Bunch of threads c/p'ed from Duplicity
Some violence and loads of sex.
Some violence and loads of sex.
Page Summary
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lovesuwithknives - Azwel / Carden Sparring Match 4/2020- lovesuwithknives - Azwel / Carden Mindless Fuckin 3/2020
- lovesuwithknives - Azwel / Carden Alleyway Fight and More Fuckin
- lovesuwithknives - Azwel / Carden Repair Shopping 1/2020
- lovesuwithknives - Azwel / Carden Yuletide Cheer... 12/19
- lovesuwithknives - Azwel / Carden Yuletide AU 12/19
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- Style: Elegant Notebook for Gold Leaf by rosecarmine
- Resources: Yusuke Kamiyamane and Atle Mo
Azwel / Carden Sparring Match 4/2020
Date: 2020-06-09 11:26 pm (UTC)B - Palindrome Mk II - open to residents/visitors of 69 Beach Road
For too long Azwel has chafed at being unarmed. His facility with a standard melee weapon may be passable in a fight, but he misses that fluidity and variety that Palindrome had afforded him. He misses the energy coursing through those familiar channels, misses the feeling of pulling at reality ever so slightly. Misses the sheer power.
Maybe it wasn't just the shards he'd been addicted to.
Over the course of weeks, after he'd repurposed that extractor, he'd laboured on creating a substance that would absorb and channel energies in the same manner that the shards had done. He'd all but vanished, even failing to show up to work. Only by contacting him on his device would anyone have known he was even still in the city.
It isn't surprising in the slightest that he'd throw himself into work like this. But there's probably more to it--he'd never admit it, but he wanted very little to do with anything other than work. Especially after coming back from that little involuntary space vacation.
At any rate, though, one morning the house is treated to the not-too-distant sound of someone training in that little space between their property and the sea, all-too-familiar vaguely musical sounds they all thought they'd never hear again, the flurry of hard-light weaponry they never thought they'd see again.
It's qualitatively different, though, no longer semi-sentient, no longer distillations of Order and Chaos, no longer quite so ready to reach into a mind and manipulate it. It's all only just-refined power, a swirling balance of creation and entropy. Even the light it uses is different, yellow and green, now.
Still, it's not what anyone was expecting.
---
Carden comes up from a morning walk along the beach and takes a long moment to watch what's going on unseen, slow grin forming on his face. He's happy to see Azwel training again, has some ideas about how he wants to respond to that request for help he's gotten a little bit earlier. But really, there's just some good old fashioned mischief brewing as he watches.
After all, he's been practicing, too.
It's a simple matter to just make himself unseen as well as mostly incorporeal while he heads up, though it's possible Azwel might have felt the flicker of magic down on the beach. More than likely, however, his first indication that he's been spotted is the sound of a sword slashing down from behind him as Carden turns both visible and corporeal again just in time to swing his own energy weapon down.
The strike is lazy, intended to be parried and won't do much appreciable damage even if Azwel just stands there and takes it. For Carden's part, he's thickened the energy in the air just around him a bit, enough to turn sharp blades blunt, even if they're energy-made ones, though it's not enough to completely protect him. Useless in a real fight, he probably can't withstand more than a blow or two with it, but fine for the errant blade while sparring.
He grins when Azwel turns around, hopefully catching his sword, the grin deepening as they lock for a moment before he springs away, settling back down into a fighting stance Azwel had previously taught him. He's getting much better at it.
---
He does feel that flicker of very familiar magick. It ripples through him, almost distractingly warm. The new energy he'd been working with had been coiling heat around his root, adding a distinctly earthy aspect to the power coursing through him. The original Palindrome had already created a vaguely druglike euphoria, but this new version, as can only be expected in a place like this, has increased that sensation, added arousal to it, subtly changed the tiny changes to reality whilst still pouring energy through the same channels that'd lain untouched for so long.
As soon as he senses the blade arcing toward him he does, indeed, pivot and bring a brilliant green broadsword into its path. His own grin is one of sheer exhilaration as they lock and then spring apart.
"Well done!" he exults. Stepping back, he flexes his fingers for a moment, more blades flickering around him for an instant. Interestingly, he's made the wearable component a little more subtle, this time, an elabourate concoction of arm bracers and rings, easily mistakeable for something decorative.
"I'm glad you came along to help me test this further! Shall we begin the experiment?"
---
"You know you can always count on me to help you," he tosses back, grinning. A moment later, his face grows more serious and he darts forward. He can't call on the myriad of blades like Azwel can, or at least, not yet. He finds he often can do almost anything, given the chance to concentrate on it and the imagination to conjure it, but he works in patterns and some patterns are just... easier than others. This sword, his world's version of Excalibur, dripping with water, is one of them. A small shield with a dragon's crest on it is another. It's barely more than a buckler, but he still sometimes needs both hands on the sword to actually control it, so he wouldn't be able to handle something much larger anyway.
Both things are easy enough for him now that he can afford a tiny burst of speed as he lunges forward, though it maybe turns his first real strike a little more clumsy.
---
Azwel's gaze has grown sharp, laser-focussed, tracking Carden's every motion. The significance of the weaponry isn't lost on him--he recognises the sword easily enough despite its difference in appearance to its analogue in his own world.
The speed with which Carden charges sends a delighted smile across Azwel's face for a moment before he sidesteps with a slight turn (his movements seem to involve rather a lot of sidestepping and circling) and sends a glowing yellow knife winging Carden's way. Lacking the shards' memory of every form either sword has ever taken, he's had to weave the numbers himself to create these new forms. As a result, they don't manifest quite as quickly, yet.
---
The knife is easy enough to parry, though he doesn't know enough to tell whether that's Azwel being too slow or him learning, starting to pick up on his movements. He grins either way, proud to have even come that far. It takes him a little longer to slow down than he'd like, the momentum preserving itself from the push forward, but while it does leave him open, he's good about at least making an effort to close his guard.
He's been working a little more with water properties lately, seeing what he can get his affinity there to do, and floating ice steps are apparently a thing, though he hasn't really practiced before. They're a little slick, but they don't send him spilling anywhere and he runs up them to try to come down from above. It's something he would never to in a real battle, too flashy, but he's showing off more than just his swordsmanship practice at this point.
---
It's a good job he did close up his guard, because the knife is followed by the swing of a pair of curved broadswords. An observer would probably notice that, yes, Azwel is creating these weapons a little more slowly than usual, but it's still pretty fast.
Azwel, to be honest, is used to flashy moves. In fact, it unnerves him a bit when people aren't leaping and whirling and throwing magick about. So the ice steps seem weirdly normal to him--of course Carden's going to do this, his powers involve water--why wouldn't he? Azwel once got his ass absolutely handed to him by a small Chinese lady with a positively strident voice, a jian,, and the ability to control water. He'll have to tell Carden about that later when they aren't sparring.
At some point he's going to have to test the limits of what this new weapon can do--he was able to literally punch holes in space and time with the original Palindrome and, while he doubts he can do the same with the new one, he's sure he can do something with it. Now is not the time, though.
When Carden leaps down toward him, Azwel braces his feet and a round shield appears in order to block that strike. It vanishes just in time for Azwel to step and then grab at Carden to throw him.
---
There's no real avoiding that, not really, he's just not fast enough, but he was expecting it all the same. He's flung and he's not acrobatic enough to land on his feet or anything, but there's a burst of something new for him: air, hand pointed out behind him to give him enough of a backdraft of sorts to not land very hard, to keep his feet more or less under him.
There's no way to keep himself defensively guarded during that, though, the posture is just too open, though he does raise the sword up in a kind of warding off motion as he goes. His side burns just a little where Azwel had touched him, a sensation that fades first to warmth, then to pins and needles, then nothing. It happens so fast that he doesn't have time to really process either the sensation itself or it's familiarity, but it's logged somewhere in the back of his brain.
It's distracting enough that he doesn't immediately launch another offensive, though he's taking a long enough moment to re-acquire his bearings for Azwel to.
---
Azwel does spot that backdraft of air, and will absolutely ask about it later. He also spots the stumble--he's just circling for a better angle on his next attack, not waiting for Carden to regain his balance, of course not. Never. Totally didn't even cross his mind.
So it's a beat later than usual that Azwel charges forward, bringing a very large halberd down in an overhead swing.
---
There's a little cry off effort rather than fear or pain as Carden twists to try to get the buckler up fast enough to block and the impact rattles his teeth. His other hand drops the sword for a moment and he swings his open hand up under the guard bringing water with it. It's technically "just" water, but if what he'd thrown at Azwel in some of those practices months ago was like throwing water snowballs, this is getting hit with a full force firehose.
The aim is definitely to knock Azwel back. How effective it is up to his own reflexes.
---
Water is pretty difficult to dodge, so it slaps across Azwel's chest and face, causing him to stumble, actually turning him so that he faces away from Carden for a moment. Brr, that's a bit chilly.... He whirls to face Carden again, dripping wet but undaunted, a green spear forming in his hand.
---
He's weaponless for the moment, but it hardly matters when there's power at his fingertips, now. He brings the shield up for whatever the next strike brings, but the one after that he actually closes distance and tries something entirely new.
He brings himself closer in, shield still raised and dodges the spear strike to one side, reaching out and gripping the haft of the spear as he does. The momentum is dangerous, would probably have flayed his arm open with the tip of the spear if he hadn't put up some minor protection earlier. But he sends power through the construct as he does, in an attempt to see if he can disrupt the energy holding it together.
If he can, this fight just took on a completely different dimension.
---
Just like when he grabbed the sword made with the original Palindrome, this one is, for the moment, solid, and sends a wave of something through Carden's hand and down his arm--something redolent with desire and the swirling, formless unknown....
And when he disrupts it there's an odd, flickering discharge of energy, the spear vanishes and Azwel actually reels back a step, stunned for just an instant.
---
He gasps softly as that power wicks up through his hand and down his arm, body shuddering and the noise turning to a quiet moan before it really even hits him that it feels good. It's a testament to the power itself and the strength of it that he thinks about sex before he gets giddy about being able to do something like that. The desire is as formless as the power itself: he doesn't think about some kind of particular sex act, just for a moment, there's nothing in his head but the desire to fuck and he makes him reel for a second, too.
It vanishes, though it leaves his cheeks a little flushed, and then there's the thought of victory, grinning, and his shield is dismissed with a wave of his hand. His eyes sparkle with that eager, mischievous look and he just drops into a barehanded defensive stance, hands glowing a bit more with protective energy.
There's no banter at the moment, but he's telegraphing his usual joy when there's something experimental to try.
---
Azwel knows Carden's tells well enough to recognise arousal when he sees it and his mind fits that fact in with all the other things he's noticed, including the increased intensity of his own nearly constant low-level desire that'd snuck into his mind the moment he charged this device. His own face is flushed, though it's easy to mistake for a product of exertion.
He pushes that aside and concentrates on the match, his grin matching Carden's. Oh-hoh, so he's changed tactics? Let's see how that fares! He charges, a round yellow shield appearing, which he swings at the other.
Azwel / Carden Mindless Fuckin 3/2020
Date: 2020-06-09 11:36 pm (UTC)Make Like a Tree and Fuck All Spring
The whole ship thing really feels more like a nightmare than anything else. Back here on terra firma though, Spring seems to have arrived while they were gone. Or, at the very least, a few trees have figured out that it's time to start blossoming. By all rights, it's not really quite time for the whole blooming flowers and pollination thing, but a few trees are apparently over-achievers in this particular little park and there's a riot of color on a few select trees, even if most of the others haven't fully gotten the memo.
Carden can't stop himself from smiling a little bit. The winter has been long and hard in a number of ways and he's glad to see the end of it, even if he wouldn't trade it for anything either. Distracted in thought, he's not really paying attention to where he's going and his foot hits a root and he catches himself on the tree (or runs into you and send both of you into the tree)...
Pollinate Me
The impact shakes a huge cloud of pollen everywhere that floats down over both Carden and possibly you as well and he sneezes a few times, brushing himself off.
"Gross," he says, wrinkling his nose. "Did it get you too?"
Right now, he's more concerned about making sure he's un-dusted himself than thinking about why he's suddenly a little... warm.
---
Really, Azwel could have avoided falling over the moment Carden tripped on that root. He could have. But he didn't. They'd ended up tangled in an effort to thwart gravity and inevitably failed and now he's lying on his back in the flowers, staring up at him.
He sneezes.
Goodness, but these flowers smell nice. Really nice. Azwel isn't allergic to pollen in the slightest but suddenly he finds himself breathless and too warm, and...
"I'm afraid it got me, too."
Oh boy has it gotten him. He reaches up to pull Carden down into the flowers with him for a playful kiss that suddenly turns quite heated, indeed.
