( Not even Capitano’s network would have been able to investigate information that is so seemingly lost to history itself. The Fortress is an entity of its own after all.
But it doesn’t take long for Capitano to hear rumors and see how people are trying to gather presents for the Duke.
Let’s not worry about how he managed to get his hands on the information.
He wakes up on the cusp of dawn when the sun is barely peeking in and tinting the hotel windows lavender. He doesn’t bother putting on his mask or jacket, and strolls to the kitchen in nothing but his under cloth to prepare Wriothesley coffee— it’s the least he can offer right? To pamper him and tend to his needs.
They’re set steaming on the bedside table before he joins him silently back in the bed. He presses himself against him, kissing the bruises on his neck, the marring scars and his ear. It’s not ravenous or crazy, but rather soft as he has ever been. )
[ the fortress is indeed an entity of its own, and its administrator is even more secretive than the others. but information has a way of getting out, and with a robust network like the fatui's, there's little wonder that capitano gets to learn his birthday —
— the date he first entered meropide, sentenced to live within its walls.
he senses capitano rise, half-asleep and shifting to the rapidly dissipating warmth on the other man's side of the bed. this hotel is familiar to them now, a home away from home, and he blinks sleepily, shifting back and reaching for him when he joins him back in the bed. it's soft, these kisses, and he pauses when those two words are uttered; is he surprised? maybe a little. but they've been together for months, so honestly? wriothesley's not as surprised as he ought to be.
he tips his head back to give him more access, but reaches out to run his fingers through long, silky locks, tugging him closer. mmm, more, please. ]
[ he says dryly, nevermind that they're talking about his dick in the third person. the kiss is molten, searching; wriothesley might have more patience but even he can't wait that long, not when caleb kisses him back just like that.
it's easy enough to shove him to the mattress, quick as you please, and he's pinning him down with his limbs in a heartbeat, that ever-present, pleasant little smile becoming mischievous, tinged with unfettered want. caleb might be broad-shouldered and muscular, taller than the others, but wriothesley has a few inches on him, just as broad with a fighter's grace.
the long, savage-looking scars on his throat ripple when he chuckles, calloused palm smoothing over the younger man's plump pectoral, giving it a playful squeeze. ]
[ the response comes easily, a hint of daring in his eyes.
caleb settles leisurely beneath him, satisfied by the firmness of his grasp as he pins him down on top of the bed. warmth spreads throughout his body, when wrio squeezes his chest and he fights the urge to arch into his calloused palm. desire a strong motivator that prompts him to hook his right leg around the older man's waist, pressing him down further as he angles his head to whisper into his ear. ]
I want you to fuck me hard and fast, until I can't think straight. [ —until all he can focus on is the raw pleasure between them, suspending his fatigue, his worries and his troubles at least for one night. he rolls his hips then, rocking up against him, his voice husky and seductive. ] Fuck me, Duke.
( he smiles at the nickname, but more importantly, wriothesley can tell when caleb's holding back, and he wonders if pleasure is a thing that's alien to him, that he's more used to pain and discomfort as a way of life and release.
but he doesn't dwell too much on it, when he nudges his chin up so he can mouth heated kisses and licks down the column of his throat, his hand moving to grasp his cock firmly, stroking from root to tip and back again in a slow rhythm.
he lets go only to snag the lube by the nightstand, tipping it onto his fingers. mouthing over old scars and right down to taking a nipple in his mouth to lave and tease, his index finger rubs against his entrance, tracing over the rim. his words are warm, affectionate: )
Can't say I haven't missed this. It's been, what, two weeks? Been all pent up, or were you jerking off?
[ he only responds with a vague smile to that question.
wriothesley isn't far off the mark. it's easier for him to accept pain and discomfort over pleasure and delight. they have long become a routine part of his life and, more importantly, to this instance, they allow him to draw a fine line between what he is willing to take from wrio and what he isn't. they have gotten closer than he had ever intended, but at least he still has enough control right now to dictate how their relationship should be.
wriothesley's affection for him is evident in both his tone and his touch. perhaps if things were different, he could have indulged in it fully, yet that thought is dangerous in and of itself. he has never been the type to let go, once he makes a decision; so before that can happen, he needs to stay resolute.
eyelids fluttering shut, caleb sucks in an unsteady breath, his body betraying the urgency in his want with how honestly it is reacting to every kiss and caress. his own dick, albeit not as girthy as wrio's, stands tall and erect now, precum leaking out from its tip. ] Mmm. [ a murmur of agreement. ] Yea, about... two weeks. [ it felt longer though. much longer. ] I only had time to jerk off once. [ and it was not enough, to his chagrin. ]
( this is all on caleb's terms, of course. wriothesley is a practical man — there is sex, and there is trust; the latter is much more difficult to obtain with caleb, who is freer with his body than he is with his secrets. but wriothesley is more than happy to indulge him, to learn about him in all the secret little ways.
that said, wriothesley's affection is true, as is his interest in the man. intelligence informs him that he is a valuable EVER asset, a linchpin in ongoing plans within the farspace fleet. but he senses something deeper and more complicated, that caleb is more pawn than mastermind, and is willing to bide his time for him. he intends to build trust, to one day take him away from his hellhole unscathed.
now, he thinks about none of that, choosing instead to focus only on the fact that caleb's exquisitely gorgeous body is giving him away, pretty lashes fluttering. )
Shame, that's not nearly enough for you.
( he's laying soft kisses down his chest, down, down, hands smoothing down his sides to map him out under his hands, tender but deliberate. caleb wants rough, but he didn't give him a timeline for it, so wriothesley, rogue that he is, leaves a trail of lovebites from torso down to the flat of his lower belly, teasing the line that leads downward. he sucks a particularly vicious lovebite on his abdomen, right where he'll feel it when the band of his underwear rubs against it.
he spreads his thighs, settling between them before his warm, hot mouth lays a sinful, open-mouthed kiss to the head of his cock, tongue lapping up the pearling pre-cum. )
Remember when we'd fucked for hours on every imaginable surface in this apartment? You came so often I'd lost track, and I fucked you again in the balcony as the sun rose.
You're insatiable.
( and he takes him into his mouth, hands sliding under to knead his ass, cradling him like he's precious. )
with the amount of lovebites being left on his body, caleb is going to be greeted with quite the sight in the mirror later. he silently revels in the ardent sensation of wriothesley's lips on his skin, as the man slowly works a sensuous path down his chest, past his torso, to his pelvis. flushed with aching anticipation, he takes liberty to smooth his palms over a tapered back, refamiliarizing himself with its sinewy musculature and the scars that characterize it. ]
No, it wasn't. [ he agrees amenably, his head tilting as a provocative smile curves his lips. ] I kept thinking about how much I needed your dick in me.
[ he won't be the only one who has his patience tested tonight. but that unrepentant smile soon falters, when his cock is taken into a warm, wet mouth, giving way to a quick inhale. his left hand moves on its own accord to rake long fingers through the older man's hair as he narrows his eyes down at him with playful reprimand. ]
Are you getting a head start already? [ a precocious play on words, his fingers gripping soft strands. ] At least get my ass wet before you start making me cum, Commissioner. [ a measured beat. ] Not that I mind the view right now.
