#tripleflames

@tripleflames said: jill leans in for a kiss, her hand touching his cheek gently

Such delicate touch. Clive had spent a majority of his life on the battlefield. And even as he slowly became more accustomed to touch not meant to cause harm, it was still almost foreign to him. And Jill's touch was special. Like the first fall of snow, it is gentle and graceful. Her beauty was beyond compare. Every aspect of her was beautiful to him. He isn't sure when he became enchanted by her so utterly. It feels like the time before that was simply a bad dream. Before she showed him what true trust and joy felt like.

He takes a gentle hold of her wrist, leaning into her touch. What flows through his blood is the peace and tranquility that he only knew when he was close to her. He takes in a breath. No matter how much time they spent together or how close they got, Clive was always stunned at how much his heart begged for her.

He leans into her kiss. Again, it was gentle. Jill had spent most of her life fighting too. He had promised himself to only ever be gentle with her. To treat her with love and care. To show in every touch and word how much he cherished her.

Her kisses her softly, his heart bursting with a joy he had once thought it incapable of feeling. How funny it was. How she made him feel so alive.

When he pulls away from her lips, he lingers there, leaning again into her hand upon his cheek. Blue eyes stare at her as if she is the only true thing he had ever witnessed. Right now, she was his world. She was his everything.

"I love you." He would always say it when he felt it. He never wanted her to doubt how he felt about her. He rubs his thumb over her wrist, smiling at her at last.

"Come now, Leviathan."

Sounds the low drawl of the king's voice as he draws nearer, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the fledgling Dominant infront of him, the young man taken out at the knees in the aftermath of his first priming, using the last of his strength to glare at him. How quaint.

"There is no need for a scowl. It was never my intention to hurt you, merely to put your potential to the test."

'Tis rare to witness the awakening of a Dominant, rarer still to find an Eikon hidden away in a grown man, not to mention an Esper so ancient and powerful that even though an awakening has not been documented in centuries, his name still prevails, whispered in reverence even today.

Leviathan, the Lost.

"As the Dominant of ice Can Shiva make snow?

I want to become the Dominant of snowball fights."

a continuation for this one

Barnabas can feel that Theodore is still weakened by the repercussions of his captivity, no matter how quickly Leviathan's powers, at last unbound again, work to heal him to full strength, soothing burned and bruised flesh, marred by abuse of both magical and physical nature. The king all but carries his weight on his own now, despite the young man stubbornly trying to keep himself upright by sheer strength of will alone. His steps are uncertain, his legs trembling and the tremors that go through his entire form are not from anger, nor frustration, no matter how much Barnabas can feel those emotions radiate from Leviathan's temper coiling within.

No, the shivering, the set of Theodore's jaw, the wobbling of his lips when he forces his gaze to look firmly ahead, not meeting the king's eyes, it all speaks volumes of the weakness he doesn't allow himself to feel. He'd rather collapse, would rather destroy himself than admit to the defeat and the pain he's so clearly feeling.

And it's his fault.

Barnabas realizes it with sudden clarity. He'd instilled within the young Dominant a need to excel, a need to overcome pain and grief and weakness to become what his master needs, because that is what was expected of him, too. Another tool to be used at the right time, another weapon forged into obedience, added to the arsenal. But even the strongest steel will burst and break with enough pressure, and while the Eikon coils and hisses deep inside, Barnabas, for once, sees the man, the mortal, the wrongfully injured and rightfully frightened, Theodore, who tries so very hard to adhere to the teachings of a king who has long since forfeit any right to his humanity.

He sees himself in him so clearly now. Recognizes the pain of being broken down and forced to pick the pieces up himself, because it is the same as what he has endured so long ago.

Thus, Barnabas stops them as they pass his chambers. Their previous destination —Theodore's own chambers further down the hall— now abandoned. He hears the subdued noise of pain and despair despite the fact Theodore bites down on it hard enough the king sees a muscle jump in his cheek. He reads it in his posture, too, the fear that, once stopped, he'd not be able to keep walking.