---
He wipes at his face, gets most of it off of him, actually, but he's pretty sure he's going to be sneezing for another minute or two. There's a kind of sweet taste in his mouth that he doesn't associate with pollen, particularly, more like honeysuckle or something. He doesn't think he's feeling weird, yet, just more warm than the early spring day should have him feeling, but when Azwel tugs on him even just a little, he just kind of loses his balance and topples over.
It lands him on top of him and he's got his legs on either side of one of Azwel's thighs before he really even processes he's been pulled down, sitting up with a breathy laugh as he hips start a kind of lazy friction without him thinking much about it.
"Hey, what was that fo--" it's not upset, almost distracted, and then they're kissing and fuck that's nice. He was saying something, but he's forgotten what. It's much nicer to just rub himself against Azwel's leg a bit and deepen the kiss, right?
---
Oh. Oh, that's... that's teasing and wonderful all at once. His arms curl around the younger man and he gives a soft moan, a low hum into the join of their lips. Hm, that's an interesting sweet taste, there. His tongue slips into Carden's mouth, gentle and heated, and he pulls a deep breath in through his nose.
In that moment a powerful desire races through him like flash-fire, setting his nerves and even the lines in his skin alight. A bolt of heat lances between his legs, leaving throbbing heat behind. Carden can feel he's already starting to swell.
A small mh sound precedes his pulling his mouth away to gasp for air. "Ah, god, I need you so badly," he pants.
---
Carden makes a little noise when Azwel tongues his mouth open, wanting, and he can feel a tremble slide down his spine, hips writhing against his thigh for a moment at the end of it.
"Mmm... okay," he says, muddled and breathless. There's some reason this is a bad idea or a weird one or something isn't there? It's like there's somewhere he feels like he should be instead or something, but he can't really think clearly around how good it feels to just keep that gentle friction against his cock.
It occurs to him that Azwel should have that too, right? It feels so nice, after all, and Azwel's nice to him. So it makes perfect sense to reach out and cup the growing bulge in the front of his pants, palm it in gentle circles to match the ones his hips are moving in.
"Want me to ride you?" it just seems like a good idea given their positions. In fact, it's such a good idea he's already working on the front of his pants with his other hand.
---
Ordinarily Azwel would chuckle at such an offhand reply, but there's a quality to Carden's voice right now that makes it the sexiest thing he's ever heard. Right now Carden could recite numbers and Azwel would find it hot....
(Who is the narration even kidding? He'd find it hot regardless. Recite pi or the Fibonacci sequence and he's putty.)
"Please do," he purrs, the last remaining shred of his sapience giving him the idea to make that reply flirty. His hands drift to Carden's trousers, helping him to remove them and freeing up the younger man's hands to return the favour.
Azwel / Carden Alleyway Fight and More Fuckin
Date: 2020-06-10 12:02 am (UTC)3: Jealousy Is Not A Good Look And Neither Is Seafoam Green
When the illness that seems to be plaguing so many people gets its claws into him Azwel is not entirely surprised. It appears terribly virulent.
But the longer he's sick, the more a pervasive idea makes its way into his head, and it's a ridiculous one. He doesn't get jealous. He sees no point in it. He finds the petty fights it causes to be tiresome. And yet there it is, gnawing at him whenever he sees people he knows with someone else.
But even as he manages to push aside the personal resentments a broader sense of the same kicks in and he becomes indignant when he sees the inevitable laziness and perfidy and selfishness that arises at such a time.
"Who do you even think such a thing is helping?" he demands of a random looter, heedless of their designation. "No-one! And it appears I must teach you this fact myself!" Feverishly he picks up a long enough object to use as a weapon and takes a swing at the other.
You... might want to stop him before the authorities catch wind of this.
---
Stop him? Have you met one Carden Weatherford previously?
To be fair, he does head into the alley to put a stop to this, first. But as soon as he sees who it is and catches wind of what is happening, the looter's rescue committee turns on them immediately.
"You know, there would be more than enough to go around if people didn't keep stealing things whenever something like this happened," he adds in agreement and then dear, sweet little Carden is joining Azwel with a grin that's just this side of manic. He's still got some issues with controlling some things as far as magic goes, but water? Water is easy.
And when it's this cold outside, water means ice. The sword that forms in his hand isn't a durable as a real one, but it's impressive looking enough to be a piece of intimidation all on it's own.
---
The looter ducks, but not quite fast enough and Azwel's swung piece of wrought iron smacks against his skull with a satisfying crack. He stumbles but doesn't fall, clutching the stolen item tighter. His buddy picks up a rock and throws it at Azwel, but misses.
Azwel is, momentarily, distracted when Carden arrives. Oh, this is why he's so fond of you, Carden, you understand him and... well, he's got questions about that ice sword. Ice may be brittle, after all, but it's also incredibly sharp, and can do its fair share of damage, so he's not exactly worried--
He catches movement out of the corner of his eye and swings again, several times, the rod catching the looter three punishing blows against his kidney, opposite hip, and knee, sending him sprawling.
"It's really a pity, seeing such greed contrasted against the charity so many others are capable of! Let us both educate these fools, yes?"
The looters are angry, now, that same feverish light in their eyes that so many others have shown. They drop what they were carrying and charge both Azwel and Carden. More fool them.
---
This is definitely a way this place has changed him. He can't imagine his old self doing something like this. But while he hasn't caught the possessive jealousy flu just yet, there's just something about fighting specifically at someone's side that gives him a level of bravery he wouldn't have on his own. And if it can be a fight for something just, to protect someone else at the potential expense of himself, all the more thrilling.
He's just going to quietly blame that on the Round Table, rather than anything it says about him as a person, thanks.
"It'll be my pleasure." There's a possibility they could get in trouble for this, of course, but he doesn't think the SIN guards are going to care much if they're taking out looters.
Carden's still not a great fighter, by any means, but he has been practicing. And even if the swing is telegraphed enough for the man to get out of the way, he does have to dodge to stay that way, breaking his charge at the two of them.
---
That Arthur and his Knights, such a bunch of bad influences.
The looters aren't exactly trained fighters, either, and dodging Carden's swing causes the one to run into the other. Distracted by Carden, they don't notice Azwel step round behind them.
---
The looters don't seem to realize they're "outnumbered" even though there are more of them. Carden's swing goes wide and leaves him wide open, which one of the looters tries to capitalize on, only to have their fist hit a block of ice instead of Carden's face. The ice falls to the ground and shatters, but then, too, does the thug's knuckles.
They're definitely not going to see Azwel coming.
---
Oh, that is clever, and Azwel definitely has questions. But the distraction works beautifully and, with two strikes, one to each skull, he sends the looters dropping to the ground.
Well, yes, it'll be hard for them to process this lesson while they're unconscious, but they likely won't do this again when they're awake. He takes a pad of paper and a marker from his pocket (Why does he keep these things? Who knows.) He writes 'WE TRIED TO STEAL SUPPLIES' on it and sticks it to one of the looters with a sharp piece of wire he found.
"Excellently done!" he grins, dragging one of the men into clear view of the street. "You've been training, I see!"
---
Carden just stares for a moment. That had been... surprisingly easy, actually. Not that he had really done the bulk of the work, there, but it's still more fighting than he normally does and the magic had just... worked. He's still a little shocked and not entirely used to his system dumping that kind of adrenaline, so he looks a bit out of it, eyes slightly wide as Azwel marks the men as thieves and starts moving them.
"Oh! Um. Thank you," the blush is deep and he drops his eyes in a way that's somewhere between adorable and hot. "Uh, it's mostly stuff I learned from you," he adds at the end. Azwel's obviously better at the body moving, but he helps out with one of the guys, mostly to have something to do.
"Is it always like this, afterwards?" he asks after a moment, when he continues to feel a little bit shaky.
---
"Hm? Oh, you mean that shaking? Yes, for a while. Like anything, it takes a while for the body to get accustomed to this kind of inrush of adrenaline. Some deep breaths should help."
They finish propping the unconscious men against the wall and Azwel tosses the impromptu weapon into the alley. "I'm grateful to you for coming along when you did," he says, the words suddenly ringing hollow to him. "More than that, really, I'm glad you came along when you did, I..." his arm curls around Carden and he pulls him close to kiss him. "I really think it's the best thing that could have happened right now," he finishes quietly.
---
"Not sure yet if I like it very much," Carden says with a weak little laugh, but he doesn't seem too traumatized. "Of course, I'm glad that I could--" he starts responding to the first thing that Azwel's said, but there's a little brow furrow to the second, to the way he's being pulled close. It's not a protest in the slightest, but he's a little surprised. It's not as though being in public somewhere has ever stopped Azwel (... or Carden for that matter if he's honest) but there's just something about this that seems... discordant, somehow, like one thing isn't properly following the other.
There's no hesitation to return the kiss, though. If this is some weird city thing, it's too late anyway, and he doesn't really want to stop him anyway. If anything, Carden's side of it is more heated than he intended, all of that pent up energy jangling around inside him.
"I doubt you couldn't have handled it yourself," he teases back instead of anything else he might have said, body easily leaning into Azwel's
---
"Oh, but then I wouldn't have seen that magick of yours. It would have been dull," he pouts slightly before grinning a grin whose wolfishness he doesn't even try to conceal. "I'd like to see more of it. Feel more of it, too."
Oh, he hasn't forgotten at all how exciting that is....
---
They really shouldn't still be standing here. The city's short on law enforcement but they're both kind of on probation for different reasons, easily harass-able if they're caught here having obviously won a fight, even if they hadn't started it. But Azwel is warm and it always feels good but right now it feels amazing and his head is buzzing from adrenaline, still and he feels invincible in that way that only winning a fight can make you feel.
"Like this?" he says, instead of anything more sensible, energy easy to call to his palms, fingers, as he runs a hand up Azwel's side from low on his thighs all the way up to his shoulder. "You should teach me more how to use it like this, sometime," it's teasing a bit, playful. "Or maybe we should take up vigilantism."
---
Any thoughts as to their legal standing in light of what just happened flee Azwel's mind the moment Carden does that. The energy ripples along Azwel's nerves and pulls a ragged moan from somewhere deep inside of him.
A sudden wanting shoots violently through him and he can think of nothing else but an irresistible desire to push Carden against the nearest wall, tear off their clothes, and fuck him right there. In fact he does move to press him bodily to the bricks behind him, to kiss him deeply and fiercely. Azwel has always been easy to rile up, but this is fast even for him.
---
Carden laughs into the kiss, the closest thing Azwel's heard to a proper cackle out of him, everything still jangly and wild with adrenaline. He melts back against the wall as Azwel pushes, mouth opening eagerly under his, his one arm coming up to brace himself, tug himself upwards into the kiss so Azwel doesn't have to lean so far. That's pretty normal for Carden, if not a bit sudden. But the hand dropping immediately down to feel out how hard he is through his pants, fingers still sparking with magic, certainly isn't.
He tilts his head to the side, breaking the kiss, but it's in clear permission for Azwel to kiss down his neck instead, which he knows from experience is probably going to take out his own knees, but Azwel's got him.
"Definitely need to take up vigilantism," he teases, almost purring. And it's funny that he's saying that like they're going to be superheroes or something, but this is definitely the closest Azwel has actually seen him to something more akin to villainous, though it's all still generally playful, riding on the high of all of this.
---
That curious hand finds out easily as it moves over a swelling bulge already hot and thick. A throaty, gutteral moan leaves Azwel and he pushes his hips forward against that hand, already craving more. His lips move to the other's neck, hot against the skin in this freezing weather. He leaves a short trail of kisses as he moves to that exquisite spot right under Carden's jaw. There his lips stay, working soft, wet heat into the skin. His hands roam and his breath hums against the skin.
"I'd recommend it," he whispers between kisses, loathe to pull his lips away for long. "It's rather fun. Just... ohh, just know that--mmhh-- god, does that ever... excite me...." he finishes breathlessly.
---
In times like this, there's always a little part of the back of Carden's head that is trying to figure out how in the hell he got to this point. Not specifically this point, this scenario, but this place in his head where he's actually doing this, head tipped back against the wall of an alley with another person sharing body heat, his hand on another man's cock through his pants. A place where he wants this and where he's comfortable enough to ask for it, to make it clear it's what he wants. He's not used to it, doesn't wholly know what to do with it when it's happening.
He doesn't think this is the city, but he isn't sure anymore, doesn't know if it matters to him if it is. His hand slips down further until he's got his fingers sparking magic into Azwel's balls instead of his dick, touch firm but gentle. Azwel does something particularly good with his mouth between words and Carden can't help the noise that draws out of him, even though there's a distant remembrance of needing to be quiet.
"Using magic to take out people doing bad things and then having you fuck me into a wall? I don't see a downside," he manages, breathless, his other hand dropping down to fumble one handed with Azwel's belt.