( absolutely just caleb. ignore the growing number of lovebites that are blooming on his skin; they are a measure of worship, and perhaps wriothesley will present him up before the mirror after and let his fingers press into each and every one of them.
that provocative smile is ridiculously, achingly sexy; a man this beautiful and expressive should be a crime. even so, the commissioner revels in the falter of that unrepentant, cheeky smile, his own ocean-blue eyes gleaming with renewed mischief and promise, telegraphing his pleasure thanks to having his mouth full. head start? goodness, the sass of him. it's easy enough to lube up his own fingers, and while he focuses on taking his cock deeper into his mouth, tongue swirling and pressing up against the sensitive underside, laving at where he knows he's most sensitive, he circles the rim of his hole, delicately pressing a lube-slick fingertip inside of him.
he inches in gradually, distracting caleb from the inevitably discomfort with the pleasure of having his cock sucked and taken even deeper. caleb's not a small man, and even with wriothesley's skill, he needs a little time to get used to the girth and length of him, his mouth opening even wider to accommodate his size alone. )
his fingers instinctually tighten their grip on those black strands. the narrow heat of wriothesley's mouth and the knowing movements of that slick wet tongue sends a wave of pleasure rippling through his body. he feels like he could drown in it — in him and his unwavering oceanic blue eyes. it's all caleb can do but to muffle a throaty groan, his purple hues wholly darkened by a desirous lust at the sight of this formidable man so willfully and steadfastly taking his length in.
but then wrio's finger slides into him and, despite his best efforts, an involuntary gasp rips forth from between his lips. his mind commands his body to relax, yet rebellious in its nature, it eagerly tightens around the foreign intrusion instead. he quietly curses at its treachery, biting down on his bottom lip.
it has only been two weeks, he reminds himself. show some grace.
a flush creeps its way up his neck, painting it a rosy pink, even as his right hand digs into the sheet beneath him. ]
I told you—... [ he spreads his legs wider, almost defiantly. ] to be rough, Wrio. [ stop making him ache for him. ]
that demand has him drawing his mouth off of caleb's already painfully hard cock, slick with saliva. there's a thread of it that keeps them joined for precious seconds, with wriothesley's own lips glistening wet as well. the look in his eyes is amused, dark and absolutely turned on. )
You said rough, not cruel. You remember the safe word?
( even as he asks this, he pushes his finger even deeper inside of him, fully buried before pulling out. he takes his time to ease him into it, introducing a second lubed up finger. the finger-fucking is deliberate, thorough, rubbing along those walls and just short of brushing against his prostate. no, he doesn't get that pleasure yet, not until caleb gets more wild and desperate for it.
he occupies himself with nosing along his shaft, then takes his balls into his mouth, free hand coming to thumb the underside of his dick, teasing the large vein underneath. despite the playfulness, however, wriothesley can't deny his own desire and eagerness, his gaze trained on him. he knows the things that are said about him, flattering and otherwise — and he definitely knows just how many people are desperate to bed a young, gifted colonel like him.
yet, here he is in his bed, blushing and spreading his legs. he's shifting so that one of those legs is draped over his shoulder while he worships, lavishing attention on him with warm reverence.
I remember. [ whether he actually remembers the safe word or not doesn't matter because he isn't going to use it. ] So, hurry up—
[ wriothesley does not hurry up. instead, it feels (quite literally) like he is intent on taking his time with him. it's driving caleb crazy.
with each slow and purposeful stroke of those long fingers, coaxing and stretching out his passageway, caleb's want for something thicker and harder grows, spurred on by an intensifying, yearning itch as wrio continuously withdraws right before his sweet spot. ] Nngh. [ he bites down on his bottom lip hard, stifling a moan when wriothesley trains his affection on his sack. further stimulated by the rapt attention to his now fully erect cock, his prideful resolve shakes and shatters. ]
Wrio—... a-ahh. [ squirming under him, his hips desperately begin to move on their own accord, grinding up against his mouth, his fingers, craving for him to go deeper, faster, to fuck him relentlessly and without restraint. ] Enough. [ a husky, ragged plea, as he yanks at his hair. ] Please—... I want your cock.
( wriothesley definitely does not hurry up. no, he's addicted to that impatience, that growing, demanding want. he supposes that's one of the very few things that caleb allows himself; that cold, dispassionate veneer falling away to more unguraded desire.
he can't help but be entranced by the way the younger man struggles to hold himself back, the twitch of his cock and how he falls apart under him. he squirms and grinds, and wriothesley allows him what he wants, pushing a second finger inside of him, stretching him proper and fucking him faster. his slick digits sink deeper, deeper, rubbing up against slick, pulsing walls of that tight hole, and it's enough to take his breath away.
the tug is vicious, and he pulls himself away from his balls, his lips brushing over the plump, bulbous head of his dick. he licks, pressing a slippery, wet kiss to it before laughing softly, moving back up and over him, licking his lips. )
Better. ( he's pulling out his fingers moments after, squeezing more lube onto his fingers to slick his own cock up, showing off how hard, how flushed he is for his young lover. )
( something in him throbs almost painfully at those words, a bittersweet tightness in his chest, like a reminder of something he's lost but cannot remember. he has his suspicions, and a keen awareness that rafayel's words are loaded with meaning, no matter how he plays it off.
with rafayel, metaphors are not really metaphors, right? he thinks back to the different works he's put on display, the ones he's poured his heart into. art is a reflection of the soul, so it says, and his is full of an inexplicably longing and heartache that spans beyond his years. wriothesley glances down at their joined hands now, palm to palm, a gesture that feels so powerfully familiar that his breath catches.
they've done this before. he can't remember when, or where, but they have.
he tilts his head, studying rafayel like he can parse some meaning from his words, or understand the strange longing and regret that wells up in him. )
It takes all kinds.
( he lifts his hand and presses a soft kiss to rafayel's bare knuckles, not breaking eye contact. )
Does it disappoint you, that you found me instead of the princess?
[ even without words, he feels like he can instinctively feel the shift of emotions stir beneath the surface. wriothesley doesn't necessarily have a visage that was easier to read than any other, but when rafayel looks at him, he feels the depth of their bond lurk from his under skin and glow with that magical red hue that indicates they've been here before. he's seen this ebb and flow of emotions that come crashing in like the ride. it's almost enough for him to get lost in, just like the feeling one has when they're settled at the edge of a cliff looking towards the raging sea, and all they do is find themselves hopelessly enamored.
... and all he can do is desperately hope that wriothesley feels even a fraction of what he does. no, even that's not a requirement. it was enough to be at his side, their fingers interlaced, and wriothesley's lips touching the back of his hand as if making a solemn promise that it would always be this way.
but, he wasn't here to put that expression on his face, and so instead, he keeps a placid sort of smile, as if welcoming him back. ]
Am I all kinds, or am I yours?
[ he uses his other hand to brush a few stray strands of hair from wriothesley's face. the back of his finger just barely allowing a ghost of a touch against the bridge of his nose, his lips, and he stops there. ]
If I was disappointed I wouldn't have walked in here with my own two feet. As you know, I only move where my inspiration takes me, and... [ he also keeps his eyes locked on his. ] I have a feeling it led me here for a reason. To start with...
[ he'd pick the unique color of wriothesley's eyes. to recreate it might be its own toil, but he's had years of experience. ]
( he stops just short of a kiss, and wriothesley searches his gaze, quiet and keen. he's always had the loveliest eyes and the wildest spirit, rafayel, but when all is said and then, and they find themselves in the spaces between words, wriothesley sees him.
older than anything he's ever known, lifetimes of memory and grief locked away with care, hidden behind placid smiles and playful pouts. rafayel is the master of redirection, but this incarnation of his beloved bride is sharper, shrewder, and less wont to let things slip through his fingers. )
Mine. ( he confirms without a shadow of a doubt, thumb smoothing over his bottom lip, slow and thoughtful. inspiration, is it? he can't even begin to imagine what's inspiring about meropide, but he's selfishly pleased that he's found his way here all the same. his other hand comes to cup his cheek, and ah, rafayel is so very, very beautiful in this light, a work of art in the middle of his very functional office. )
You're looking for inspiration here? I'm afraid I don't have much in the way of inspirational things.
