#sysein

Blood red color smooths like velvet over their parted lips, a gentler caress compared to the harsh, cold fingers holding their chin in place. They can't help smirking at being pampered and painted, given who stands before them - the same person (being? God?) digging their nail in harder at the movement.

"Stop squirming," comes a frustrated tone, followed by a sharp tsk and a sneer below black void-like eyes.

Oisein huffs dramatically through a grin, only daring to speak now that the lipstick is a few inches away and there's no risk of destroying Sysba's masterpiece."Only if you promise to ruin it later."

Another tight squeeze as the sheevra's chin is lifted, a thumb roughly running over their unmarked bottom lip. Face splitting with a hungry smile, Sysba moves themself close enough to share, or possibly steal, a breath between them.

"Maybe if you behave," they whisper - command - back, letting the word linger in the space like a baited hook that draws Oisein forward. “And only after I get to show you off.”

A pleased hum is the only response, just audible over the low bass of La Rumeur. It’s a song and dance that’s practically become routine. Familiar, even. A word Oisein doesn’t usually value - but in this case they can make an exception.

An hour (or more) of being dressed up before spending part of the evening being paraded around, lounging near Sysba as they watch other club-goers try to snatch their attention, and fail. Matching golden jewelry glints like stars, orbiting in the gravity of Sysba’s finessed sharp edges and Oisein’s deceptively soft smile. There’s a sense of boasting, gloating satisfaction in the way the eldritch runs their fingers over the sheevra’s neck in the open balcony for all to see.

A dare and a taunt. Look what I have and you don’t.

The edge of teeth inching closer to their jawline. Look what I’ll have later, and you’ll never know.

And if there’s a chance to secure a name or two to heighten the ecstasy they know will come, then all the better. (Well...within reason.‘Just don’t be sloppy,’ Sysba’s voice echoes).

But inevitably - blissfully - the pretty mask is left behind, discarded by the strip lighting of the stairs and under the dark revolving lights. Abandoned in the deep, guttural tones of the music thrumming through the walls and the ceiling, and thrown past the quickly locked door into the echoes of envious whispers.

And eventually - rapturously - all that’s left is crashing lips and hands and skin and bodies, quickly marked in that familiar blood red. A furious need to ravage, to have, with no time to come up for air.

Oisein’s back finds the silky edge of the bed first as they drown in the taste of Sysba’s tongue against theirs, the cool fabric noticeable even through their infuriatingly-still-on-their-body clothes. The makeup so carefully applied before runs rivers of scarlet far past the sides of their mouths, eddies and pools of color marking over ears, across cheeks, under jaws. All heightened by the muted red glow of the lamps around the darkened room, and the deep black shadows that shy away from the light reflecting off the ornate glass chandelier.

There’s a low moan.

Bed, it says.

A throaty hum in return.

Well, what are you waiting for?

Which is all Oisein needs to sink backwards, pulling, aching to keep the contact constant while lips move to their neck. Their back arches before they even hit the sheets, a fervent hiss when lips move onto cloth and remove their warmth from their bare skin. They start to move a hand upward to shift Sysba’s mouth back to the freckles dusted under their jaw-

“Sanctin…”

-only to feel a sudden pull against their head and a resonant, threatening voice in their ear.

“Isn't the name you should be calling.”

Dark pupils rise in their periphery while a hand grabs at their dirtied blond hair, strands catching on the rings still present and pulled tight within the god’s fist. Though the pain lances into Oisein’s skull, the pleasure coursing in their veins thrives and feeds on the feeling. They just manage to clamp down on the whimper building at the back of their tongue, but the shiver running through their chest betrays them.

The sheevra’s crown is pulled back to expose their neck again as Sysba gives a small, chiding shake of their head before returning to their task with a ravenous intent.

The brunette’s fist adjusts to maintain control, pinning down another arm in the wake of the movement while their other hand wraps finger by finger around the free wrist. They follow the path of red down across a jaw while their legs find more purchase on the edge of the bed, hiking their thighs underneath willing legs and splaying them open. All thought leaves Oisein except for the determination to hook their heels into the back of Sysba’s knees and bring them closer, ignoring the knowing chuckle escaping those bloodied, swollen lips.

But there’s still plenty of work to be done, as Sysba’s mouth transitions to cloth again alongside another frustrated groan vibrating through their lover’s chest. They bare their teeth then, biting through cloth and into the flesh of a collar on the notes of a gasp. Moving onto the gap in the cloth, they tease along the edge of the shirt’s window, a chuckle reverberating back when Oisein’s body curves to meet them. An elbow forces down on the sheevra’s side with another warning while they rock their waist down, teasing out a pitched whine that accompanies a burst of spots in Oisein’s vision.

And then, of course, they move torturously past the unobstructed skin, a patch that looks odd in its unmarked clarity. The cruelty continues as a mocking pressure is applied beneath their ribs, then their stomach, and then at the curve of their hips, a keen mouth edging closer to actually giving them an inch of release...

But a sigh of relief still echoes out from Oisein when they finally feel Sysba relax their grip and begin to loosen the blond’s shirt from the hem of their pants, pulling it free and quickly sliding their palms up over freckled skin and under the dark purple cloth. Cold fingers send more goosebumps washing over the tanned chest and into their shoulders as they’re permitted to lift their arms, hastily tugging and throwing aside the clothing into some inky corner to be forgotten.

Their skin is bare and far too clean, chest rapidly rising and falling. Impatience and greed demands them to reach downward, fingers sliding over their body to undo the clasp at their dark hemline, and the others to pull Sysba forward by the shirt they intend to tear off-

Only to have both hands ripped away and pinned mercilessly above their head.

Sysba only needs one hand to keep them securely restrained while a thumb seeks the sheevra’s lips again, lavender gaze widened with a mixture of shock and excitement. Fingers stain on the bright color smeared over Oisein’s chin, this time free in their want and painting a path of rubies over their open throat. The sheevra in question feels their lungs burning, eagerly awaiting for their senses to be filled with the intoxicating smell of sweat and perfume. Awaiting the moment they’ll be devoured by an insatiable lust, praying devoutly with anticipation as Sysba bends over to their ear.