Okay, wait, this does seem like maybe it's at least partially the city because since when does he do things like this? Have fantasies about them, sure, but actually doing them? Still... the thought doesn't even really slow him down and while he might be a little wary somewhere in the back of his head about how fast this is going, he's not lying when he says he'd want this to happen again. And he's pretty sure that's all him.
---
Azwel's breath catches as Carden's fingers move, and he shivers, his hips pushing almost roughly against his hand. Desire pounds in his veins and leaves his burning hot skin ravenous, flashing through his brain. His hands pull and tear at Carden's clothing even as the other does the same. Something more than passion seizes hold of him, making his breath loud and his movements rough.
In fact, it becomes possessive. They belong to one another, and not just because of the city's contract. The connexion they share, the links to their past, the way their magick flows together... it means they were meant for each other. Just them.
While his magickal energy swirls with far less order and chaos, it still draws vibrant heat along the skin, humming with power and too much life. "Mh, Any time. Every time," he purrs, his voice low and velvety. He digs a bottle of lube from his pocket before forsaking his trousers completely. "I'm all you need."
This is a little out of character for someone usually so willing to share and be shared.
---
Whether or not the city has any direct influence on him is still difficult to tell or sort out, but the way Carden reacts to people being possessive over him doesn't need any influence. Azwel's touch on him shifts and just the shift makes him moan, tension in his spine unwinding he wasn't even aware he was carrying. It's replaced by lightning, something that makes him shudder and shift under Azwel's hands, welcoming more of the touch, demanding it. When it sparks with magic, he melts more, invites more of that type of touch as well.
If he knew more about what was going on in the city, he might not be quite so complacent, but he doesn't, so there's a welcome for Azwel's power from his own, gentle but hungry, always eager for what it feels like when they're entwined on a level more than physical.
For his part, Carden shifts suddenly, turning around so he can brace an arm on the brick wall, the other first getting his pants the rest of the way down, then reaching back to spark magic along Azwel's thigh again.
"Like this," and then, he realizes why at the same time he says it and something right clicks into place, "Like the first time we met on our own. At that party." The first time they chose.
damn you, character limit...
Date: 2020-06-10 12:05 am (UTC)Oh, the memories of that night swirl back into Azwel's mind. Carden had come into his life at exactly the right time, when Azwel had been feeling abandoned, intending only to bury himself in someone who was almost a stranger and then go on his way before he was left again. That things had turned out the exact opposite was far, far preferable. Azwel tries very hard not to believe in fate, despite its obvious presence in his own world and in this one, but he cannot find anything that can convince him that fate didn't have a hand in what happened that night, that it didn't mean for them to be together.
"Oh, yes," he purrs, slicking his hand and reaching between Carden's legs from behind. He does the same thing he did that night, stroking gently over the other's balls, then pressing a finger to that stretch of skin behind them. But he does this so much more slowly, now, presses that spot more firmly, and when passion crashes impatiently through him he bites at Carden's shoulder, just hard enough to maybe bruise.
His world often narrows to just himself and his partner at times like these, but now existence narrows. All they need is each other. Anyone else Azwel might have had sex with, anyone else he might have cared for, is forgotten at this moment. And furthermore, anyone else Carden may have in his life is forgotten. As he slides his finger into Carden's entrance Azwel's magick twines around the other's senses, slips tendrils into the other's soul, and for a moment fire and water, order and chaos, strike that perfect tuning-fork balance again. He can feel that resonance, so similar to that of the Spirit Sword, how it swirls with the remnants of the Cursed Sword's energy still lurking within him. It makes his skin shiver, makes the lines in his skin glow, and pulls an almost sobbing moan from him.
He'll never let Carden go, now.
---
Carden feels like he's so different from who he was, then. They both are. In so many ways, but not the least of them being the open way he moans, no drugs needed, to that press of fingers, spine arching to make it easier. The echo from that night does almost as much as the touch itself, the move one that not many people have done so that he immediately remembers. The bite at his shoulder, though, is new, different from how gentle Azwel had been that night. Carden isn't sure if that's a mark of how thin Azwel's control is, riled up now, or if it's that he knows now that Carden actually likes a little bit of teeth in his sex. Either way, it's hot, not just the action but the intimacy and he gasps hard for air around the shudder that sends down his spine.
He should be more cautious, he should understand something strange is happening here, and if this were merely physical, maybe he could. But it's not like any version of him across any timeline has ever been able to resist the siren's call of magic. Azwel finally pushes his finger inside him, slick and slow, and more than just Carden's body opens up around him. Carden makes a low, whining noise, all pleasure but overwhelmed, as even Azwel's magic seeps into him and pulls him tight.
He can feel the difference now, how Azwel's power tugs his own close, winds around it and not just through it, less like a dance and more like vines, clinging, dragging him down. But it's still good, makes him feel protected rather than panicky, and so he can feel his magic, his soul, relax down into it. Azwel seems to be building further into desperate tension, but Carden can feel himself unwinding instead, moans turning breathy, delirious.
---
Heat and passion flare in Azwel, and he rubs his throbbing cock against Carden's hip as his finger moves, desperate to ease at least a little of that dreadful, needing ache. It only succeeds in stopping him simply cramming himself in right away. Were he in his right mind he'd notice this fever is dangerously high, leaving him as burning hot as only that yule transformation had done, and just as desperate to douse it.
The way their souls entwine, the way Carden relaxes into it, simply further convinces Azwel that this is right, that this is how things should be, that they belong to each other and no-one else. It's the only actual thought he can retain. The only tiny bit of coherency he has left to himself in this firestorm of desire and he clings to it just as readily as his body and soul cling to Carden.
He adds a second finger, maybe a little sooner than he ought, but seeks to distract from any pain by kissing a wet line up Carden's neck and to his ear. "Need you so much," he breathes, head dropping to the other's neck again. "Only you. Only me."
---
It's a little uncomfortable, a slight burn, but even before the line of kisses up his neck to distract him, it's not bad, just feels like it makes him a little more desperate, like feeling a limit makes him want to break it.
He's not so far gone as to want it to hurt though, hasn't forgotten the last time he gave into that impulse. So he groans instead, arches his spine and pushes back, riding Azwel's fingers a little, a little bit of friction to soothe the ache.
"Soon... soon," he promises, trying to work himself open faster, half to Azwel and half like he's trying to urge his own body to relax, to be ready, "I need it too. Need you." There's a jangle in his brain to that, like he shouldn't say that right now, but it's so far away and with even Azwel's magic possessive and protective both, he's too tremblingly eager down to the barest depths of him to care.
---
Oh, this preparation, this act that he usually enjoys, these moments of connexion and intimacy... it's killing Azwel, now. His usual patience is so thin in this moment, a quivering thread about to break. He tries to rein himself in, to breathe into this desire so fierce that ordinarily it'd be frightening. He moans sharply, his breath shaking. He will not repeat what happened that night in the bushes. No.... No, he will show Carden that he can control himself, that whatever is roiling in his mind, that's twisting their magicks together like a pair of wires, will not overtake him.
Azwel angles his thrusting fingers, running them along Carden's sensitive spot, stroking that little bundle of nerve endings. He hasn't any words, now. All there is is this aching, fevered desire, this tremble in his spine, and the last shreds of his sapience fighting tooth and nail against instinct. As it is, on the next thrust of his hand he adds a third finger, moving slowly.
---
The yelp of pleasure Carden makes to Azwel hitting the perfect spot inside of him is loud enough to carry in the alley, no doubt about what's going on here to any passersby, but he can't find it in himself to care just at the moment. He's squirming more desperately almost immediately, chasing more as soon as it's over. Azwel barely gets the third finger in there before Carden's moving again, taking it a bit faster than Azwel was intending.
It aches, but it doesn't hurt and he feels like he's going to go crazy if he has to wait any longer,
"Please," his voice shakes a little with the plea, "Please, it's enough... It's enough..." it's... maybe not? But where before there'd been a desire to have it hurt, here there's just a desperate want for them to be joined and a complete lack of care of the consequences. Still, he's pretty sure it's not going to injure him and that's really all he cares about right now.
---
Passersby do, indeed, hear that sound, and a few do slow down to look. They aren't surprised at all that Azwel is involved, as he's been cited for public sex more times than most people can count. What does surprise them, though, is the look that Azwel fixes them with when he raises his head to look at them. It's intense, possessive, feral, his eyes hollowed and glowing with an eerie yellow light. There's a stammering of pardon me, I'll leave you to it and sorry, carry on as they back away and flee.
And yet, after that, it's as though he's exhausted that instinct, as Carden's garbled words pull his attention back to him. A strangely satisfied feeling seeps into Azwel's thoughts. Of course Carden would beg for him--why wouldn't he? It's natural that they join like this. It's right. He's only pleading for the other half of his soul.
Azwel slowly withdraws his fingers, his hand trembling as it guides his tip into Carden. He bites back an overwhelmed cry as his oversensitised flesh makes its way in with a small amount of difficulty despite how slick he'd made the inside. A small part of his mind hopes he hasn't hurt him.
His arms curl around Carden the way they'd done at that party so long ago, holding him close, though maybe more tightly than he'd done that night. One hand wanders over skin as he works his way further and further in. Shaky moans rumble against Carden's shoulder and Azwel trembles. It was almost too much, the heat sending lightning through him, slick motion and pressure unravelling his mind completely. And the way their energies reach for one another.... he feels that aching pull, drawing nearer and nearer the further in he thrusts....
---
Shit that's hot. He feels a little spike of embarrassment when he realizes (only dimly) that they've been overheard, but he swears he can feel the way Azwel glares at them, the possession lancing through his magic. He can feel how much, in that moment, Azwel would have ripped someone apart rather than stop this and that should be frightening, shouldn't it? Except he's shuddering in his arms in pleasure instead, pushing back harder on those fingers almost like a goad, or maybe like a reminder, magic twining more around Azwel's. It's impossible to miss how inviting it is, how the display of possession makes him give in more.
And then everything is too empty and then too full and a little please, yes, more slips out of his mouth but he's squirming involuntarily away with how much it all is, has to be held still a bit so Azwel can make progress. Despite that, every inch of gained territory seems to punch an almost blissful sound out of him and his magic never stops clinging and mingling, almost desperately so, now.
---
Azwel had been moving slowly, working himself all the way in. But the moment he's completely buried he pulls back and then all but snaps his hips forward, starting a series of greedy thrusts, almost violent, but somehow still not callous. He slams into the other over and over, desperate to bury himself inside him as much as he can, to claim him through pleasure.
No-one can pleasure him the way Azwel can, of that he's certain as his magick swirls and drags over Carden's soul, stroking it, instinctive in a manner in which his magick scarcely ever behaves. Only when they're like this does it twine into someone, free of effort, free of thought, free of anything deliberate. It pulses warmth into him.
It brushes energy against the younger man's cock, managing the light touch that Azwel's clutching hands cannot. Only in this blissful, mindless state can his mind turn, catch reality in a different manner, and create something soft, something gentle, something he'll likely never be able to manifest again. But for now it fumbles blindly, tenderly. And all the while Azwel's hips pump and his arms hold Carden tightly and his voice pants breathless moans against Carden's shoulder.
---
He screams at that first snap of Azwel's hips, no other way to describe the sound, but if there's pain in there, it's drowned out in what sounds more like relief than pleasure, at least in those first few moments. It's the almost vicious thrill of success, like getting them to a discovery might be, mastering something difficult. His magic surges in response to it and like this, it's impossible to misunderstand how much he likes that, wants more. It's a vicious pleasure, that feel of pushing one's limits: mental, physical, magical, and he sinks more into it gladly, single-minded pursuit of this moment.
This is not the city. Oh, certainly a huge part of this is, but this? This is Carden, this is a desire wholly from himself, to see the edges of the possible, to strive for something new, unique, unknown. This is something he can only get from Azwel, or at least no one else has quite the same level of both trust and utterly off the rails bullshit the two of them can get up to, so there's nothing here to stop this headlong pursuit.
His cries are still loud enough to carry, but they've lost the sharp edges of the first one, sounding more delirious again now. He's helpless against the wave of power Azwel's started here, his own magic feeding back into it, stroking and coaxing along every inch of both Azwel's physical form and all the places where their power flows around and against one another.
He does manage to open his eyes to look down in surprised pleasure at what feels like a hand on his cock even though Azwel is already touching him with both of his. When he realizes what he's done, that it's similar to what Azwel was doing with Palindrome, but it's stroking his cock, he's startled right into orgasm, the combination of surprise, pleasure and delight something he can't resist. But he's entirely too wound up to care about being over-sensitive right now, and he doesn't even really stop, just pulses power through every open channel as he comes and turns into a squirming mess in Azwel's arms.