But the momentum is extinguished by the king regardless. He catches his wrist when Theodore attempts to pull away, perhaps in defiance, perhaps because he feels the king might abandon him here to fend for himself and he hopes to find at least some strength still to keep moving by himself.

But Barnabas doesn't mean to cause him more pain, or make this into another lesson in perseverance. And most of all he doesn't mean to add loneliness to the aches, not when it was his failure that forced Theodore into this state. Theodore's will to continue on is commendable and under different circumstances his ability to withstand all that was forced upon him would have instilled Barnabas with pride, but this is not what he wants. Not for him. It is true that Barnabas has forged himself this way, under pain and with denial of the self. But despite decades spent in apathy he finds he does not want this for Theodore. Instead, he wants to soothe him, wants to assure him, to preserve that same humanity he himself has lost so long ago and spare him the agony of becoming what he is.

Theodore still avoids meeting his eyes until the king reaches his hand up to force him to. He sees Leviathan in them, the Eikon's might pulled around Theodore's self like a barrier, his eyes bright with electric blue. He's strong, so much stronger than the day they first met, but for the first time since then Barnabas doesn't want him to be.

He fits his hand to Theodore's cheek and feels his chest expand on an easier breath when the Eikon's presence briefly flickers to make way to soft green, before the starkness of the blue returns full force.

"You have done your part." He says to soothe the great serpent. "Now let me do mine." He watches as the Eikon's temper furrows the vessel's brow and threatens to pull his lips into a snarl. The king's expression softens. "I will now keep him safe where I have failed to do so before." He promises Leviathan, his voice firm, his tone sincere.

It takes another long moment, but eventually Barnabas strokes a calloused thumb over Theodore's cheekbone and sees some of the tension bleed from his shoulders. His own hands are no longer raw from when he broke the wretched collar that edged the slowly fading wounds into Theodore's neck. The king's own Eikonic powers made it so his wounds are faded to little more than tender skin, but he can see the lasting effect on Theodore's neck still, prolonged exposure likely making the wounds harder to heal, or maybe his aether is truly so far depleted there is nothing left to do beyond mere self-preservation. It explains Leviathan's lingering presence, angry and snarling like a cornered animal, but even Eikonic powers have their limits, and keeping the Dominant safe goes beyond the matter of their marred flesh. There were other wounds, those of the mind, inflicted by isolation and torture, and the fear of being left for dead. They would take time to mend.

But the king has nothing but time.

He coaxes Theodore into following him to the bathroom, so that soon clothes and pieces of armor can be abandoned and a bath run to welcome them home. Theodore leans heavily against a piece of furniture as the king undoes each buckle and fastening to uncover his lover's skin. The extent of Theodore's injuries is revealed then. Colorful bruising paints his body, cuts and burns already slowly healing, but speaking of violence endured that Barnabas so wishes to have spared him. It is his guilt to bear and his failure to atone for, and it is what he intends to do now.

Once done with Theodore's he sheds his own layers of clothing and soon steps into Theodore's space again to run calloused hands along trembling shoulders. Theodore is cold to the touch, his muscles tense with defiance, his expression speaking of unwavering resolve to keep himself standing.

Barnabas smiles despite the deep ache of sympathy he feels clawing at his heart, overcome by his adoration for the other. He leans in to press his lips to Theodore's, fingertips alighting on either side of his face as he fits the warmth of his body to the chill of his lover's.

"Break for me." He whispers as he withdraws, watching Theodore's eyes widen at the soft-spoken plea, then turn brighter with the beginnings of tears of exhaustion. Barnabas wipes the first tear away when it falls from fluttering lids, then he catches Theodore when at last his body folds into his own. There is no shame in this, no weakness in enduring all he has only to break now, away from the world and in his lover's arms, and Barnabas will make him believe it, too. He pulls him up, hooks an arm beneath the angle of his knees and around his shoulders to lift him effortlessly into his hold. He presses his lips to Theodore's temple as he walks them toward the warmth of the bath awaiting them.