[ it's true. for all he tends to conceal, wriothesley is always there to meet him in the middle. rafayel often laments on how his "bride" can never truly understand him. that perhaps, no one in this entire world does. who could? especially when he's an existence that's persisted far longer than the time it took for a land mass to form in the middle of the ocean. not many individuals can say they've seen an entire civilization be upended, and for them to simply disappear overnight.
however, he knows that the man tries harder than most. even in the way he pores over the nonsensical articles he sends him, or even how he can probably sift through the shelf and find more than one book on lemuria (even if rafayel may have gifted him one or two). ultimately, it's not understanding that draws them together, but perhaps the will to try that really resonates with him. ... and he feels this will and conviction even now.
that is, paired up with the simple desire to remain as one.
not unlike their linked fingers, or the way in which his fingers brush against his lips. it's enough that he instantly feels a heat to his skin and maybe it's the smell of the dampness of meropide, but he smells the ocean so strongly that he feels his throat tighten up. he suddenly feels like he wants him, and yet rafayel struggles to keep his own emotions from bubbling past this point of no return. but, that's a lie. he knows he's well past it, he just likes to pretend he retains some hint of control over himself. ]
With thoughts like that, you'd miss the inspiration even if it knocked on your front door. [ a joke, but also. ] For example, your body is just like a sculpture. [ he brushes a hand over the scars he sees peeping between his shirt. ] These reminds me of the cracks that form in marble, especially near areas that border the ocean. The moisture from the sea tends to be unforgiving and unpredictable, after all, and yet... they have a way of standing tall and remaining as brilliant as they were when they were first created. As an artist, I think it's important to preserve things like this. Imperfections and the soul of artistry.
[ he says as his eyes sweep carefully over wriothesley. ]
Which is all just a way to say that... everything I need is here.
( wriothesley meets him in the middle because he must; the compulsion to pursue him, sinking his teeth into those fleeting words is indescribable — in his chest sits an awareness that rafayel will slip away if he doesn't hold on tight, and that this isn't his first rodeo with him.
his heart aches, inexplicably; but it's not a pain that pierces. it's one that rings hollow, for something that is no longer there. they resonate, still — and perhaps it's the vow that still keeps them bound, the promise that has damned an entire kingdom and its god.
perhaps it's a cosmic joke, that the duke of meropide is surrounded by the primordial sea, in the very heart of danger. he laughs softly at that, staying close as he clocks the desire in his eyes, the way he spills, unchecked and yearning. his hand comes to rest on a hip, and wriothesley gently but firmly backs him up against the edge of his desk.
you see, wriothesley is many things, but he doesn't have the soul of an artist. what he knows, however, is that he can appreciate the images painted by rafayel's words, the keen appreciation and the poetry woven into every observation. he leans down after a beat, nose nudging against his. )
Good. Then take your fill of me.
( and he closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to his in a proper, searching kiss. )
[ despite his own wants, he doesn't expect it reciprocated so suddenly. no, maybe a part of rafayel always held back in case he was left with nothing but sea foam and the sound of the parting seagulls; curbing disappointment and managing ones expectations was only natural. but, what feels oddly even more right is the touch on his hip, and then his lower back pressed up against the edge of the desk.
he realizes too late that he's already been caught in an alluring and tantalizing trap. the idea that wriothesley closes that gap to quickly elicits a small gasp, so soft it's nearly inaudible, before his lips curve into a smile.
it was just like him. while it wasn't like the man was an open book, at times like this... he feels like he's being comforted somehow. that he's receiving more than he's been giving for years, as if to make up for all those trips to edge of whalefall city, his heart heavy with inexplicable yearning. ]
Then you'll have to explain to Thomas why I couldn't step out from here for the next couple of days. [ he's about to open his mouth, to finish the end of his sentence, but the lips that meet his is abrupt. ... and in spite of it, he returns it with equal zeal, almost hungry as he angles his head to deepen their kiss. he doesn't break away and if they part even slightly, he goes in for another kiss, and another. his hand comes up to run through wriothesley's hair, and touch the back of his neck.
even as his cheeks grow warm and his ears turn a touch pink. ]
( this time, it's different. this time, it's wriothesley who pursues him, snaring this beautiful man in his hold and keeping him there. rafayel has always been adept at slipping out of his grasp, staying out of reach like it's a test for him, to see if he chases.
that smile is precious, and he feels like he's ticked the right boxes this time. the kiss is illuminating, as intoxicating as it had been the very first time they'd kissed and he knows that there's no long else he will crave more than him. the passion that fills every swipe of his tongue, press of his lips and knead of his fingers is magical, resonating in the deepest recesses of his heart.
kissing rafayel feels like a profound sort of homecoming, like having pieces of a puzzle slotted together in a mystery that he's never quite grasped. but what he knows is that rafayel kisses him like his life depends on it, always yearning, always wanting, and kissing him feels like he's released a dam of emotion. his hand comes to cradle his cheek, and wriothesley smiles when he meets him just as heatedly, licking into his mouth when those words hang between them.
thomas, right. that's the last person he's thinking about. when he pulls away, a thread of saliva keeps them linked, just for a second or two, before he's hitching him up onto his desk. the duke is enjoying the warmth of his touch, and he's going in for another kiss, craving the sweetness of him. )
Easy. You're busy working on your next exhibition.
( and with that, he's stepping between his lover's thighs, chasing after his lips. oh, how he loves when this artist blushes just for him. )
[ the slick feelings of the other man's tongue, and the saliva they exchange unabashedly is enough to make an involuntary shiver run down his spine. he feels the heat building at the pit of his stomach, not unlike the flint and spark of his own evol. when they finally part, rafayel feels slightly out of breath. maybe in the depth of his emotions, he may have forgotten how to breathe, or maybe he was so consumed with savoring every inch of the inside of his mouth that it was swiftly left on the backburner.
he inhales and exhales sharply, his chest rising and falling smoothly in tandem as he still keeps his hold over the back of his neck. his fingers slide a little lower, his nails digging into wriothesley's shoulders as he's hoisted up on the desk. he barely gets a word in before his lips are crushed against his once more.
rafayel can feel him so intimately that he wonders if this is just another one of his dreams. an illusion in which he'll rouse from and realize that he's still staring out at the shoreline, or worse... the perpetual blue seen through the skylight of his studio's bedroom.
but, for every touch they share, or even the firmness of the desk beneath him... it's all too real.
his bride is incredibly strong, it seems, and he sees it in the way his forearm flexes, or in the roadmap of veins in his hand that leads it way up his arms that are concealed behind troublesome clothes. it really stimulates his own imagination, especially as he settles between his legs. while shy, he can feel himself get hard under the other man's penetrating gaze.
he wonders if he were simply fated to become acclimated to him, no matter what form he takes. he feels like he's being swept up in the tumultuous currents of their collective impulses. when he breaks free momentarily— ] Then where should I start? [ he moves his lips away if just to place them against wriothesley's earlobe, his tongue pressing flat against his ears, before finding their way down to his jawline, his neck, and as his mouth traces over it, he leaves a small trail, as if prepping a canvas. ]
( it's not a dream, not anymore. rafayel's bride is different from his previous incarnations — lending hope, perhaps, that this time will not end in tragedy like the others, that rafayel's sacrifices will finally pay off this time around.
he hisses softly when rafayel discovers the sensitive spot on his ear, the heat of his kisses as alluring as it is affectionate, and his pulse jumps under the other man's attentions. the cool air warms the saliva on his skin, and it's almost as if he's a work of art under his hands, his lips and tongue.
his fingers shift to unbutton rafayel's shirt, one by one, and he smiles. )
Yes. Undress me, first. Don't you want to reacquaint yourself with your canvas?