---
Carden's orgasm bursts his magick against Azwel's nerves from the inside, in a feedback loop that has his own magick flaring in return, racing down his spine from his brain, thundering into his root and then exploding back into him, engulfing him, instantly drowning his every thought. He whites out, his hips still thrusting, his hands clutching, and when his mind slams back into itself he also screams, their magick swirling in on him and shockwaving his own orgasm in a blast of pleasure so overwhelming it almost becomes pain for an instant. His release is violent, and it shoots into Carden, runs down his leg, drips on the ground.
Azwel clings, shaking, catching his breath, energy bleeding off of him and forming lazily floating spheres. His legs wobble but he stays upright, for now.
Azwel / Carden Repair Shopping 1/2020
Date: 2020-06-10 12:32 am (UTC)Off To The Repair Shop With Carden
There's been a lot of back and forth with himself on this, and maybe Azwel had come to a decision, maybe he hadn't, but after there was so much waffling you could pour syrup on it and eat it for breakfast, Carden had insisted on accompanying him. Azwel wasn't going to say no--he's seen Carden's haggling skills.
So to Insincerity they went, stepping out into the bland climate through a door set in an elabourately sculpted arch, walking over the dead grass and past the disused benches. This time Azwel finds himself pausing, regarding how oddly sad the sight is, before continuing onto the spiraling street.
The Repair Shop, as anyone will tell you, looks different every time it's approached. And today it looks... eerily empty. The windows are clean and hold no displays. And inside there's nothing but nondescript art on the walls and a carpeted floor almost like a walkway leading to a massive desk. The wall behind the desk has two doorways leading further into the building, the doors themselves shut. One reads 'IN' on its frosted glass, the other 'TUO.'
Behind the desk sits an Insinceritan, a spindly, colourless man who peers closely at them through thick spectacles before putting on the most 'customer service' of smiles. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," he says, his voice just as spindly and reedy as the rest of him. "How can I help you, today?"
---
This is a bit new for him. He's heard of Insincerity, but he's never had any reason to go there, himself. He's not exactly overjoyed with Duplicity, but he does feel like he's starting to get a handle on the rules there (when the rules matter) and he doesn't know them in this other place. Besides, he has little reason to go.
But now he does. He sticks close to Azwel's side and, despite the collar around Azwel's neck that they've worn to get through Duplicity, or the tattoo, it's very clear that Carden's leaning on him a bit for protection, metaphorically speaking at least. He's not helpless anymore, even moreso after coming back from the dead, but just because he's pretty sure his magic will listen to him doesn't mean he wants to rely on it, if something comes after them.
Nothing does, however, and he soon finds himself in front of the door to the shop. He tries to affect a kind of bored disinterest with whatever is happening, just in case this place is like Duplicity and Azwel really shouldn't have gotten an opinion about coming or not. Really, though, he's nervous, not sure what it is that is going to be asked of Azwel, but knowing that he wasn't about to let him go deal with all of this on his own.
---
Strangely, no-one's interest in their dynamic seems to go beyond oh, there's a couple people from Duplicity, and they don't seem to have an equivalent system in place, there. Everyone goes about their day as they might do in either Azwel's or Carden's homeworld (though with significantly less fighting, really). Even the fellow behind the counter appears to only have an academic understanding of the Dominant/Submissive system. So he waits patiently for one or the other of them to answer, and is mildly surprised to find it's the larger one who speaks.
"Good afternoon!" Azwel starts with his usual gregarious and jovial charm. "And how are you this fine, bland, weatherless day?" At receiving no reply beyond a patient stare, he continues. "Excellent! I've come to your fine establishment, which comes highly recommended, I might add," you know, for a given value thereof, "because I need some memories restored. I'm afraid this hole in my mind has become increasingly inconvenient!"
The shopkeeper only just manages to avoid a look that might've said there's nothing that can cure any holes in this man's mind because they're all in his goddamned sanity. Instead he touches a rather ornate set of controls in the retro-future desk he's behind and a holo-display appears, bearing what is easily recognisable all over every universe ever as a database field. "Certainly, sir. I'll simply need to ask you a few questions."
"Ask away!"
Sighhhhhh. "How long have these memories been missing?"
"Five months or so."
There's a pause as he enters the data, then peers at Azwel closely again. "You're not the first to mention this timeframe. Probably won't be the last. Whatever happened in Duplicity at that time must have been," he sniffs, "chaotic."
"You have no idea."
"Nor do I want one." With that witticism out of the way the questions continue until he has a hefty chunk of Azwel's personal information entered in the fields. Finally, he opens a tiny drawer in the desk and retrieves what looks like a small flashlight with bits added, which he adjusts as he speaks. "I shall need to assess the location and severity of the memory loss. Remain still, please."
Azwel doesn't even have time to say anything before the man raises the device and shines its light into Azwel's left eye. The thing makes a high-pitched whirring, buzzing sound. For his part, Azwel stands transfixed, not even blinking for the several seconds the light is held there. When it's finally moved away, Azwel blinks rapidly and rubs his eye with his fingers. Those light-bruises are going to take forever to go down....
"Please wait while the system processes the results," the shopkeeper says, fitting the end of the device into a socket in the desk. While it does that the man's colourless gaze flicks to Carden. "Are you his owner?"
Azwel literally chews on his own tongue to stop himself objecting.
---
Okay, he's not really ready for that.
He's been watching everything quietly, observing, letting Azwel do as he pleases in terms of answering questions. He's used to the whole Dominant/Submissive thing at this point, has signed paperwork and whatnot with an air of kind of beleaguered acceptance, but he's clearly surprised at being asked about ownership. Still...
"I'm his Dominant, in Duplicity," if he's pressed, he can toe the line if Azwel can. But he doesn't want to have to.
---
"So, yes," the man sniffs, returning his attention to the holo-display, tapping at controls. "Good to know--that place puts so much emphasis on those roles that it makes you lot coming in here and attempting to do business with us unnecessarily complicated with all you are and are not allowed to do. At least some of that will be cleared up, now."
Azwel is turning interesting colours in his attempts to remain silent. The shopkeeper looks at him again with that unnervingly piercing stare. Then he turns the chair so that he's facing them, elbows resting on the counter, and laces thin bony fingers together. "The data have finished compiling and I've arrived at the price for this service. This is several years' worth of memories, Mister Azwel, taken from your mind for a specific reason. The price is high."
"How high?"
"You must reach a truce with your worst enemy. The one who killed you."
"WHAT?!?!"
Might be a good time to step in, Carden, before Azwel explodes and leaves wobbly bits all over the desk and the floor....
---
Carden honestly can't tell if the man is disdainful at the entire system or if whatever they have here is somehow worse and so Duplicity seems quaint to him. Maybe he would have asked or complained or something, except he knows Azwel really needs this place's services. This is Azwel's journey and he's very conscious of not messing it up, particularly since he fought a bit to be allowed to come, all "roles" aside.
"Ivy? A truce with Ivy?" he also looks incredulous, but he's at least not too upset with words. He lays a hand on Azwel's arm, comforting, just a tiny wisp of magic called up against his skin mostly as a distraction. "Does he have to be successful? Her hatred is... pretty deep. I'm not sure some things can be healed, even if he's trying his hardest."
---
The shopkeeper doesn't even flinch at Azwel's shout, and blinks heavily at Carden. "It wouldn't be a truce if it weren't successful. We don't deal in promises attempted, sir, only promises fulfilled."
Azwel at least stops looking quite so livid when Carden touches him and that small wisp of his power seeps in. He still glowers, though, placing his hands on the desk. "Nevertheless, what he says is true. I really don't think peace between myself and her is possible--why else d'you think she killed me?"
The shopkeeper looks down at Azwel's hands as though he'd slapped a pair of dead fish onto the desk. He makes a fussy gesture for Azwel to remove them, which goes ignored. "That, Mister Azwel, is not my problem. I have named my price."
"Prices can be negotiated."
"Not ours."
Azwel takes a deep breath and attempts to smooth out his tone. He succeeds, somewhat. "And why is that?"
"Because, Mister Azwel, this is the thing you least desire to do. Thus it is proof that you need our services. Thus, it is the appropriate price for such... delicate work."
Azwel goes frighteningly still. It almost looks as though he's going to leap over the desk and attack this thin, colourless man. A beat. Then another. Then Azwel throws his head back and laughs. "Ha! You drive a hard bargain, sir, but I'm certain between the two of us we can change your mind, right, Carden?"
---
"What good is giving someone a task to complete for services if the task is impossible? What do you gain through his failure?" Carden shakes his head, "She's completely irrational. I've seen how she talks to people she even seems to be friends with," he does, in fact, keep up on the network, even though he rarely says anything.
He nods at Azwel's words,
"Perhaps there might be a way to see to a conclusion slightly less dependent almost entirely on factors utterly outside of his control. An honest attempt at a truce," sorry Azwel, but he's trying to get you into a situation where you can actually get your memories back, "Perhaps something that shows her his willingness to do whatever it takes to complete the truce, rather than the truce itself?"
And then, deep breath, but Carden knows how some of these things work, at least, has memories, deep and dark and old, of bargains with things of power,
"Perhaps there is something smaller we can offer, to sway you to a more possible task?"
---
The shopkeeper listens expressionlessly through all of this. There may be a flicker of something vaguely resembling doubt in his own convictions when factors entirely outside of Azwel's control are mentioned, but it only lasts a second. When Carden finishes, he looks between him and Azwel, purses his lips for a moment, then speaks.
"Such as?"
Azwel, on the other hand, has been inwardly reciting a calming mantra during all of this. The stakes seem so much more urgent, so much more personal, than any of the other countless deals and whatnot he's struck over the years. "An object, perhaps. Or a service." His eyes cut to Carden again.
---
He's not exactly wild about the possibility of what might be suggested, but there's a gulf of difference between "not wild about" and "unwilling". And if it's something more physical labor-like, he reasons, he'll hardly mind at all. There are plenty of things that aren't crazy sex things... he just knows how unlikely all of those things are in a place like this.
Still, much like with the city guards, he doesn't suggest something licentious, will let that come as it will or not.
"I'd make a more concrete offer, but I'm not sure what you normally deal in for such things, or what you stand to gain from what you ask of people," his tone is quieter, more respectful, now that he's said his piece about Azwel and they're more proceeding slowly towards what he hopes are negotiations. "But surely, if there are trades being made, you would benefit from something extra."
---
Again, the shopkeeper watches and listens expressionlessly, scarcely blinking behind those thick spectacles that make his eyes appear enormous. One can almost see the gears turning in his head, refiguring values and costs and prices. While the Repair Shop doesn't usually operate for a profit as most would understand it, some more immediate compensation never comes amiss.
"If you will be willing to perform a service of our choosing I will reduce the cost to an attempt at peace." Azwel has to wonder who this plural is that the man's referring to--the mouse in his pocket? "We have a brisk trade in video recordings of you Duplicitans doing what you do. I think one of you," he gestures to Carden, "tying him up and pleasuring him would do nicely."
It's entirely possible Carden has never seen Azwel do what he does next. He blushes. It's probably only visible because his skin is so fair, but there it is on his cheeks.
---
A mouse in his pocket would actually be kind of cute. It would offset the whole "scary dude in a mysterious place" vibe, but also kind of send him into Disney Villain territory, maybe.
Carden more visibly flusters at the suggestion, looking almost sharply over at Azwel, but... wow, that blush is... really cute, actually, and he feels his own face heat even more. Mind churning, he looks back over at the proprietor (or whatever he is),
"A... sex tape? You... want us to make a sex tape. A kinky sex tape," he sounds perhaps a bit incredulous, but his tone and facial expression more says that he's less protesting and more just working himself through the idea. A moment later he turns back to Azwel, "Are you... do you?" Ah yes, that's absolutely English Carden and completely comprehensible. He takes a deep breath and tries again,
"I told you I'd help do whatever it took to get you your memories back. I knew where we were when I said it," he reaches out and curls his fingers in Azwel's, squeezes just a bit, "It's your call."
---
As long as no musical number starts.
For a few beats Azwel doesn't trust himself to speak for fear of bursting out laughing at his own blushing. I'm not a callow schoolboy, he reminds himself. When Carden reaches out and squeezes his hand, though, he gives a smile he hopes is reassuring before shrugging and asking jovially, "Who'd've thought they'd stumble on something I've wanted to do anyway?"
This doesn't amuse the shopkeeper, but it doesn't scandalise him, either. "Very good, then, if you'll follow me?" He heads toward the door marked 'IN,' and Azwel trails after him.
cont'd
Date: 2020-06-10 12:37 am (UTC)Carden follows along behind Azwel. He's... weirdly comfortable with this, so far, at least the idea of it. He's not entirely sure he could do something like this if it were really for Azwel's pleasure, exactly, if it were something he'd requested because he wanted it. He'd be nervous, scared he might get something wrong or worried that he's misunderstood. But like this, it's just a hurdle to overcome between them and the goal and it's not something he minds doing.