"Just so." He soothes when Theodore's arms tighten around him, threatening to steal his breath and crush his ribs. He hears his breath hiccup out of him, despair at last breaking to the surface when they're enveloped by warmth. He feels the sting of blunt nails digging deep into the flesh of his back. It's nothing compared to what he knows his lover must have endured. And even so, Barnabas means to bear it all. A hand makes its way into matted hair, gently caressing along the roots as he holds his lover close.

Barnabas fixes Theodore with an unblinking stare. The question an unexpected disruption of the silence that had settled around them. But instead of answering immediately, he waits to see what he'll do, if he'll falter under his gaze like he used to do, or if at last Leviathan's Dominant has grown into himself as much as he has into his powers.

The king watched him do so with great fascination, watched him reforge himself from a mere man into a true vessel for the mighty Leviathan. But there is an uncertainty within him still which Barnabas doesn't quite understand. Not after spending months offering guidance, training, counsel. Theodore had taken to his lessons well, after initial resistance of his true nature, of course, but that was to be expected after being plucked from the life he knew, no matter how insignificant it may have been at the time.

But Theodore stands taller now, moves with a confidence he didn't possess before coming to Waloed. He has become so much more than what he was. Yet, the king can feel it radiate off of Theodore whenever they're close enough to touch: the lingering uncertainty, a new kind of confusion. And in turn Barnabas finds himself wondering where it stems from, what Theodore thinks. How he thinks.

...How he feels?

It's something he's never taken an interest in before, or at the very least not in a good long while, the way people feel, and why they might do so. But he is able to read them well enough, recognizes anger, frustration, pain, sadness, joy, lust, want, need— all the little intricacies of human nature. And he's seen all of it in Theodore before, sometimes interwoven with each other. The last few of those things were occurrences even Barnabas can admit to thinking of fondly. The young Dominant makes for a rather beautiful and invigorating bedfellow after all.

But he's seen the shift in their dynamic, too. Isn't blind to the way Theodore hesitates around him now, not because of fear, but something else. The way he pulls away from him immediately — not before, nor during their little trysts — but after, when it is just so clear that he wants to stay, wants to be held. But rather than demand it, he leaves, he hides, and he refuses to make sense.

Thus, the question has a dark eyebrow raise, lips part ever so slightly as the king regards him. There is not a flinch to Theodore's person when Barnabas steps close enough that the green of his eyes fills his vision, but then he sees the young man's gaze flick off to the side, he sees him take a step back from him in a way he hasn't done in some time.

Why?

Don't you know how I feel?

When faced with the prospect of a Dominant’s wrath being unleashed upon them, any other person would likely have submitted long ago. Especially if that Dominant wields the entirety of Leviathan’s might with merely a flick of his hand. The king of Waloed however revels in the challenge it poses and therefore provokes the young man until he either exhausts the Dominant’s body to the point of fainting, or losing control. The latter while ultimately making him stronger, also makes him expulse more aether, and it usually ends with Barnabas simply forcing him to submit by draining him of said aether by dodging or parrying the volatile attacks thrown his way.

So, all things considered, the outcome is usually the same, what differs is how quickly they arrive at that point.

At least, that is what happened every time up until today. They’ve long abandoned the idea of sparring on castle grounds since Theodore gained a more intricate grasp on his powers and Barnabas now has them cross blades near the shore, far enough from other people that he doesn’t have to caution Theodore into being mindful about not drowning his subjects. It also means that they’re far closer to the element Theodore draws his strength from and the steady glow of blue in his eyes as he wields the water like an extension of himself is more than enough proof that this is exactly where he is strongest.

Barnabas can practically taste his aether in the air around them and it in turn baits him into using more of his own might. His lips pull into a smile as Theodore makes a sudden move and within the blink of an eye Barnabas finds himself face to face with the younger Dominant, their blades crossed in a contest of will.

