his belly, to mount him as roughly as he pleases.

Another way he will be sore in the morning.

He doesn't always, but Julien likes it best when he can feel the sickly magic overtake him, drawing him into unconsciousness. His last thoughts imagining waking up bound over a hunters workbench, prepared to be harvested, or perhaps hanging, waiting to be drained.

It's always a clean bed and soft hands he wakes up to, and he does not complain. It's a pleasant enough end, and he does hope their little game always does truly end here.

- cup

It's not like Occtis doesn't know what Julien is doing when he comes crawling in on his hands and knees like this. He's done it before himself, in less obvious ways. He could say something, could call him out.

But he doesn't.

Because there's something about watching that skin turn from pink to red. Watching welts appear, distorting the smooth curves of his ass.

Occtis's body no longer changes. But Julien's does.

It produces sweat as he pulls and yells, twisting enough that there will be bruises around his wrists tomorrow.

It produces tears when frustrated sobs turn to pleading, when Occtis refuses to alter the skin further, to take those bright reds to shades of green or purple.

It produces other things when Occtis flips him over and sits on his thighs, pinning him down just as surely as any restraints as he claims that very alive cock as his own, when he strokes it, or slides one of the bars from his kit into it, watching it sink down inside, watching for a dozen lovely reactions to that. And of course when he puts his mouth on it....

Occtis knows what it is to seek out punishment for failures only visible to your own eyes.

He knows if he does not, then Julien will find a different way to do so.

And Occtis is too greedy to let those enthralling changes be thrown away. If they are to be produced anyway, why should he not take joy in them, hoard them for his own pleasure.

- cup

Well. Wick is still.... There.

-------

Occtis was off in his own world when Kattigan nudged him. "Come on pretty boy you're up." He nodded over to the chair by the fire and for one what-would-have-been stomach dropping moment he was just staring at Wick, wondering how he could decline, when Kattigan whispered, "Hal's a good kisser... Go on now I'll save your seat."

That seemed more doable. He tried to ignore Wick who admittedly was very still with his eyes closed, leaning over him to try a soft, chaste kiss.

Hal's lips were warm and alive and somehow he didn't pull back when he meant to and Occtis didn't have a lot of experience with kissing but this.. this was worth the fact that his hand was on Wicks shoulder to steady himself.