Actually, he's realizing, the thought that people are going to deliberately watch this has him flushing a bit more as he follows, heat slipping down his spine.
---
They make their way down a hallway that looks distinctly Victorian, with panelling and flocked wallpaper and carpeting all in dark colours, lit by wall sconces and bedecked with framed pictures. It's not far down this hallway, at least, when the shopkeeper stops at a wooden door and pushes it open, then gestures for them to go in.
"Mind the time you have left and please do not touch the cameras," he says as though this were something that happened every day. Once they're inside he closes the door again.
Well, the room is... interesting. Again, exceedingly Victorian, lushly decorated with a large, soft, four-poster bed dominating the space. On closer inspection, however, one can see not only a plethora of round lenses staring back at one from here and there, but also racks of all manner of kinky paraphernalia, from rope to rubber suits.
Azwel flops onto the bed. He's already feeling just the slightest bit heated, and he eyes the hardware with an appreciative gaze before returning his attention to Carden. "Have you done anything like this?" He doesn't know what kind of shenanigans Carden gets up to in beds other than his, after all.
---
It's the first time Azwel has been able to observe an oddity about Carden. Despite the fact that he's in jeans and knock off Chuck Taylors with a hoodie thrown over it, he looks... curiously alright in the Victorian styled hallway, no more out of place looking than someone in full Victorian dress might look. He's weirdly unmoored from time, a little quirk of who he is that rarely is notable. Even here, it's infinitely missable, what with everything else going on.
Carden looks around the room, takes a deep breath and lets it out, and then goes straight to the racks of things off to one side, looking through them. Part of that is just getting himself acclimated, likely the same reason Azwel has flopped on the bed, moving through the liminal space before they are actually doing this. Even so, there's also a part that's already turned speculative, running through possibilities in his head in a way that's very different from the him of nine months or so ago, where he would have likely just melted through the floor.
"Not really," he says, looking back over at Azwel, "Not any of it. I... did some rope stuff once, because someone asked, but that's kind of... not the same thing. And I've never..." he gestures at the cameras. "I mean, a couple times somewhere where someone could see, but that's different from knowing someone's... watching. Uh. And there was the time where I tried to rescue you. But that was... I mean. You were there." He flushes deeply.
"But uh... I meant what I said about trying that the right way sometime. I guess this is... a good a time as any. Have you? Done this before, I mean."
---
Azwel's as perceptive as ever and does catch that odd quality of timelessness. He'll ask about it later, though. This isn't the time or the place for existential philosophy.
No, he's much more focussed on the present right now. Or, rather, the past, as he gazes at the ceiling for a moment, trying to remember what Carden's referring to. To be honest, he was so heavily drugged that he can't recall much at all other than lots of sex and some kind of magick thrown about.
He grins at Carden. "Well, I'm all for doing a thing properly. As to any of these things, I've used a few. I've developed a bit of a fondness for rope. Oh, and candle wax. That was... a very good experience but one even I find difficult to describe with words."
As he speaks he flicks the buttons of his shirt open one by one. "Hmmm, I've had those clamps put on me. Electrified ones, no less. Though, to be honest, that's a little too powerful for me right now." He shrugs off the shirt and coat and pauses. "I draw the line at wearing leather straps or anything that covers my face, though," he adds with an involuntary shudder. Think of pleasant things, Azwel, and go back to undressing. "Oh, and I was once partially strangled with a silk scarf. That wasn't bad, at all. Strangely druglike."
There we go, now he's nude. He stretches out on the bed again and watches Carden. It occurs to him that this is probably one of the few times he's openly displaying submissiveness of his own volition.
---
Carden seems to be a little more jumpy the more they move into this, but Azwel knows him well enough to know the difference between him being hesitant because he doesn't want to do the thing and nervous because he does and this is definitely the latter. He's very, very aware he doesn't know what he's doing and Azwel can watch him both listen and walk himself through the fact that he's doing this, hands hesitating for a moment as he looks through the racks.
It's familiar, too, when he hits the moment where he just kind of commits to something, a deep breath and then the terrifying plunge off the high dive, unsure of how he's going to land. He grabs some of the rope and tosses it on the bed and then strips out of everything but his jeans. There are rows of costumes and other things in the racks, but he ignores them. After a moment of consideration, though, he does grab a riding crop, leaving it on the table beside the bed like a deliberately placed elephant in the room. He makes no reference to it, yet, though, just moves up on the bed.
"On your knees facing away from me with your hands behind your back, then."
He hasn't done the rope, or the cameras, but he's had enough sex with Temple at this point to know how to do some of this. The familiarity may be a little surprising to Azwel, though, considering Carden hasn't really ever shown much dominance in his presence that wasn't forced in some way, either.
---
The rope elicits a smile, and Azwel can already imagine how it'll feel around his wrists and ankles, that peculiar pleasure-pain. The riding crop, however, earns a raised eyebrow. But he isn't going to say anything. Not yet.
Then Azwel blinks, very briefly thrown by the command--not only is he not used to Carden acting the part, so to speak, he's also much more accustomed to being tied up splayed out on his back. An unbidden memory of the contrivance they'd strung him up with on Patara comes to mind, but he banishes the thought almost instantly. No. He trusts Carden not to harm him and not to give him any unwanted pain. Besides, he remembers Carden rather likes him on his knees sometimes.
So he does as he's told, shifting about until he's on his knees, hands clasped behind his back. His hair covers the new scar, that exit wound between and just below his shoulder blades and its radiating branches like a lightning burn. Already he's feeling a little flushed.
---
He's not sure if he's actually planning on doing anything with it other than deliberately making Azwel wonder if he will do something with it, but the crop sits on the table innocuously enough either way, waiting.
Someone else could likely do a better job of this, or at least a more artful one, but there's a strangely ruthless efficiency to how Carden binds his hands, like he's done this before. He has, but under less pleasant circumstances, ones he's deliberately pushing out of his mind while he works. He slides a palm up Azwel's spine when he's done, the touch warm and firm, and considers the entire setup.
"Do you think you can control yourself if I ask you to, or do you need some help?" he's kind of hoping for the former, if he's honest. He's aware of what cock rings are, but he's not wholly sure he understands how to use one, or rather, how tight would be too tight.
---
It takes a moment or so for Azwel to adjust to this different approach, and for an instant he's almost a little disappointed. He's not sure what they'll be able to do with his hands like this. But the ease with which Carden does this tells him to have a little faith in the other's creativity.
It also takes a beat for him to realise what Carden is talking about. Oh. Oh, he hasn't done this in a long while. He gives a quiet huff of laughter. "I'll certainly try," he answers with an only slightly wicked grin. "Mmm, difficult with how good you feel, but let's find out, yes?"
---
He leans down and lets Azwel feel the grin against the side of his shoulder,
"You know I'm going to do my best to make sure you can't," there's a confidence there he doesn't really feel, but it's not a lie. He does want this to be good. He studies Azwel for a moment, one hand on his thigh but no other contact. It's another moment where he settles a little more into this. He still has trouble, sometimes, feeling comfortable with the more blatant sexual pictures other people paint, though he has little trouble being part of one himself. But this is part genuine, part show and so he makes a show of looking, letting his eyes run down Azwel's body.
"If you can hold out until the end, I'll let you come inside me," he adds, the idea coming to him so suddenly he doesn't even think to try to censor that. "How does that sound for motivation?" there's a little smirk in the words, and he soothes that hand down Azwel's thigh, deliberately letting his fingers feel over the muscles there. He doesn't do the whole objectification thing much, on purpose, but he lets himself sink into a little more, here.
---
Carden's gaze travels up and down familiar contours, the raised flowing lines carved into his soft skin ages ago, the curve of muscles maybe a little softer around the edges than they once were, the curl and wave of his long hair. He's a little less underfed than when Carden first took him in, a little less fevered. That shakiness that first endeared him to Carden may be gone, but there's still a kind of trust in his eyes, as though he's one of the few people Azwel lets himself be truly vulnerable around. Because he is.
Oh, but his words make Azwel flush just thinking of them. His smile is a bit wicked, a bit needy. Already his cock feels heavy, heated and starting to swell. He really is the perfect subject for this sort of thing, responsive and so very visible about it.
---
Carden spends another moment looking over the picture Azwel paints, up on his knees on the bed and thinks about what it is that he actually wants out of this encounter. The overlap between what he thinks Azwel will enjoy, what he, himself will enjoy and what their invisible audience will enjoy doesn't feel like it encompasses a lot of things. Truthfully, he finds it much easier to stumble into sex, particularly kinky sex, than make educated decisions about what he wants. But he also walked into this knowing what he might have to do, so it's a bit late to change his mind about that now.
He does, however, change his mind about what he wants to start with, looking at Azwel like this, and slips back off the bed to bring back a toy - and one that might be surprising, at that. It's a glass buttplug, comfortably sized, heavy looking and he sets the cold glass against Azwel's neck, cold contrast against the flushed skin.
"When and where you were from, what were their feelings on glass as a solid versus a liquid?" it's a pretty incongruous question for the bedroom, but the tone Carden says it in says that it's relevant... somehow.
---
Clearly, Azwel needs to continue making Carden's world a little kinkier.
He gasps quietly through his nose as the cold glass is pressed to his skin. It sends a not entirely unpleasant shiver through him, and he closes his eyes.
At the question, though, he opens them and hums in thought, though it's a slightly more breathy sound than usually happens when he's thinking, sounding much more like it does when he's aroused. "Oh, we viewed it as a solid," he answers softly, his voice already taking on a purring quality. "Simple logic, really--it behaves like one in every way. It was logic that served us well enough."
---
"Interesting. In my world, a lot of people thought it was a liquid for a long time, just a very slow moving one. But a lot of that was from observing old windows that I guess would have been current for your time, so there might not have been a reason to think that for you. Who knows?" He's not idle while he talks, lubing up the plug and starting to ease it in very slowly. There's no other prep, but the sides are so smooth, he's curious if Azwel can just take it, and he does go slow, using it to tease and stretch a bit as he goes.
"Science was always something I thought was really cool, but not really something I delved super deep into beyond just being curious," his tone is still super casual, not exactly bedroom talk for their observers, but he knows how much he's probably low-key turning Azwel on by giving him something like this to think about while doing something else sexy. "But I do wonder if there's still enough liquid properties in glass for it to react to me like water does..."
---
"Mm, I can see that, given how it's worked with in a liquid state..." any other thought trails off as it's slowly pushed into him. The cold of the glass lances into his nerves in a manner both overwhelming and addictive. The moment his senses grow accustomed to it he wants more of it. He cries out, but the sound is warm and breathy, and finds himself bending forward. This has the advantage of further easing its way into him. And it does, indeed, go in with more ease than maybe it ought to, owing to how he's figured out a way to relax that inner core--it doesn't work every time, and he's pleased he's managed it right now. It feels far too good, though, sending shivers through him.
Already panting, Azwel closes his eyes, slowing and deepening his breathing. He hears what Carden is saying, though, and that last notion clicks something into his mind in a wonderfully satisfying manner. He hums and looks back at him, smiling a very heated and flirtatious smile.
"Oh, now we get to the crux of the matter," he says, his voice gone velvety, now. "I'd ask if you tested that hypothesis with any other liquid forms but--ah!" he gives a breathless cry as it hits a place so close to his sensitive spot that he instinctively jerks his hips backward against it. Swallowing heavily, he pauses to gather his senses again. "But I suspect that'd distract from what we both... really want to know...."
cont'd
Date: 2020-06-10 12:39 am (UTC)Scholar's fingers with workers callouses press against the base of the plug as Azwel shifts, causing it to shift even more inside of him. Carden is unerring at getting the tip of it to ghost right against his prostate,
"Lovely," he says, voice a low purr, and it's an odd choice of words for him, maybe, but it sounds unbearable sincere, clear pleasure in his voice at how easily everything has settled into place. And then he chuckles, also low and velveteen, to Azwel's comment. "No, you're my first experiment," he admits, a little grin curving his lips, creeping into his voice. "So let's start with something easy, yeah?"
He strokes the base of the plug and it goes abruptly cool inside of him. It's not cold, exactly, it's just like it suddenly rejects his body heat, turns back into feeling like room temperature glass inside his overheated body.
"How does that feel?"
---
The change in its temperature shivers into Azwel's nerves, rippling ever so lightly over his sensitive spot like a feather-brush, a tease. It pulls a long, loud gasp from him, makes his back arch. It takes him several breathless moments to even gather the coherency to speak.
"Ah... that's...." His head drops forward again. "That's almost too much..." He pulls in another breath. "Mmmh, but it's good." He lets himself melt into that shivering, exciting chill, his eyes going lidded. The tantalising nearness to his sensitive spot has him fighting to control himself, to stop himself pushing the plug in further or begging Carden to do it. Melting into that cool shiver helps to distract from it.