[ the soft hiss of breath, or even how he reacts to his touch is enough to make his chest swell with a deluge of emotions. he can no longer put a damper on them, and it's clear in the way he desperately holds onto him. no longer does it feel like grasping onto grains of sand, ones that would eventually disperse and leave him with just mere ghost of touches, or the lingering ache in his heart. his heart that was now...
he looks down at wriothesley's hands, letting his own reach up to also undress him in turn. his hands work expertly in removing his shirt, almost practiced. for once, he isn't fumbling. if anything, his resolve seems steeled, and it shows in the way he looks at wriothesley through the intensity of his gaze. ... and it becomes increasingly evident as he leans in and presses a kiss right over his bride's heart would be.
the newly exposed skin every bit as tantalizing every other part of his body. his teeth briefly nips at skin, his tongue brushing against it as he sucks on it. he keeps this up for a few moments, just the sounds of his mouth on wriothesley's skin, until he abruptly breaks off. ] I... [ he breaths out. exhales, inhales. as if deciding on the right excuse, until he sticks on. ] I only did what you wanted. [ almost defensive, and yet it's barely any real explanation other than the obvious i want you that remains furtive and hidden behind his eyes. except, it may not have been as hidden as he intended.
as if to refocus his energy he begins unraveling wriothesley's tie. ] Should I tie your hands up so you don't disturb my work? Or should I tie a ribbon here and savor you as my gift after a job well done. [ is he kidding...
( and speaking of artistic, there is a gleam in rafayel's beautiful eyes that he can't resist, and while wriothesley is no dilettante, he understands a thing or two about art and how rafayel creates it. it's just oddly erotic, how he's now a subject of that creative, focused intensity. the kiss against his heart burns in a way that makes his toes curl and his heart ache so profoundly.
the nip makes him gasp, the lovebite flowering on his skin. it makes him want more of rafayel's attentions, his kisses, his touch, his yearning, but he knows he has to be patient — the last thing he wants to do is spook him. he has learned how to read so very many people, but sometimes rafayel eludes him, and despite the intimacy of the moment, now is one of those times.
he allows him to remove his tie, his hands splaying fully before pushing that shirt off of the other man's lean shoulders. )
Counter-proposal: we take the edge off our lust, and I let you work on me after.
[ rafayel often used words as a sort of diversion. to set up a situation and craft it in such a way where the exits would only be clear to himself. as if he were the artist who crafted a particularly difficult to labyrinth. it was his own indirect way of being able to keep peace with himself and rightfully manage his emotions as to ensure they would not overflow. but like the steady flow of a river eventually makes it journey into the vast seas—
all roads lead back to one person and one person only, and the problems simply follow.
it was always her... no, his genuine devotion he sought. the love they shared that shackled him, much like now. when one created a bond, they had the power to control them. ... and it must be true, if just because he finds himself nodding along. the hunger for the man's body growing in his body and settling somewhere in the put of his stomach. the heat grows and he finds him grinding his body against him, albeit unintentionally, and it shows when he suddenly stops in abashment as soon as he notices.
it all feels precariously more intimate now that his shirt is completely open. ] Just the edge, then? Are you sure you won't regret proposing that? [ he says this with as much boldness as he can muster. he uses the tie to draw wriothesley close again, his nose brushing against his. ]
I can stop at any time. [ he can't. but, it's a bluff rafayel makes to see the rise it gets out of him. ]
( wriothesley tells him with that easy charm, allowing his lovely merman to use his collar like a leash. the god of the tides, they call him; this mystery soul that pushes and pulls all at once, as inexplicable and remote as he is passionate and wanting.
not even the duke himself, with all of his savvy and wit, can pin him down. the exits are truly clear only to rafayel himself, but wriothesley likes to think that the man turns away from them all the same, returning to him time and again.
he can see the way he catches himself right after, and it's alluring how all of his instincts are turned toward him before he thinks better of it, and wriothesley can't help but press his advantage. give in, he wants to tell rafayel, his own passion simmering under the surface, the longing that he can never quite quell. it's always been a part of him, this aching need, the purest shard of devotion that has never changed, no matter what form he took in his last lives. )
I don't do regrets, you know. ( he continues, reaching down between rafayel's thighs to palm him through his pants, slow and sensuous. he's feeling him up, thumbing along the lines of his cock with a soft smile.
another gentle kiss, and he murmurs against his lips. ) Will you regret staying with me?
[ at the duke's words of "regrets," he can't help but give an airy sort of chuckle. ] We'll see about that.
The night is still so young, so who can say what will happen. [ there was still plenty of room for remorse, regrets, lost convictions... unlike wriothesley, he feels like he may have accumulated his fair share of them. regrets in letting his bride go. in ever sharing the tome of the sea god in which spoke of love and death so easily, as if they were two sides of the same coin. except, perhaps they truly were.
"death is a matter of time, so love with all your heart can muster."
... and he truly does so easily. enough for it to be both painful, and yet joyous at the same time. even now he can feel emotion well up from within him, intermingling with all his other desires. despite occasionally taking the lead, when he's kissed like this... his body automatically seems to give. his posture relaxes, only to stiffen when he feels the firm touch against his growing excitement. wriothesley's calloused hands working through his pants feels good, but torturous at the same time, and he lets out several tight inhalations of breath. a moan settling in the back of his throat as his hand grips wriothesley's wrist. except, there's no real power behind it.
as if he doesn't actually want him to stop. is he obvious? ]
It's already been a year and you still don't know the answer to that?
[ no matter what roads await him, he was always of the same belief. he'd stay with him for as long as he physically could. in this life and the next. it shows in the way he looks up at him and he meets him with another kiss. his hand gradually releasing wriothesley's wrist and moving to his belt. ]
( for wriothesley as much as it is for rafayel. in this rare, precious moment, it feels like he truly has him, like he's given up searching for exits at the moment. not that he blames him, really — he can never fault rafayel for anything; especially when he kisses him so deeply, so passionately that any complaint (if any, in the first place) will melt so cleanly away, carried away by the waves of his affection.
he presses up into him insistently, his hand deftly undoing the other man's belt to pull it free, unzipping and unclasping those exquisitely tailored pants. a soft grunt urges him to move up, up, so that he can slide those pants off of his hips. in between kisses, he murmurs, )
[ there's a second in which just a flicker of another emotion crosses his features. is it the beginnings of a pout, or is it a touch of exasperation? maybe, it's a bit of both, and yet he finds the one capable of rousing such emotions in him ... terribly endearing. hadn't it always been this way?
even though he's moved his hand to also unclapse wriothesley's belt, he barely gets into it before he's beaten to the punch. he can sense a certain urgency in the man's motions, and the mere fact that he's in such a rush to have him was already a dizzying prospect. when he hears the cue to move up, he wraps his arms around him. lifting himself off, but not before pressing his body so closely. as if to make sure wriothesley could feel every heave of his chest.
why does it always feel like he's in heat when they're kissing... ]
That's a hard question. [ he says, but it really isn't. he's just as riled up, and he's so close to losing his mind to all the desires and all the things he wants to do to him. he also wrestles with wriothesley's pants, his hands hot and clumsy as he reaches for his cock. his fingers wrap around it, his palm dancing across the shaft as his thumb touches the tip for any evidence of slickness. ] And my hands might be a little too busy right now.
