child of fate

The wonder, nay, the disbelief in Theodore's voice cuts the king in a way he doesn't expect, nor fully understand. The young Dominant is in far worse a shape than he thought as well, restrained and bruised, his face bloodied from a hit to the face no doubt courtesy of his captors, arms shackled spread out to the wall on either side, the signature of his aether far weaker than it should be. So weak that it took the king far too long to find him. In fact, at some point it had been faint enough Barnabas was overcome by a rage like no other thinking someone had dared to extinguish the vibrant light of Theodore's life force.

But no, when Odin's might came to him while priming in a fury that saw an entire swathe of land leveled by Zantetsuken's might, Barnabas faintly felt Leviathan reach back from across the distance. From then on it was only a matter of hunting those down who'd dare attempt and take Theodore from him.

The king doesn't care for their motivs, doesn't care for the intel Waloed's taciticians provide him with, or the counsel of his advisors either. What does it matter if the territory laid to waste is under the protection of the Empire, or that the group who'd taken Theodore and sought to rid Valisthea of the Dominants altogether was but a small fraction of the population there? Everyone else swept up in Odin's might is collateral.

They don't matter.

He'd invade Sanbreque and kill Bahamut and the Emperor himself if this was what it took to get Theodore back. And should this, at last, cause Waloed and the Empire into an all out war, then so be it. Even the near suffocating grip of his master on his psyche is not enough to have Barnabas reconsider his actions. The splitting headache and knee-buckling weakness he is suffering now because his master is inacting a punishment is nothing compared to the ache in his heart at seeing Theodore broken down and suffering.

Zantetsuken disappears into a flourish of shadows as the king kneels before him, cradling his lover's face into both hands and tilting his head up when the young man tries to avert his eyes in shame. "There is no force on this star strong enough to keep me away from you." He vows, his eyes alight with a rare glow of his Eikon's power simmering hotly within him, the only thing containing his wrath being the fact he is able to touch Theodore and feel his warmth under his palms.

It's then that he notices the band of dark metal around Theodore's neck, it seems to sear his skin, the flesh looking burned and raw where it chaves against it, Leviathan's powers only barely able to keep up with having the skin heal. There are carvings in the band of metal, reminiscent of those in the ruins of the Fallen. Barnabas has seen them in reality and dream alike, in visions provided to him by his master. They invoke ancient magic, clearly powerful enough to keep a Dominant contained, to keep his aether subdued and the Eikon trapped within the vessel. Barnabas can sense it now, how Leviathan coils and snarls beneath the surface, Theodore's eyes glowing faintly blue and then yellow before returning to their natural greenish hue. Barnabas sees his jaw set, sees his muscles flex, his aether moving under his skin, coloring his veins and the hair on his head in glowing light before flickering out again. He's still attempting to prime.

"Shhh..." He soothes him, one hand reaching back to tangle in hair damp with sweat. "I'm here now, save your strength."

Barnabas reaches to undo the collar then, fully prepared for the agonizing pain that comes with grabbing it. He feels it etch itself into his skin, the sensation stark and close to what Barnabas imagines it would feel like to catch a piece of steel only just pulled from the forge. But it's nothing compared to the flames of Ifrit, nor does it measure up to the fury still burning within him at having Theodore suffer this.

He grits his teeth through the pain, shadows bleed down his arms as Odin's powers cause the collar to first crack, then crumble under his grip as he rips it off Theodore's neck. It sizzles against his flesh even as the king drops it to the ground. The shackles holding Theodore up suffer the same fate soon after, but they're not magical as the collar had been. Barnabas catches Theodore before he can slump to the ground, and briefly runs his burned palms down his back and through his hair once more, not minding the sting that comes with it.

A breath shivers out of him, torn between unending rage and absolute devastation. There is something else, too, something deep and devoted only to the man at last in his arms again. Barnabas holds him tighter, presses his face into the other's hair and channels Odin's powers once more to engulf them both in shadows.

"Forgive my being late."