---
Carden puts a bit more pressure on the base and even without really being able to see him there's something very clearly a bit experimental about the touch. It's not experimental in a hesitant way, though, it's experimental in a calculated way, one that Azwel has seen from Carden outside of the bedroom, but never inside it, or at least never quite like this, almost detached.
There's nothing detached about his cock pressed warm up against Azwel's thigh, though, likely a conscious decision to let him know that Carden's not unaffected, even though he's been cool about it. After a moment of thought, he taps the base of the plug, gently, but the glass moves as though it were struck much harder in terms of vibration, trembling like a tuning fork for a moment inside him. The sensation itself is probably light, though likely still good, but it's the push of magic it takes to do it, the plug like a physical conduit for it, that he's really interested in.
"And that?" the words are clinical, but the purring tone is anything but, the way he leans down to let his lips brush against Azwel's ear, "How does that feel?"
---
Oh, god... Just that little bit further in was enough to rest it against that ravenous little bundle of nerves. It draws a low sound from Azwel, shivers along his nerves, causes a sheen of sweat to rise to his skin. He struggles to breathe into it again, and almost has control of himself when Carden taps the base of the thing and sets it humming...
Azwel has little experience with things that vibrate, especially against his prostate, and he gasps sharply. Goosebumps break out on his skin and his hair actually fluffs. In its attempt to stand on end it becomes a cloud around his head. But, more noticeably, the lines in his skin flare with light, something they've never done. Usually their glow starts soft and gets brighter. He shivers, panting, a plaintive moan in his throat. His cock twitches with his pulse, leaking little drops of precum.
He can scarcely speak, and words come out shakily, in a jumble of languages. He swallows thickly. "Ah, god," he manages. "Too good... don't... think I can take much more...."
---
"Do you think you can come just like this?" he says, tone still low and purring, "If so, I think I might let you off the hook for it," he'd asked him to hold out, after all. And then, Azwel can hear the wicked grin in Carden's voice and this is either the best acting Azwel's ever seen, or Carden is holding out on him, because he's never sounded like this before, "Are you going to be mad later if I keep going even while you do?"
There's another light tap, another devastating, vibrating hum through the plug, and the swipe of Carden's tongue, slow and firm, along one of the glowing lines on his back, still experimental, like he's curious if he can lick the magic off his skin.
---
"I... hah! I th-think... y-yes...." Azwel pants. "Mnh... Am I... Am I what?" He's so brain-scrambled the words don't sink in.
A beat later, though, that doesn't matter. Between the second bout of vibrations and that delectable sensation along such sensitive skin, he cries out again, the sound taking an almost sobbing quality at the end. He's sweating heavily, now, darkly flushed, his hair clinging to his face. Under Carden's tongue his skin had tasted salty and, moreover, that vibrant energy had wicked into it in such a manner that it almost did register as a flavour, though not one that could easily be described. Still, it was not unpleasant in the least.
Azwel struggles to catch his breath, chest heaving, head dropped back in a manner that possibly deliberately exposes the line down his neck. "S-so close...." he breathes. "Please...."
Azwel / Carden Yuletide Cheer... 12/19
Date: 2020-06-10 12:57 am (UTC)Carden has been a bit slower the past few weeks since Tumenalia. He's not obviously kind of sickly anymore, but between the tiredness of coming back from the dead and the cold weather and how comfy curling up with a blanket is, he's basically just living on the sofa.
He really doesn't have a lot in the way of money, particularly not with the fines he's been paying, but between everyone, they've scraped together at least a Christmas tree, with lights and he's curled up in some comfortable pajamas reading by it's glow when Azwel comes home, late, from some kind of a party. He looks up as he comes in and grins when he sees the stupid Christmas sweater and the reindeer ears and his rosy cheeks from the cold and the alcohol.
"Shh... hey, you'll wake everyone," it's what he says, but he's already uncurling, crossing over to Azwel to take whatever ridiculous white elephant thing he has in one hand and pulling a half-empty bottle of whatever libation he's carrying with the other. The first, he sets down somewhere and he would look the picture of the scolding parent up too late waiting for their child to come home... except he doesn't even look at what's in the bottle before he takes a swig of it, himself, grin curling his lips, "I think you've probably had enough." It's teasing, though, inviting return comment.
---
Azwel had been snorting and giggling at his own clumsiness, failing to get the door open three times before making it inside. His eyes go wide for a moment and he tries to stifle the sounds into his arm. It works, somewhat.
Oh, his hands are free, now. He can't remember what's in that little bag, probably some ridiculous sex toy he'll sporfle at, later. Whatever's in the bottle is delicious--some kind of spiced citrus liqueur. When Carden plucks it from his hand he grins. "Then you have some," he slurs, winding his arms around the other, half in a bid to stay upright, half to just have him in his arms. "Good, huh?"
---
Carden's warm from where he's been curled under blankets on the sofa, dressed in soft pajamas and a thick robe. A lot about him suggests a kind of sleepy warmth, but he's actually pretty alert, still trying to get his sleep schedule to something normal and up half the night as a result. He takes the weight Azwel leans into him with easily, though he has to shift a bit to plant his feet properly.
The liqueur slides warm down his throat and settles in his stomach and he makes a pleased noise at the taste, taking a longer second pull from the bottle,
"Mm, yeah, this is really good," he grins, "Looks like I have some catching up to do, though," it's very, very close to the kind of teasing he was doing during Tumenalia, but the entire tone is different, warm and conspiratorial, and he slips closer, takes another warming sip, "Was the party fun?" he reaches up and pulls some errant ribbon or holiday confetti out of his hair.
---
"Well, that's why I'm sharing it," Azwel grins, as though it'd been his idea all along. Maybe he'd had a vague notion of doing so when he'd originally taken the bottle with him, but thoughts so easily slip out of an inebriated mind.
He gives a low, purring chuckle as Carden draws nearer, his arms tightening around him, and ducks his head to kiss and nuzzle at Carden's neck. Pressed against him, Carden can likely feel that Azwel is a bit aroused, which really shouldn't be a surprise at all. "Mmmm, it was. Lots of drink and lots of very dirty games. Though I've been told not to sing any more. Philistines!"
---
Carden tips his head to the side on a low, lazy sort of noise, inviting more of that, thank you very much, shuddering as Azwel finds a particularly sensitive spot.
"Keep that up and we're going to fall over," he says, without doing anything at all to discourage it. "They just don't know how to appreciate art," he teases, knowing full well what Azwel's singing voice sounds like. He doesn't seem to directly notice Azwel's arousal at the moment, though he's certainly not avoiding pressing up warm against him, but he does have a more deliberate warmth in his voice and that little grin on his face that usually says the best kind of trouble,
"What kind of dirty games."
---
Azwel sees nothing wrong with them falling over. The floor's great for not falling off of, after all. Oh, but there's the bottle in Carden's hand and if they fall over and that breaks or spills, it'd be sad, indeed. A tragedy. Oh, but he can't let go, now. This feels far too good.
"Maybe we should- find a way to not- mmmh- to not fall over, then," he murmurs between kisses that move up to the corner of Carden's jaw. "The floor is good. Can't fall off of the floor."
Whether they end up on the floor or not, Azwel gives an amused hum at the question. "Oh, the usual, it seems," he purrs. "Strip charades, really explicit truth or dare, terribly licentious. Mmmm, it had the desired effect, though."
---
Azwel gets up to the corner of his jaw and Carden turns his head a bit more back the opposite way to kiss him, deep from the get go, warm and a bit messy. The kiss quickly turns even more heated, hungry, and by the time Carden pulls back he's breathless, unsure if he's dizzy from the lack of air or if the liqueur is starting to go to his head. Either way, the solution is obvious.
"Tree," he says, firmly, before realizing that doesn't make an entire thought, "There's floor over there and a rug and it's warmer than the doorway." There's also, you know, a sofa, but he's a little stupid with body warmth and kisses right now, and he takes another pull from the bottle as he works on getting them over there without dumping them both to the floor before they get there, but also without pulling away from Azwel's warmth, either.
"Did it turn into some kind of orgy or did they just rile you up for me?" the first part sounds like he's trying to distract from what's happening a moment, but the last half is... bolder than Carden usually is, actually, grin firmly in place.
---
They make their way over there and sink to the floor, all without spilling a drop of that lovely stuff they're drinking. It is much warmer there, and the rug is wonderfully plush, and the lights make Azwel's eyes look dark and warm and deep.
"What's Yule without some good old-fashioned debauchery, hm?" he chortles, winding his arms and legs around Carden and kissing him. "The answer's 'both,' really. Bit of an orgy, bit of desire. Mmmm... I want you... but I can take my time, if you like." One hand slips into Carden's clothing, seeking skin.
---
Everything's so warm and it soothes away another little part of whatever's still healing in him from dying, something deep and undefinable. Under the robe, Carden's got on a soft t-shirt and drawstring pants and in getting underneath, Azwel's quickly going to find out he's not wearing anything under either. Carden twists in his arms a bit, to give him better access, to shrug his arms out of the robe so he can better touch back, though he sticks to tangling his hands in hair and feeling out over the lines of Azwel's muscles in his arms. He's gotten better, more pro-active about touching, over the months they've lived together but he still tends to start off preferring less licentious touches.
He has the opposite reaction to Azwel touching him, though, keeps shifting his hands more intimate on his body, not in a way that's entirely pushy but more like a cat being petted, almost involuntary,
"You don't really have to take your time," he says, in response, "I want you too. Just... mmm... touch me more? Your hands always feel so good," it's unusual for him to be this vocal without something pushing him to it and it's entirely too soon to wholly blame the drink. But he's just so relaxed, a level of comfort he almost never has, just by virtue of living in this city, more noticeable in it's absence than presence.
---
He can do that, and gladly. He melts into it a little more, hands moving slowly over Carden's skin, relishing the warmth, their energy wicking slowly and gently into it. His lips capture Carden's softly in a series of slow, open-mouthed kisses, a soft hum in this throat.
It might take a moment or so for him to remember he needs to shed his own clothing. He manages to get the sweater off, his shirt all rumpled under it, dislodging the antler headband. The tinsel sticks to his hair, though.
It doesn't seem to bother Azwel that this is taking a while. He's fallen into a warm, languid pool of pleasure, his desire a slow, easy burn.
---
He hadn't even considered the whole energy part of this. It's still something so new to him. So when there's that tiny push from Azwel and things start to stir, he makes a louder noise than he meant to, amplified by the warmth of his hands. Everything slides into warmth and sensation and it's not like he's particularly trying to think or needs a respite from it, but it always feels so good to not have to, all the same. Sex being something easy is also new to him and he's always surprised when it is.
He helps Azwel out of his clothes as much as possible, but his own hands are slow, distracted easily in running over skin rather than trying to help. But then, they're both unhurried, mouths meeting warm and slow, whenever they have to part. He doesn't make any effort to take his own clothes off, but then, he also kind of likes the feel both of them getting pushed aside, or the warmth of Azwel's hands pushing or pulling them off of him, too much to bother with more than making sure he's pushed his robe out of their way.
---
This reaction has Azwel moaning, a soft, low sound, his hands teasing and caressing, even as he shivers with delight at Carden's every touch. He manages, at least, to get his shirt unbuttoned and both of their trousers out of the way, the clothing tossed aside or rolled onto. That he manages to rescue his lube from his trouser pocket shows he's at least not too far gone.
He scarcely wants to pull his lips from Carden's, though, and he slides between the other's legs, kissing him languidly and repeatedly as his now slick fingers gently slide over his balls and over that little stretch of skin, pressing it softly before they find their way to his entrance, pushing slowly inside. His throbbing cock presses against Carden's own, small drops of precum slicking it somewhat.
And yet he doesn't lose that dreamy slowness, and occasionally he draws back just a little to look at Carden's face, to look into his eyes if they're open. A tenderness has washed over him, making his every move gentle and almost loving.
He'll wonder, later, in a sober moment, if it's altogether wise to let other people mean so much to him, especially here. But for now he continues with his kisses and slow, pleasuring touches.
---
They're probably being marginally more quiet than Azwel's explosion into the door, but there's also little disguising what's happening out in the livingroom at this point, if anyone did wake up and decide they needed a glass of water or something. Carden's able to keep his volume down, but he's still moaning softly on every breath out, the only difference being between the sharper ones when something is unexpectedly good or the lower, longer ones when he's used to whatever the touch is.
Azwel's trying to go slow, and Carden's not trying to go fast, but the push of fingers stretching him makes him want more of that sensation, not less, and he rolls his hips against the touch immediately, fucking himself lazily on them. He can maybe sense Azwel's eyes on him, because his own open slowly, lids heavy and his gaze unfocused and oh, that's all rather more intense than he was expecting.