[ which you know what doesn't stop his mouth from answering him, but shhh don't poke holes into this. even if he does say this with a touch of something both playful, and maybe a little dangerous. as if he wasn't completely in control of himself. ]
( rafayel is a tender addiction; the more he has of him, the more he craves. might it be a spell the god of the tides has cast on him? if so, he will be its willing supplicant. the warm press of his body is a heady, captivating feeling, and he takes matters in his hands.
in a swift move, he lifts him into his arms and kicks the back door open. it leads to the bedroom he has here when work gets too much. it's simple, but deliberately him — he has been within meropide's walls long enough as a prisoner, the touches of decor in the bedroom is unmistakably him; a way of asserting his ownership of the place.
another kiss, and another, and he hisses when he feels those elegant artist's hands wrap around his cock, calloused in curious ways, like he's just as accustomed to wielding a weapon as a paintbrush. but nevermind, he's walking towards the bedroom with his half-hard cock in his beautiful lover's hand, pearling pre-cum slicking up that thumb already. )
Mmmm, touch me more, then. ( then, a gentle tease. ) You're better at handling hard things than questions.
( one more hungry kiss, and he's depositing him onto the bed, following right after like a prowling jungle cat, hands and knees pressing down on the springs on either side of him. wriothesley's eyes are dark, full of longing, and he's rocking into his hand again once, twice, testing rafayel's limits before he licks into his mouth once more. )
[ there's a sound that gets caught in the back of his throat as wriothesley lifts him up effortlessly. while it's nice to have someone capable of reading between the lines and exerting just the right amount of authority— enough to decide on the bedroom as opposed to the table, for example— rafayel can't deny finding it just another way in which he couldn't escape. where he couldn't simply laugh it off on a whim and step out of his office as he pleased.
not that he would, but... could he say it's an impossibility? maybe not.
does wriothesley make this decision knowing this about rafayel? should he be defensive? at the same time, he seems content not to delve too deeply into it. instead, he'd rather focus on the excitement that seems evident on the tip of wriothesley's cock. he lets the pre-cum coat his fingers, especially as he drags it across his length. when he feels to mattress against his back, he looks up at wriothesley and it's almost overwhelming to see the unyielding yearning that lay simmering behind his gaze. it's intense enough that were he anyone else, he may have broke eye contact. but, instead he holds it with an equal amount of longing.
he parts his lips and allows wriothesley to explore the inside of his mouth as much as he wants, as his hand works up and down his cock. feeling how hard wriothesley is for him seems to build upon his own desires, and he can feel his own hips moving upwards in an attempt to grind up against him. though, before he squeezes in a huffy: ] Excuse you, I can handle both just fine. [ another gasp of air as his tongue searches for his. ] If I can't, then it's all your fault.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
happy birthday
But it doesn’t take long for Capitano to hear rumors and see how people are trying to gather presents for the Duke.
Let’s not worry about how he managed to get his hands on the information.
He wakes up on the cusp of dawn when the sun is barely peeking in and tinting the hotel windows lavender. He doesn’t bother putting on his mask or jacket, and strolls to the kitchen in nothing but his under cloth to prepare Wriothesley coffee— it’s the least he can offer right? To pamper him and tend to his needs.
They’re set steaming on the bedside table before he joins him silently back in the bed. He presses himself against him, kissing the bruises on his neck, the marring scars and his ear. It’s not ravenous or crazy, but rather soft as he has ever been. )
Happy birthday.
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— the date he first entered meropide, sentenced to live within its walls.
he senses capitano rise, half-asleep and shifting to the rapidly dissipating warmth on the other man's side of the bed. this hotel is familiar to them now, a home away from home, and he blinks sleepily, shifting back and reaching for him when he joins him back in the bed. it's soft, these kisses, and he pauses when those two words are uttered; is he surprised? maybe a little. but they've been together for months, so honestly? wriothesley's not as surprised as he ought to be.
he tips his head back to give him more access, but reaches out to run his fingers through long, silky locks, tugging him closer. mmm, more, please. ]
How long have you known?
tfln cont.
He likes your texts that much.
[ he says dryly, nevermind that they're talking about his dick in the third person. the kiss is molten, searching; wriothesley might have more patience but even he can't wait that long, not when caleb kisses him back just like that.
it's easy enough to shove him to the mattress, quick as you please, and he's pinning him down with his limbs in a heartbeat, that ever-present, pleasant little smile becoming mischievous, tinged with unfettered want. caleb might be broad-shouldered and muscular, taller than the others, but wriothesley has a few inches on him, just as broad with a fighter's grace.
the long, savage-looking scars on his throat ripple when he chuckles, calloused palm smoothing over the younger man's plump pectoral, giving it a playful squeeze. ]
Tell me, Colonel. How do you want this?
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[ the response comes easily, a hint of daring in his eyes.
caleb settles leisurely beneath him, satisfied by the firmness of his grasp as he pins him down on top of the bed. warmth spreads throughout his body, when wrio squeezes his chest and he fights the urge to arch into his calloused palm. desire a strong motivator that prompts him to hook his right leg around the older man's waist, pressing him down further as he angles his head to whisper into his ear. ]
I want you to fuck me hard and fast, until I can't think straight. [ —until all he can focus on is the raw pleasure between them, suspending his fatigue, his worries and his troubles at least for one night. he rolls his hips then, rocking up against him, his voice husky and seductive. ] Fuck me, Duke.
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( he smiles at the nickname, but more importantly, wriothesley can tell when caleb's holding back, and he wonders if pleasure is a thing that's alien to him, that he's more used to pain and discomfort as a way of life and release.
but he doesn't dwell too much on it, when he nudges his chin up so he can mouth heated kisses and licks down the column of his throat, his hand moving to grasp his cock firmly, stroking from root to tip and back again in a slow rhythm.
he lets go only to snag the lube by the nightstand, tipping it onto his fingers. mouthing over old scars and right down to taking a nipple in his mouth to lave and tease, his index finger rubs against his entrance, tracing over the rim. his words are warm, affectionate: )
Can't say I haven't missed this. It's been, what, two weeks? Been all pent up, or were you jerking off?
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wriothesley isn't far off the mark. it's easier for him to accept pain and discomfort over pleasure and delight. they have long become a routine part of his life and, more importantly, to this instance, they allow him to draw a fine line between what he is willing to take from wrio and what he isn't. they have gotten closer than he had ever intended, but at least he still has enough control right now to dictate how their relationship should be.
wriothesley's affection for him is evident in both his tone and his touch. perhaps if things were different, he could have indulged in it fully, yet that thought is dangerous in and of itself. he has never been the type to let go, once he makes a decision; so before that can happen, he needs to stay resolute.
eyelids fluttering shut, caleb sucks in an unsteady breath, his body betraying the urgency in his want with how honestly it is reacting to every kiss and caress. his own dick, albeit not as girthy as wrio's, stands tall and erect now, precum leaking out from its tip. ] Mmm. [ a murmur of agreement. ] Yea, about... two weeks. [ it felt longer though. much longer. ] I only had time to jerk off once. [ and it was not enough, to his chagrin. ]
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that said, wriothesley's affection is true, as is his interest in the man. intelligence informs him that he is a valuable EVER asset, a linchpin in ongoing plans within the farspace fleet. but he senses something deeper and more complicated, that caleb is more pawn than mastermind, and is willing to bide his time for him. he intends to build trust, to one day take him away from his hellhole unscathed.
now, he thinks about none of that, choosing instead to focus only on the fact that caleb's exquisitely gorgeous body is giving him away, pretty lashes fluttering. )
Shame, that's not nearly enough for you.
( he's laying soft kisses down his chest, down, down, hands smoothing down his sides to map him out under his hands, tender but deliberate. caleb wants rough, but he didn't give him a timeline for it, so wriothesley, rogue that he is, leaves a trail of lovebites from torso down to the flat of his lower belly, teasing the line that leads downward. he sucks a particularly vicious lovebite on his abdomen, right where he'll feel it when the band of his underwear rubs against it.
he spreads his thighs, settling between them before his warm, hot mouth lays a sinful, open-mouthed kiss to the head of his cock, tongue lapping up the pearling pre-cum. )
Remember when we'd fucked for hours on every imaginable surface in this apartment? You came so often I'd lost track, and I fucked you again in the balcony as the sun rose.