Barnabas holds fast, one arm still firmly placed behind his back, his sword arm lazily parries the next few swings of Theodore’s sword, turning his body to the side when a whip of water wielded by the other threatens to cut him. He uses the moment of unguarded recklessness and checks his opponent with a shove of his shoulder. Theodore stumbles backward.

“Too slow.” The king taunts. “Again.” He commands immediately after. He watches the color of his opponent’s eyes flicker from blue to yellow. He has learned over their time together that Leviathan doesn’t appreciate being berated, and that it doesn’t take much to provoke the Eikon’s annoyance. It’s an easy exploit to force a victory for him. However, Barnabas’ smile widens when he sees Theodore wrestle the Eikon’s might back under control. A sense of elation overcomes him when he witnesses his opponent’s aether swell, and senses him rise to a semi-primed form. The brigthness of his eyes intensifies, aether lights up his hair and lines of it pulse across his skin.

It’s a beautiful thing to witness someone come into his powers like this. In his revelry the king becomes reckless. He lets the younger Dominant gain on him, allows him into his space, just to be able to feel the increased strength when their blades cross once more. Taken with the glow of Theodore’s eyes, the determination within his gaze as he bears down on his sword and steps closer the king for once does not pay attention to anything else.

It’s why the next strike of the water made form takes him by surprise and knocks him back. Followed by the rough strike of Theodore’s blade just grazing his chest, tearing his tunic and shirt. His footing is uneven as the king is forced closer to the ocean. The waves lap at his feet. Then, the water snakes around his throat to force him down to his knees, legs digging into the white sand of the beach, the cold of the water begins to soak his pant legs. Water bears down on him like a vise, cutting off the air to his lungs. The king can’t speak his approval, but he does grin up at his opponent stood above him. The thrill it brings him to see Theodore like this enough to drown out the sharp sting of pain of the cut across his chest and the panic his mortal form threatens to fall into as the edges of his vision begin to turn dark and blurry.

The king waits for the embrace of unconsciousness, not bothering to wrap himself in Odin’s mantel to turn this into a proper battle. He is proud to declare Theodore the winner of their spar. Even though his current state does not allow for any words whatsoever. That is, until Theodore sinks down onto one knee, bringing them back to eye level, shallow water splashes around them. The hold around the king’s throat is relinquished all at once, but he doesn’t have time to gasp for the air his lungs so desperately crave at this point.Instead, he finds himself pushed onto his back, his lips trapped in a forceful, nigh painful kiss. A clash of teeth and tongue rivaling the spar that just concluded. Swords are abandoned, clothes torn. And it doesn’t take long before Barnabas tastes blood and feels the sting of a split lip. He isn’t afforded the time to enjoy this either, for just as he tilts his head and brings up his hands to dig into Theodore’s hair the younger man pulls away and moves along his throat down to his chest.

It’s then that the king clutches the dark strands harshly, the sting of the superficial cut exacerbated by the tongue lapping across his chest, tasting his blood. The king throws back his head as one of Theodore’s hands finds its way between his legs as he keeps licking the blood of the fresh wound from the king’s chest. Barnabas feels a rush of aether sink into him and the next breath he heaves is one of relief when the pain from the cut subsides.

When he turns his head to investigate, he finds his bare chest unblemished aside from the old scar across his pectoral. He looks on in stunned silence for a moment before surprise is overcome by blatant needwhen Theodore looks up at him, Eikonic blue replaced by natural green, his pupils blown wide with want in turn. He pulls Theodore back up and into another bruising kiss. Heartbeat pounding in his ears, breaths heavy between them

@tripleflames sent : i think we've overstayed our welcome . / from byron Might be a meme? || Accepting?

That call from Byron got Clive to lift his head, looking away from the papers he had been engrossed with. Sneaking in to look at plans of Kupka's private army had been a brilliant idea, and while subterfuge wasn't Byron's strongest trait, he had been quite adept at helping Clive sneak in. However, it seemed that the gig was finally up, especially when Men of the Rock seemed to have spotted the, charging down the hallway to the room they were occupying, weapons drawn no less!