He doesn't run from it, though his cheeks flush a bit more and he drops his gaze almost shyly for a moment before he returns it, but he mostly just lets Azwel watch how much he's taking him apart, every moment of how good this feels written across him.
---
Oh, and it's a delightful sight. Beautiful, really. It warms him further, making the sounds in his throat velvety. The way Carden rolls his hips makes him shiver and nearly lose his rhythm, his breath catching. Carden can also see how much this is unraveling Azwel, how his face has gone flushed and hectic, some of his hair clinging to his face and neck.
Even as languid as he is, Azwel can't take much more of this. He eases his fingers out and pauses to slick his cock, just a few practiced passes of his hand, and sinks down onto Carden, pushing himself in with a long, low, soft moan. It's heavenly, slipping into him like this, every time just like the first time.
In fact, this is a lot like their first time, with how dreamy a state Azwel is in. He starts a gentle rhythm, his body flush against Carden's, his lips once more capturing his.
---
He actually reaches up and clamps a hand over his own mouth when Azwel starts to push in so he doesn't wake half the house with the noises that draws out of him. Even muffled, the moan is deep and almost delirious and he shudders in pleasure when Azwel bottoms out. The angle's not as good for continuing his own motions, but he's definitely trying almost immediately, still rolling his hips though they've taken on a bit of a lazier pace as well.
He lets his hand fall away for the kiss and his side of it is warm and distracted with pleasure. After a moment, he reaches up over his head and stretches, the motion utterly luxurious, as though this is the best thing in the entire world, the motion pressing him down on a thrust up that's likely to leave both of them moaning.
---
Mmm, he does love the way Carden moves under him, the way they move together, slipping into a perfect rhythm that leaves him mindless with pleasure. He eases the other's legs upward with that same slow, languid motion, guiding them around his waist.
That stretch, though, elicits a soft, lustful moan from the depths of him. He has to pull his mouth away to breathe. That felt far too good and he murmurs breathless, semicoherent words about that, his thrusts deep and heavy and slow, now. He was already feeling wonderful, warmed and blissful, and now his sapience has fallen away from him, dropped into a sea of sensation, and he can't even wonder if he'll get it back. He can only feel and feel and feel, his mind unfurling into something transcendent.
He's only dimly aware that his lips have moved to Carden's neck. His every nerve is liquid fire that he'll gladly drown in.
cont'd
Date: 2020-06-10 12:59 am (UTC)He moves with Azwel's urgings to get his legs around his waist and definitely uses some more of that leverage to push back, or at least give Azwel a more firm base to thrust deeper into him.
---
"God, yes," Azwel mumbles in reply, his voice husky. He could live in this moment forever, this deep, beautiful sea of heat and motion. They move together, languid, perfectly fitted against one another, lost in bliss. Azwel's hands trail up to Carden's neck and then his head, dragging heat in their wake, and rest there, gently curling in his hair. Soft, incoherent sounds ride his every breath, now.
Every slow, deep thrust plunges Azwel's senses further into this heated, wonderful mindlessness, thought easing away and leaving only this heavenly, floating perfection. His mind is gone, his soul spread out and slowly pulsing with waves of utter, consuming rapture. Even if he were coherent he wouldn't be able to put into words just how intoxicating this is. He lets his gentle hands and hot, wet lips, the shiver in his spine and the breathy sounds in his throat communicate it, instead, as he moves.
His climax glows soft and hot and silent within him, slowly unfolding, reaching toward him and twining around him.
Azwel / Carden Yuletide AU 12/19
Date: 2020-06-10 01:25 am (UTC)It's snowing out and, interestingly, there are no parties going tonight. So Azwel is at home with a giant bowl of popcorn and some hot drinks and in front of the television. He's been told that this is a tradition, so there he is, sat on the sofa with Carden, a blanket over both of them. All in all, there are much worse ways to spend an evening.
The film opens on a forest, a winter storm howling through it. Panning along the trees, the view eventually settles on a remote cabin with a warm fire within. When it shows the interior of said cabin, Azwel has to smile--clearly an attempt was made to re-create something closer to his own time period. The warm, flickering light throws orange and yellow reflections off of countless glass bottles and instruments of brass and nickel and wood and ivory. Bundles of dried plants hang from the ceiling. Candles sit on every available surface, most held in place by their own melted tallow. Books lurk in the shadows on shelves or sit open on tables.
Someone walks past the camera, but they can't be seen very well. It catches a glimpse of embroidery on what looks like a robe or long tunic of some kind. The person stops at a table covered with what looks like an exceedingly elabourate alchemy setup. (And here Azwel chortles, "Half of those things on there are utterly redundant, but it looks impressive!") The person pauses, reaching out a hand to pick up a vial, holding it up to the light. Whatever is in it changes colour from clear to emerald green and the person goes very still, then sets it down carefully.
It then cuts to a brief shot of a castle, the same storm whirling outside, before showing the inside, clearly prepared for some kind of feast. Fires burn in pits and braziers and in a giant fireplace in a dining hall, in which people in homespun clothing move about in an almost choreographed manner, preparing the place. The camera follows someone who walks through the dining hall and up a flight of stairs to a richly-decorated sitting room with one occupant who can't quite be seen, seated in a chair facing the fire.
"My lord," he says quietly. "The Yule Oracle has announced the final guest. He's on his way."
The seated figure rises and the camera catches a glimpse of a beringed hand and rich brocade fabric as the individual walks past.
("I wonder why they aren't showing us who these people are," Azwel muses. "Is it meant to be a surprise celebrity or two?")
Back at the cabin, the alchemist, now swathed in furs that cover all but his long, dark hair, unties a horse and swings himself astride it, riding off into the storm. He rides to a road and then along it through seemingly endless forest canopy until the trees give way to something resembling a snow-covered moor. In the distance looms that same castle, toward which he seems to be headed.
(By now, Azwel has stopped commenting and has sat back, watching contentedly, quietly crunching popcorn.)
News clearly travels fast at that castle, because they've got the drawbridge down and let this wild stranger simply ride right in. There's a glimpse of the man's eyes in the firelight and this makes Azwel squint--not many people have golden eyes, after all. Well, that's an odd coincidence. The stranger dismounts and accompanies some functionary inside while the horse is led off.
"Right this way, sir," she says quietly. "You're expected."
---
He's not entirely sure this is actually a Christmas movie, is his first thought, but he's warm under a blanket and there's popcorn and there's ample excuse to be cuddled into Azwel's side that he's absolutely taking advantage of, so who cares if it's a little bit unusual?
"Maybe it's some kind of flashback thing? Like, we'll find out who they are later for some kind of... dramatic irony or something?" he's mostly avoided this sort of thing for a number of years now, but he remembers watching some of these as a kid. This seems different, but maybe the just make them differently now. Or differently in Duplicity. "There's a pretty crazy lack of sex toys, given where we are," he comments, idly, but it's only an idle comment.
Everything happening on the screen suddenly seems more engrossing, oddly so.
The camera pans back into the hall, where it looks like the beginnings of the feast are being laid out, the guests of the feast clearly starting to gather, settle. The hall is warm with firelight and friendly chatter. Everything here seems cordial, warm and Carden feels his own lips curl up a little in response. It's nice to see his people all getting along, even the errant noblemen who don't wholly like one another putting aside petty differences for an evening.
Wait. Something about that thought is... odd, isn't it? He pauses for a beat, considering, and, for a moment, he's got both timelines in his head at once. Maybe at some point, he would have panicked a bit more, but now there's just a stray thought that flits through his head: those bastards... well, at least it's something interesting. But a reason for thinking that is easily dismissed when one of his servants comes up to him and bows,
"He has arrived, sir." He's a bit nervous to meet this final guest, all told. People who travel through the night on MidWinter aren't generally known for being sane folk. And, if the stories are to be believed, they often aren't humanfolk, either. He would never turn anyone away, least of all on MidWinter's Eve, but he can't deny a hint of trepidation about his new guest.
"Please, show him in."
---
Azwel has vague memories of such lavish environs, of so many people about. He shifts idly under the blanket furs and pulls the scarf down from his face, dislodging some of the snow from it.
He's led to the dining hall, his heavy boots noisy against the stone floor and leaving puddles of melting snow. The long hem of his fur cloak drags behind him. His face isn't much more visible than it was before with the profuse beard and long, wavy hair surrounding it, which only makes his appearance even more intimidating to the lithe nobles who instinctively step aside, eyeing him with some trepidation. There's a lot of whispering behind fans, a lot of wondering who or even what he is. Is that the Yule Oracle's guest? There's something otherworldly about him. Mysterious. But so big and virile. Mmmm, bet he's a beast in the bedroom....
The stares grow licentious and many people blush as they turn to commenting on his size. But Azwel doesn't seem to notice or, if he does notice, he doesn't seem to care. He's led before the castle's lord and finds himself looming over a young man who looks... oddly familiar for a moment. Had he seen him before? He has such an odd notion to reach out a hand and touch him, but he stops himself.
He stands still and quiet, looking down at him, slowly dripping snow from his furs and his hair. Several beats pass, then he drops to one knee.
"My lord," he says, voice husky from disuse. "I had received a sign that I must come here tonight." He looks up, then stands, and steps forward, drawing very close to him, indeed. "Clearly it was true," he whispers. "Your Oracle, yes? The one who speaks but once a year, at Midwinter?"
---
Carden would never gossip like those ladies behind their fans, but there's a bit of a flush to his cheeks as well when the man comes striding in, an unexpected warmth settling in him. It only settles the thought more firmly in his head that this is some kind of fae visitation, that he would feel that way that quickly, but if he's enchanted, it's nothing at all like the stories claimed it might be. He finds it hard to mind.
All he can do is stare as the visitor walks up to him, everything about him the roughness of the wilds blown into the soft luxury of the castle. Carden has worked hard to keep himself a busy ruler, unconcerned about putting in his own share of physical labors, but he feels suddenly small and soft next to this man, aware of how delicate everything around here is. The man dropping to a knee sends a shudder of something down his spine, makes his eyes widen slightly. He's not sure if he wasn't expecting it or not daring to hope for it.
He wants to say that there's no need for that, that the man is a guest in his home, not a subject of his, but the words stick when the man speaks and he finds himself nodding instead,
"Yes, we were expecting you. You are welcome here, sir, and to all my home has to offer," it's a traditional greeting from royalty to guests, but Carden is aware, very suddenly, of what might be included in such an offer, were a guest willing to ask for it.
---
There's a glint in Azwel's eye for just a second at those words, a flicker of heat. Their pale golden colour has deepened in the firelight and they almost appear to glow. "My gratitude to you and yours," he answers with a bow of his head. "May this night, when the veil is thin and the night is long, in this place where the stars meet the sea, bear witness to a renewal of the bond between Man and Nature."
His gloved hands come up and ease his hood back, revealing sharp alabaster features lined with ancient ritual scars and the odd deep purple colour of his thick hair and beard. A delicate gold filigree circlet winds its spirals into that hair, keeping the heavy locks from falling over his eyes and tucking some of them behind slightly pointed ears.
If there was any doubt that this visitor wasn't human, that doubt is certainly swept away, now. There's a soft gasp of wonder from some of the assembled peerage. Somehow, despite how wild and otherworldly he appears, there's no fear among them.
"I am called Azwel. I would like to know whatever name it is of yours you see fit to give, My Lord."
cont'd
Date: 2020-06-10 01:28 am (UTC)Even so, he's never felt something quite like this. There may not be fear among the people around, but there's a healthy dose in him. He recognizes the start to a ritual when he sees one and he's very aware he knows neither the steps, nor the outcome. Still, he's fascinated, not frightened, not really, when Azwel pulls back his hood and reveals his inhumanity.
"Carden," he's not sure if it's compelled out of him or not. It certainly seems like it falls easy out of his mouth while his brain is going a million different directions, but it's not something he would have withheld, certainly, "I have titles, but they are the titles of Men and need concern you only if you wish them. Please, have a seat, Azwel," he gestures at the seats next to the head of the table. Right is typically more traditionally the honored seat, but sometimes fae prefer subversion, so he leaves it for Azwel to decide, "The feast is soon to begin, and I would have you join us as my honored guest."
It's so formal and it's not that he's aroused (he is, but he barely notices) so much as the tension between them feels heady, delicious, and he wants to sink into it, let it curl more around them both, more than he wants to eat. But, there are still other traditions to uphold.
---
It's possible that Azwel spots this arousal, if by nothing else than the flush to the other's cheeks, the darkening of his eyes. But, truth be told, he can also sense it. The magick that wicks and coils around this young monarch calls to him, sings a song in his mind achingly poignant in its ancientness, pulling at his soul in ways he scarcely remembers. That magick yearns for so many things.