You're insatiable.
( and he takes him into his mouth, hands sliding under to knead his ass, cradling him like he's precious. )
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with the amount of lovebites being left on his body, caleb is going to be greeted with quite the sight in the mirror later. he silently revels in the ardent sensation of wriothesley's lips on his skin, as the man slowly works a sensuous path down his chest, past his torso, to his pelvis. flushed with aching anticipation, he takes liberty to smooth his palms over a tapered back, refamiliarizing himself with its sinewy musculature and the scars that characterize it. ]
No, it wasn't. [ he agrees amenably, his head tilting as a provocative smile curves his lips. ] I kept thinking about how much I needed your dick in me.
[ he won't be the only one who has his patience tested tonight. but that unrepentant smile soon falters, when his cock is taken into a warm, wet mouth, giving way to a quick inhale. his left hand moves on its own accord to rake long fingers through the older man's hair as he narrows his eyes down at him with playful reprimand. ]
Are you getting a head start already? [ a precocious play on words, his fingers gripping soft strands. ] At least get my ass wet before you start making me cum, Commissioner. [ a measured beat. ] Not that I mind the view right now.
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that provocative smile is ridiculously, achingly sexy; a man this beautiful and expressive should be a crime. even so, the commissioner revels in the falter of that unrepentant, cheeky smile, his own ocean-blue eyes gleaming with renewed mischief and promise, telegraphing his pleasure thanks to having his mouth full. head start? goodness, the sass of him. it's easy enough to lube up his own fingers, and while he focuses on taking his cock deeper into his mouth, tongue swirling and pressing up against the sensitive underside, laving at where he knows he's most sensitive, he circles the rim of his hole, delicately pressing a lube-slick fingertip inside of him.
he inches in gradually, distracting caleb from the inevitably discomfort with the pleasure of having his cock sucked and taken even deeper. caleb's not a small man, and even with wriothesley's skill, he needs a little time to get used to the girth and length of him, his mouth opening even wider to accommodate his size alone. )
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his fingers instinctually tighten their grip on those black strands. the narrow heat of wriothesley's mouth and the knowing movements of that slick wet tongue sends a wave of pleasure rippling through his body. he feels like he could drown in it — in him and his unwavering oceanic blue eyes. it's all caleb can do but to muffle a throaty groan, his purple hues wholly darkened by a desirous lust at the sight of this formidable man so willfully and steadfastly taking his length in.
but then wrio's finger slides into him and, despite his best efforts, an involuntary gasp rips forth from between his lips. his mind commands his body to relax, yet rebellious in its nature, it eagerly tightens around the foreign intrusion instead. he quietly curses at its treachery, biting down on his bottom lip.
it has only been two weeks, he reminds himself. show some grace.
a flush creeps its way up his neck, painting it a rosy pink, even as his right hand digs into the sheet beneath him. ]
I told you—... [ he spreads his legs wider, almost defiantly. ] to be rough, Wrio. [ stop making him ache for him. ]
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that demand has him drawing his mouth off of caleb's already painfully hard cock, slick with saliva. there's a thread of it that keeps them joined for precious seconds, with wriothesley's own lips glistening wet as well. the look in his eyes is amused, dark and absolutely turned on. )
You said rough, not cruel. You remember the safe word?
( even as he asks this, he pushes his finger even deeper inside of him, fully buried before pulling out. he takes his time to ease him into it, introducing a second lubed up finger. the finger-fucking is deliberate, thorough, rubbing along those walls and just short of brushing against his prostate. no, he doesn't get that pleasure yet, not until caleb gets more wild and desperate for it.
he occupies himself with nosing along his shaft, then takes his balls into his mouth, free hand coming to thumb the underside of his dick, teasing the large vein underneath. despite the playfulness, however, wriothesley can't deny his own desire and eagerness, his gaze trained on him. he knows the things that are said about him, flattering and otherwise — and he definitely knows just how many people are desperate to bed a young, gifted colonel like him.
yet, here he is in his bed, blushing and spreading his legs. he's shifting so that one of those legs is draped over his shoulder while he worships, lavishing attention on him with warm reverence.
ache for him, brat. he wants to see it. )
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[ wriothesley does not hurry up. instead, it feels (quite literally) like he is intent on taking his time with him. it's driving caleb crazy.
with each slow and purposeful stroke of those long fingers, coaxing and stretching out his passageway, caleb's want for something thicker and harder grows, spurred on by an intensifying, yearning itch as wrio continuously withdraws right before his sweet spot. ] Nngh. [ he bites down on his bottom lip hard, stifling a moan when wriothesley trains his affection on his sack. further stimulated by the rapt attention to his now fully erect cock, his prideful resolve shakes and shatters. ]
Wrio—... a-ahh. [ squirming under him, his hips desperately begin to move on their own accord, grinding up against his mouth, his fingers, craving for him to go deeper, faster, to fuck him relentlessly and without restraint. ] Enough. [ a husky, ragged plea, as he yanks at his hair. ] Please—... I want your cock.
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he can't help but be entranced by the way the younger man struggles to hold himself back, the twitch of his cock and how he falls apart under him. he squirms and grinds, and wriothesley allows him what he wants, pushing a second finger inside of him, stretching him proper and fucking him faster. his slick digits sink deeper, deeper, rubbing up against slick, pulsing walls of that tight hole, and it's enough to take his breath away.
the tug is vicious, and he pulls himself away from his balls, his lips brushing over the plump, bulbous head of his dick. he licks, pressing a slippery, wet kiss to it before laughing softly, moving back up and over him, licking his lips. )
Better. ( he's pulling out his fingers moments after, squeezing more lube onto his fingers to slick his own cock up, showing off how hard, how flushed he is for his young lover. )
I love seeing you like this; you're so honest.
(rafayel)
( something in him throbs almost painfully at those words, a bittersweet tightness in his chest, like a reminder of something he's lost but cannot remember. he has his suspicions, and a keen awareness that rafayel's words are loaded with meaning, no matter how he plays it off.
with rafayel, metaphors are not really metaphors, right? he thinks back to the different works he's put on display, the ones he's poured his heart into. art is a reflection of the soul, so it says, and his is full of an inexplicably longing and heartache that spans beyond his years. wriothesley glances down at their joined hands now, palm to palm, a gesture that feels so powerfully familiar that his breath catches.
they've done this before. he can't remember when, or where, but they have.
he tilts his head, studying rafayel like he can parse some meaning from his words, or understand the strange longing and regret that wells up in him. )
It takes all kinds.
( he lifts his hand and presses a soft kiss to rafayel's bare knuckles, not breaking eye contact. )
Does it disappoint you, that you found me instead of the princess?
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... and all he can do is desperately hope that wriothesley feels even a fraction of what he does. no, even that's not a requirement. it was enough to be at his side, their fingers interlaced, and wriothesley's lips touching the back of his hand as if making a solemn promise that it would always be this way.
but, he wasn't here to put that expression on his face, and so instead, he keeps a placid sort of smile, as if welcoming him back. ]
Am I all kinds, or am I yours?
[ he uses his other hand to brush a few stray strands of hair from wriothesley's face. the back of his finger just barely allowing a ghost of a touch against the bridge of his nose, his lips, and he stops there. ]
If I was disappointed I wouldn't have walked in here with my own two feet. As you know, I only move where my inspiration takes me, and... [ he also keeps his eyes locked on his. ] I have a feeling it led me here for a reason. To start with...