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 fuzzy.

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 need when 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

✦ a collection of prompts that can be considered nsfw, with a lot of teasing and tension driven prompts. adjust as needed ; send ‘ + reverse ‘ for sender and receiver to switch spots. Combine prompts by sending more than one.

「 SQUEEZE 」 : for sender to rest their hand on the receivers thigh , giving it a squeeze .

「 LINGER 」 : for senders touch to linger on the receiver.

「 MASSAGE 」 : for sender to give receiver a massage .

「 LOTION 」 : for sender to rub lotion into the receivers skin

「 SLIP 」 : for senders hand to slip between the receivers legs.

「 TUG 」 : for sender to tug on the receivers hair

「CLIMB 」 : for sender to climb into receivers lap

「PULL 」 : for the sender to pull receiver into their lap

「BITE 」 : for sender to bite the receiver ( include the location )

「 MARK 」 : for sender to leave hickies on receiver

「 BARE 」 : for sender to undress in front of receiver

「 HELP 」 : for sender to help receiver undress

「 GRIND 」 : for sender to grind against the receiver

「 HOT 」 : for sender and receiver to share a heated kiss

「 OOPS 」 : for sender to accidentally send receiver a risqué image.

「 CHIME 」 : for sender to purposefully send receiver a risqué image.

「 WHISPER 」 : for sender to whisper something suggestive in receivers ear

「 HOLD 」 : for sender to hold receivers throat

「 THROW 」 : for sender to throw receiver onto the bed

「 PRESS 」 : for sender to press receiver against a wall and kiss them

「 CAUGHT 」 : for sender to catch receiver pleasuring themselves

「 LIGHT 」 : for sender to touch the receiver with a feather light pressure.

Terence feels the way Dion's shoulders pull taut the moment he awakens. For a moment, he contemplates allowing the other room to breathe and reorientate himself without, perchance, feeling stifled by his presence, yet any tension seems to leave his body a moment thereafter. Even now, after they've loved one another for years, Terence still feels honored that Dion allows himself to relax and... be weak around him. Because Dion, in all his perfection and the way he holds himself to impossibly high standards, needs not be perfect for him. He needs be but himself.

Terence shifts and closes his eyes feeling a hand settle atop his hip. A painfully familar gesture that he yearned for for so many months.

"I am real. I promise." His voice, barely above a whisper, carries the note of certainty and reassurance as to alleviate the troubles Dion might experience. After everything that has happened, after what they both lived through, what Dion lived through, he needs stability, no? And Terence is more than happy to provide it, and to the best of his abilities.

Exhaling a shaky sigh, Terence tilts down his head, his lips pressing to the crown of Dion's head. His right hand trails up his back, resting in his nape and securely holding him close. "I am real, my love, and I'm with you. Now and forevermore." Oh, how this promise has been true and held weight from the very moment that Terence joined the Dragoons to serve under the prince. There's no where else he'd rather be, after all. No where else he's ever wanted to be. His love for Dion will not and can not wither.

Yet the man he was that year ago is so, so different from who he is today. He needs but feel the aches in his body, the tightness of his skin scarred and burnt as it is to know. Part of him thought he never would have this again. Part of him yet thinks he doesn't deserve it.

Terence's voice soothes the instinctive doubt this may yet be a dream, his touch kindling a flame within his chest Dion had feared extinguished. Right now, basking in the realization that he needs neither worry about anyone interrupting them, anyone finding out, nor worry about his own duties seeing as there are no more duties for him to uphold, that he can take his time and simply be, Dion allows himself to melt further into that touch. He feels Terence's lips on his skin, those slender, calloused fingers at the back of his neck and almost laughs at the frisson of want it sends down his spine.

Is this what my life is supposed to be?

petrokhelidon. independent multi-muse rp blog featuring leon kennedy and rebecca chambers from resident evil, as well as muses from genshin, hsr, ffxiv and more. as written by curry, 30+ she/her.

*** sideblog that follows back from ritterblood.