[ he'd pick the unique color of wriothesley's eyes. to recreate it might be its own toil, but he's had years of experience. ]
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older than anything he's ever known, lifetimes of memory and grief locked away with care, hidden behind placid smiles and playful pouts. rafayel is the master of redirection, but this incarnation of his beloved bride is sharper, shrewder, and less wont to let things slip through his fingers. )
Mine. ( he confirms without a shadow of a doubt, thumb smoothing over his bottom lip, slow and thoughtful. inspiration, is it? he can't even begin to imagine what's inspiring about meropide, but he's selfishly pleased that he's found his way here all the same. his other hand comes to cup his cheek, and ah, rafayel is so very, very beautiful in this light, a work of art in the middle of his very functional office. )
You're looking for inspiration here? I'm afraid I don't have much in the way of inspirational things.
thanks for forgiving my typos
however, he knows that the man tries harder than most. even in the way he pores over the nonsensical articles he sends him, or even how he can probably sift through the shelf and find more than one book on lemuria (even if rafayel may have gifted him one or two). ultimately, it's not understanding that draws them together, but perhaps the will to try that really resonates with him. ... and he feels this will and conviction even now.
that is, paired up with the simple desire to remain as one.
not unlike their linked fingers, or the way in which his fingers brush against his lips. it's enough that he instantly feels a heat to his skin and maybe it's the smell of the dampness of meropide, but he smells the ocean so strongly that he feels his throat tighten up. he suddenly feels like he wants him, and yet rafayel struggles to keep his own emotions from bubbling past this point of no return. but, that's a lie. he knows he's well past it, he just likes to pretend he retains some hint of control over himself. ]
With thoughts like that, you'd miss the inspiration even if it knocked on your front door. [ a joke, but also. ] For example, your body is just like a sculpture. [ he brushes a hand over the scars he sees peeping between his shirt. ] These reminds me of the cracks that form in marble, especially near areas that border the ocean. The moisture from the sea tends to be unforgiving and unpredictable, after all, and yet... they have a way of standing tall and remaining as brilliant as they were when they were first created. As an artist, I think it's important to preserve things like this. Imperfections and the soul of artistry.
[ he says as his eyes sweep carefully over wriothesley. ]
Which is all just a way to say that... everything I need is here.
thank u for being so perfect
his heart aches, inexplicably; but it's not a pain that pierces. it's one that rings hollow, for something that is no longer there. they resonate, still — and perhaps it's the vow that still keeps them bound, the promise that has damned an entire kingdom and its god.
perhaps it's a cosmic joke, that the duke of meropide is surrounded by the primordial sea, in the very heart of danger. he laughs softly at that, staying close as he clocks the desire in his eyes, the way he spills, unchecked and yearning. his hand comes to rest on a hip, and wriothesley gently but firmly backs him up against the edge of his desk.
you see, wriothesley is many things, but he doesn't have the soul of an artist. what he knows, however, is that he can appreciate the images painted by rafayel's words, the keen appreciation and the poetry woven into every observation. he leans down after a beat, nose nudging against his. )
Good. Then take your fill of me.
( and he closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to his in a proper, searching kiss. )
;__; no thank u
he realizes too late that he's already been caught in an alluring and tantalizing trap. the idea that wriothesley closes that gap to quickly elicits a small gasp, so soft it's nearly inaudible, before his lips curve into a smile.
it was just like him. while it wasn't like the man was an open book, at times like this... he feels like he's being comforted somehow. that he's receiving more than he's been giving for years, as if to make up for all those trips to edge of whalefall city, his heart heavy with inexplicable yearning. ]
Then you'll have to explain to Thomas why I couldn't step out from here for the next couple of days. [ he's about to open his mouth, to finish the end of his sentence, but the lips that meet his is abrupt. ... and in spite of it, he returns it with equal zeal, almost hungry as he angles his head to deepen their kiss. he doesn't break away and if they part even slightly, he goes in for another kiss, and another. his hand comes up to run through wriothesley's hair, and touch the back of his neck.
even as his cheeks grow warm and his ears turn a touch pink. ]
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that smile is precious, and he feels like he's ticked the right boxes this time. the kiss is illuminating, as intoxicating as it had been the very first time they'd kissed and he knows that there's no long else he will crave more than him. the passion that fills every swipe of his tongue, press of his lips and knead of his fingers is magical, resonating in the deepest recesses of his heart.
kissing rafayel feels like a profound sort of homecoming, like having pieces of a puzzle slotted together in a mystery that he's never quite grasped. but what he knows is that rafayel kisses him like his life depends on it, always yearning, always wanting, and kissing him feels like he's released a dam of emotion. his hand comes to cradle his cheek, and wriothesley smiles when he meets him just as heatedly, licking into his mouth when those words hang between them.
thomas, right. that's the last person he's thinking about. when he pulls away, a thread of saliva keeps them linked, just for a second or two, before he's hitching him up onto his desk. the duke is enjoying the warmth of his touch, and he's going in for another kiss, craving the sweetness of him. )
Easy. You're busy working on your next exhibition.
( and with that, he's stepping between his lover's thighs, chasing after his lips. oh, how he loves when this artist blushes just for him. )
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he inhales and exhales sharply, his chest rising and falling smoothly in tandem as he still keeps his hold over the back of his neck. his fingers slide a little lower, his nails digging into wriothesley's shoulders as he's hoisted up on the desk. he barely gets a word in before his lips are crushed against his once more.
rafayel can feel him so intimately that he wonders if this is just another one of his dreams. an illusion in which he'll rouse from and realize that he's still staring out at the shoreline, or worse... the perpetual blue seen through the skylight of his studio's bedroom.
but, for every touch they share, or even the firmness of the desk beneath him... it's all too real.
his bride is incredibly strong, it seems, and he sees it in the way his forearm flexes, or in the roadmap of veins in his hand that leads it way up his arms that are concealed behind troublesome clothes. it really stimulates his own imagination, especially as he settles between his legs. while shy, he can feel himself get hard under the other man's penetrating gaze.
he wonders if he were simply fated to become acclimated to him, no matter what form he takes. he feels like he's being swept up in the tumultuous currents of their collective impulses. when he breaks free momentarily— ] Then where should I start? [ he moves his lips away if just to place them against wriothesley's earlobe, his tongue pressing flat against his ears, before finding their way down to his jawline, his neck, and as his mouth traces over it, he leaves a small trail, as if prepping a canvas. ]
Should I go in harder?
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he hisses softly when rafayel discovers the sensitive spot on his ear, the heat of his kisses as alluring as it is affectionate, and his pulse jumps under the other man's attentions. the cool air warms the saliva on his skin, and it's almost as if he's a work of art under his hands, his lips and tongue.
his fingers shift to unbutton rafayel's shirt, one by one, and he smiles. )
Yes. Undress me, first. Don't you want to reacquaint yourself with your canvas?
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he looks down at wriothesley's hands, letting his own reach up to also undress him in turn. his hands work expertly in removing his shirt, almost practiced. for once, he isn't fumbling. if anything, his resolve seems steeled, and it shows in the way he looks at wriothesley through the intensity of his gaze. ... and it becomes increasingly evident as he leans in and presses a kiss right over his bride's heart would be.
the newly exposed skin every bit as tantalizing every other part of his body. his teeth briefly nips at skin, his tongue brushing against it as he sucks on it. he keeps this up for a few moments, just the sounds of his mouth on wriothesley's skin, until he abruptly breaks off. ] I... [ he breaths out. exhales, inhales. as if deciding on the right excuse, until he sticks on. ] I only did what you wanted. [ almost defensive, and yet it's barely any real explanation other than the obvious i want you that remains furtive and hidden behind his eyes. except, it may not have been as hidden as he intended.
as if to refocus his energy he begins unraveling wriothesley's tie. ] Should I tie your hands up so you don't disturb my work? Or should I tie a ribbon here and savor you as my gift after a job well done. [ is he kidding...
it's up for artistic debate. ]
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the nip makes him gasp, the lovebite flowering on his skin. it makes him want more of rafayel's attentions, his kisses, his touch, his yearning, but he knows he has to be patient — the last thing he wants to do is spook him. he has learned how to read so very many people, but sometimes rafayel eludes him, and despite the intimacy of the moment, now is one of those times.
he allows him to remove his tie, his hands splaying fully before pushing that shirt off of the other man's lean shoulders. )
Counter-proposal: we take the edge off our lust, and I let you work on me after.
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all roads lead back to one person and one person only, and the problems simply follow.
it was always her... no, his genuine devotion he sought. the love they shared that shackled him, much like now. when one created a bond, they had the power to control them. ... and it must be true, if just because he finds himself nodding along. the hunger for the man's body growing in his body and settling somewhere in the put of his stomach. the heat grows and he finds him grinding his body against him, albeit unintentionally, and it shows when he suddenly stops in abashment as soon as he notices.
it all feels precariously more intimate now that his shirt is completely open. ] Just the edge, then? Are you sure you won't regret proposing that? [ he says this with as much boldness as he can muster. he uses the tie to draw wriothesley close again, his nose brushing against his. ]
I can stop at any time. [ he can't. but, it's a bluff rafayel makes to see the rise it gets out of him. ]
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( wriothesley tells him with that easy charm, allowing his lovely merman to use his collar like a leash. the god of the tides, they call him; this mystery soul that pushes and pulls all at once, as inexplicable and remote as he is passionate and wanting.
not even the duke himself, with all of his savvy and wit, can pin him down. the exits are truly clear only to rafayel himself, but wriothesley likes to think that the man turns away from them all the same, returning to him time and again.
he can see the way he catches himself right after, and it's alluring how all of his instincts are turned toward him before he thinks better of it, and wriothesley can't help but press his advantage. give in, he wants to tell rafayel, his own passion simmering under the surface, the longing that he can never quite quell. it's always been a part of him, this aching need, the purest shard of devotion that has never changed, no matter what form he took in his last lives. )
I don't do regrets, you know. ( he continues, reaching down between rafayel's thighs to palm him through his pants, slow and sensuous. he's feeling him up, thumbing along the lines of his cock with a soft smile.
another gentle kiss, and he murmurs against his lips. ) Will you regret staying with me?
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The night is still so young, so who can say what will happen. [ there was still plenty of room for remorse, regrets, lost convictions... unlike wriothesley, he feels like he may have accumulated his fair share of them. regrets in letting his bride go. in ever sharing the tome of the sea god in which spoke of love and death so easily, as if they were two sides of the same coin. except, perhaps they truly were.
"death is a matter of time, so love with all your heart can muster."
... and he truly does so easily. enough for it to be both painful, and yet joyous at the same time. even now he can feel emotion well up from within him, intermingling with all his other desires. despite occasionally taking the lead, when he's kissed like this... his body automatically seems to give. his posture relaxes, only to stiffen when he feels the firm touch against his growing excitement. wriothesley's calloused hands working through his pants feels good, but torturous at the same time, and he lets out several tight inhalations of breath. a moan settling in the back of his throat as his hand grips wriothesley's wrist. except, there's no real power behind it.
as if he doesn't actually want him to stop. is he obvious? ]
It's already been a year and you still don't know the answer to that?
[ no matter what roads await him, he was always of the same belief. he'd stay with him for as long as he physically could. in this life and the next. it shows in the way he looks up at him and he meets him with another kiss. his hand gradually releasing wriothesley's wrist and moving to his belt. ]
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( for wriothesley as much as it is for rafayel. in this rare, precious moment, it feels like he truly has him, like he's given up searching for exits at the moment. not that he blames him, really — he can never fault rafayel for anything; especially when he kisses him so deeply, so passionately that any complaint (if any, in the first place) will melt so cleanly away, carried away by the waves of his affection.
he presses up into him insistently, his hand deftly undoing the other man's belt to pull it free, unzipping and unclasping those exquisitely tailored pants. a soft grunt urges him to move up, up, so that he can slide those pants off of his hips. in between kisses, he murmurs, )
Bed, or do you want to do this here?
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even though he's moved his hand to also unclapse wriothesley's belt, he barely gets into it before he's beaten to the punch. he can sense a certain urgency in the man's motions, and the mere fact that he's in such a rush to have him was already a dizzying prospect. when he hears the cue to move up, he wraps his arms around him. lifting himself off, but not before pressing his body so closely. as if to make sure wriothesley could feel every heave of his chest.
why does it always feel like he's in heat when they're kissing... ]
That's a hard question. [ he says, but it really isn't. he's just as riled up, and he's so close to losing his mind to all the desires and all the things he wants to do to him. he also wrestles with wriothesley's pants, his hands hot and clumsy as he reaches for his cock. his fingers wrap around it, his palm dancing across the shaft as his thumb touches the tip for any evidence of slickness. ] And my hands might be a little too busy right now.
[ which you know what doesn't stop his mouth from answering him, but shhh don't poke holes into this. even if he does say this with a touch of something both playful, and maybe a little dangerous. as if he wasn't completely in control of himself. ]
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in a swift move, he lifts him into his arms and kicks the back door open. it leads to the bedroom he has here when work gets too much. it's simple, but deliberately him — he has been within meropide's walls long enough as a prisoner, the touches of decor in the bedroom is unmistakably him; a way of asserting his ownership of the place.
another kiss, and another, and he hisses when he feels those elegant artist's hands wrap around his cock, calloused in curious ways, like he's just as accustomed to wielding a weapon as a paintbrush. but nevermind, he's walking towards the bedroom with his half-hard cock in his beautiful lover's hand, pearling pre-cum slicking up that thumb already. )
Mmmm, touch me more, then. ( then, a gentle tease. ) You're better at handling hard things than questions.
( one more hungry kiss, and he's depositing him onto the bed, following right after like a prowling jungle cat, hands and knees pressing down on the springs on either side of him. wriothesley's eyes are dark, full of longing, and he's rocking into his hand again once, twice, testing rafayel's limits before he licks into his mouth once more. )
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not that he would, but... could he say it's an impossibility? maybe not.
does wriothesley make this decision knowing this about rafayel? should he be defensive? at the same time, he seems content not to delve too deeply into it. instead, he'd rather focus on the excitement that seems evident on the tip of wriothesley's cock. he lets the pre-cum coat his fingers, especially as he drags it across his length. when he feels to mattress against his back, he looks up at wriothesley and it's almost overwhelming to see the unyielding yearning that lay simmering behind his gaze. it's intense enough that were he anyone else, he may have broke eye contact. but, instead he holds it with an equal amount of longing.
he parts his lips and allows wriothesley to explore the inside of his mouth as much as he wants, as his hand works up and down his cock. feeling how hard wriothesley is for him seems to build upon his own desires, and he can feel his own hips moving upwards in an attempt to grind up against him. though, before he squeezes in a huffy: ] Excuse you, I can handle both just fine. [ another gasp of air as his tongue searches for his. ] If I can't, then it's all your fault.
tfln cont. ft rafayel
Probably? Let me guess, you snuck one or two episodes and felt bad.
Hmmm, you're on the right track. It's been awhile since we've had something that needs a lot of exertion, right?
Running, I mean.
( HE JOKES, HE JOKES )
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insert the “not me” artsy birb here. ]
naaah youre def overthinking fr
[ but, oh….
you want to play this game with him, wriothesley? ]
oh youre right my bad
is that after you kill me by forcing me to row a boat
or before you kill me again by making me ride a tandem bike
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You know, rowing could help you build more of a tolerance to boats. What if we want to go fishing one evening?
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dun mean its first pick tho
isnt it kinda cheating to go fishing when you have me
how do you know im not a spy