Ah, but the ritual needs satisfied, first. There is plenty of time to soothe longings and explore desire in this long, long night.
Azwel bows his head again at the offer, thick black lashes sweeping down over those almost-glowing eyes for a moment. "I will join you, with gladness and with thanks." As they approach the table he does, indeed, take a position to this young king's left side, possibly disrupting a well-established pattern. The hint of a smile hovers on his bearded face. And yet there is no awkward shuffling about--everyone finds themselves dropping into new places like seeds into grooves. That Azwel removes only his gloves might stir more whispers, but he appears, once more, not to care. His furs are seemly enough.
When the food and wine are served, the slight air of tension seems to melt. The hum of power, felt more than heard, that had filled the place the moment Azwel had arrived grows warm. Colours appear richer, flavours and scents stronger. The music sweeter. Talk and laughter pour freely. And, most interestingly, an air of fearless desire seeps into the place, drawing people together, making every glance and touch linger with an unaccustomed heat.
---
Carden doesn't normally drink a great deal, prefers his wits about him, though he doesn't abstain either, but he finds his cup always full and he has little idea of how much he's had as the evening wears on. He falls into small talk more easily than normal, as though in trying to ignore the tension between Azwel and him, he has to ignore all the rest of it. But finally, towards the end of the meal, he notices that he's not the only one having "difficulties" and he has to smile a little at Azwel, knowingly,
"Is this your magic, or simply the magic that came in with you?" he finally asks, low enough that others would not overhear, not that anyone is really paying attention in the increasingly raucous hall. He's clearly not offended, the grin on his face more sly than anything, "I wouldn't dream of fighting it, not on a night like tonight, but I would like to know who my enchanter is."
---
Azwel, on the other hand, appears to enjoy his food and drink liberally, his laughter loud and merry and frequent. And yet his conversation is as erudite as the most learned among them, possibly more so. He lavishes praise and flirtatious looks on others, and yet his every glance toward Carden, his every word to him, seems more sincere, as though it's perfectly obvious that he's the one Azwel blew in on the wind to visit. When he bends his ear to the other's question he brings a little more of that focus with him, though his smile doesn't falter a bit.
"They're one and the same, really," Azwel replies, smiling. "It's in the nature of the deep wilds to stir the blood and quicken the senses, is it not? I bring my home along with me with everything I do, as does anyone." It's a typically fae kind of answer, filled with multiple meanings and yet leaving so much open to the hearer's interpretation. He pauses and his smile grows wistful, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Though truth unvarnished must be told freely upon this night--I am also under an enchantment. Yours. This magick within you... it calls to me."
For the first time that evening, he reaches out a hand to touch Carden, his fingers hot and vibrant against the other's hand. An almost visible ripple of energy wavers from that spot. "This, I am sure, is the bond of which the ritual spoke. I yearn to feel this magick of yours upon me and within me, as I wish to share mine."
---
Carden's grin widens at the first part of the answer. He'd been expecting a similar one,
"Your magic is as welcome here as you are, then. My people work hard. An evening where they need not pay heed to their troubles will be a fine thing, even without whatever deeper work is happening here." He flushes deeply though when Azwel continues and he can feel the heated shudder that slips up his arm and down his spine when Azwel touches him,
"I confess, I know very little about it. I have devoured every book I can find, but there are no other magic users in our kingdom, and it is a dangerous thing to toy with without knowledge. I usually counsel caution... but I find I am longing for the same. It is becoming increasingly difficult to think of anything else."
"Come, let us move the evening along," he adds, louder, clearly also addressing those around him, the servants standing ready, "I think all of us grow tired of being confined to the table. Let the desserts be placed such that those that wish to may partake, but let us move to dancing."
---
"Magick must also be a thing to experience," Azwel whispers. "It is a song that must be heard. A touch that must be felt." He gently places his hand on Carden's chest, causing a soft warmth to glow there. "It is a living thing, just as you are, and must live and grow within you or it will wither."
For a moment their eyes meet, and maybe the reason it's said that one shouldn't look the fae in the eye is because the ancient and boundless yearning that some of them have is too much to see. Azwel's gaze is old--far, far older than even his apparent years would account for, deep and cavernous with longing. And then he blinks and the moment is past.
"A splendid idea!" he exults, sitting up with a grin. When the space is cleared, he stands and sheds his cloak, revealing a fur-trimmed, elabourately belted robe, his hair tumbling in waves and curls almost to his knees. "Let us dance, one and all!"
Once he is on the dance floor, he spreads more of that cheer and fearless heat--several he dances with come away from the experience flushed and dark-eyed, a distinctly earthy desire simmering in them just from his touch, from the brief press of his body to theirs, from the way he moves--sure and swift and dizzying. They carry it with them, passing it from one to another.
Carden, himself, will soon learn this firsthand, as Azwel soon approaches him. "Shall we, My Lord?"
---
He's glad for the clatter of industry around them for a moment to catch his breath. He's a bit dizzy from the moment before, from how this visitor's magic stirs his own in a way he's never felt before. The pull is even stronger now, something that layers on top of this strange ritual they are all caught in, now, something he wants desperately separate from any enchantment. Azwel's magic calls and his own answers and knowing that he's doing the same, that the fae is drawn to him as well, just makes the sensation more heady.
He dosn't dance, at first. He's never been a dour ruler, but he's also never much cared for dancing, so he can watch how Azwel is spreading desire in his wake, how people seem to couple off afterwards, how people pull closer, touch, kiss. He feels like a voyeur, standing here, more and more, but he finds himself curiously loathe to join the dance, until Azwel stops in front of him and holds out a hand, and then he has wanted nothing so much in his life.
He nods his assent, but it's perfunctory as he's already crossing the space and there's a soft gasp at Azwel's touch, the way it lights up more than just the physical. If he's not immediately pulled close, he pulls himself there, unable to keep up even a pretense at this point. He wants, he wants so badly and so much it feels like fire under his skin, and it's only that the desire is not solely for the physical that keeps him from folding into Azwel's arms completely. He can feel the ritual here, he desires to see it to completion as much as anything else, and there is more to come.
"I know not how I will be able to concentrate on the steps," he murmurs, but it's bemused, breathless, not a complaint in the slightest.
---
It's fortunate that there are alcoves and niches, as some of the couples find themselves swept into passion and want. But the place is so noisy that their pleasure can't be heard. And even if it were heard, it's doubtful anyone would mind.
"Just follow me," Azwel whispers huskily. His desire is powerful, now, stoked ever higher for having been spread, like a fire. His arm goes around Carden's waist, holding him very close, indeed, his every step causing his body to press and move against Carden's. His other hand holds Carden's aloft, but after several dizzying steps it moves, sliding along his arm. With every turn and whirl Azwel's hands move, stroking here and there, vibrant energy wicking through clothing to warm the skin beneath. Their faces are close, indeed, and at one point Azwel brushes his lips against Carden's, the briefest ghost of a touch, hot with need.
The dance lasts for moments, for an eternity. When the music ends and they go still, Azwel is slightly breathless, quivering with want. It's telling of how much of an effect Carden has on him that one of his kind can be moved, thus.
He leans forward to press an obvious kiss to Carden's lips. "May this be but the foundation of our bond."
"It is done," he whispers. "The night, from this point forward, is ours."
Re: cont'd
Date: 2020-06-10 01:30 am (UTC)He swoons just a little bit when Azwel presses his lips to his, knows the whole court is likely watching and doesn't care, reaches up and grips his hands in Azwel's hair to tug him more against his mouth, deepens the kiss, hot and eager, even as he feels his knees give that tiny bit. He's breathless, when they finally separate, at least enough to speak. There's a raucous riot of cheers from those assembled and he flushes, twists enough in Azwel's arms to regard those who haven't yet snuck off themselves.
"I have some... diplomatic matters to attend to," no one is expected to believe that, it's even said with a smirk and if Azwel has wandering hands, he's doing nothing to stop them, "Please, everyone, stay and enjoy the food and fellowship until you wish to retire. I would not dream of stopping you but I have... other matters to attend to." There's another sort of knowing cheer and he's certainly aiming for starting to lead Azwel back to his chambers, but he's wholly uncaring at this point if they make it or not.
---
Well, Azwel's wandering hands are at least somewhat subtle, slipping almost unseen into the folds of Carden's clothing. His smile is as knowing as the cheers from the others, but also strangely relieved.
Oh, he goes so willingly when he's pulled along, though, not even bothering to gather his furs on the way. It's not as though he's going to need them, after all. Who knows how long it takes them to get to Carden's chambers, darting past windows and heedless of the howling storm, breathless and quivering with need, but they do.
The moment the door closes, Azwel presses him bodily against the wall, his full lips hot and insistent against Carden's, his hands sliding into the other's hair, his hips rolling and pressing throbbing heat against him. When he pulls away to breathe, he tugs Carden toward the bed.
"This night, I am yours," he whispers breathlessly, his voice almost choked with the intensity of his desire. He drops backward onto it, pulling Carden with him, hands already working his clothing open. "I need to feel you, to feel this power, this magick that courses through you... around me or within me, whatever your desire.... Ah! Do what you will with me, I am yours...."
---
Carden makes a sharp noise, as though surprised, when Azwel presses him against the wall, but he was already reaching for him, drawing him closer even before his back was pressed there. It's more that he's surprised at the speed of it, the way they both seem to be working in tandem. He gives into the kiss wholly, moaning into Azwel's mouth and clings, rolling his own hips back against him, finally peeling out of the kiss only to throw his head back and moan in relieved pleasure.
He's dragged to the bed only in the sense that he's not coordinated enough to move as quickly as Azwel is pulling and he falls on him ravenously as soon as they get there, hands seeking skin, mouth on his. His words bring him up a little short though, cause him to slow, if not stop, and he flushes, breathless,
"I don't... I haven't ever..." the flush deepens and he tries again, "You're the first person I've ever brought to my bed," it's a powerful offering, he's only embarrassed by it in that he doesn't know what to do, "Teach me," he says, orders, pushing some of Azwel's clothing aside, "... and then let me show you what I've learned."
---
At these words Azwel pauses with a soft hm? His head tilts slightly to the side and his lashes sweep down over those glowing eyes again for a moment. He reaches up a hand to slip it into Carden's hair, to pull him in for a slower, more gentle kiss. He takes a deep breath and a warm sigh escapes him, humming softly against the other's lips.
"I feel... as though this is another reason I was sent here. I shall teach you, yes," he whispers. "And gladly. I feel sure you will be a fast learner." He sits up, then, and finishes unfastening Carden's clothing, gently and slowly pushing fabric from shoulders and hips in a manner far more sensual than undressing usually is, his hands heatedly caressing skin as it's exposed. His own clothing, despite its elabourate appearance, is easily removed once the belt is unfastened, the fur-trimmed robe pulled off and cast aside.
They were right, those gossips, he is big, broad-shouldered and thickly muscled, his waist narrow and his legs large. The trousers he wears are snug, indeed, showing the shallow curve of his hips and, most notably, the swelling bulge between his thighs. His stomach muscles quiver, and it's clear he's not completely calmed his breath. But he patiently guides Carden's hands down to his hips, then eases one forward, placing it against that bulge with a soft, warm sound in his throat, encouraging that hand to move, to massage and caress. It's hot and throbbing under the fabric, not completely hard, yet, but already swollen thick.
"Mmmmmh, slowly and gently," he purrs. "Lay me bare for your pleasure...."
---
"Fast learner" clearly doesn't cover the half of it, as it turns out. He's not sure what all there is to do, what Azwel is suggesting by his words, but there are some things that are obvious and those he goes after with a vigor, unafraid and unhesitating. He melts into the kiss, moaning softly at the change in pace, and while he lets Azwel do the work of undressing them both, there's no blushing shyness to his own nudity, no pause before he's running his hands over those muscles, avidly curious about learning another person.
As soon as his hand is placed on the bulge between Azwel's legs, he moans, softly, and he wastes no time moving immediately from that to a more massaging touch. He's untouched by other people, but he's said nothing about what he might have done to himself, and surely it translates, doesn't it? He makes another low sound of pleasure just doing this, clearly turned on even more by what he's feeling, and he actually peels himself back just a little to see as well, fingers wasting no time working on his pants the moment Azwel indicates he should.
He's not hasty, but there's a hunger in his touch all the same and while he takes his time getting Azwel's pants open, a touch of reverence in his motions, he wastes none before he's stroking him. It's probably a little too gentle, actually, but he seems more concerned with the different textures of skin under his fingers than anything else for a moment.
"Every inch of you is beautiful," he murmurs, softly, clearly already distracted from getting him the rest of the way out of his pants.
---
The touch of those hands on his skin is something Azwel's not felt before, in that every stroke and caress stirs something in him, as though he were a pool of water, as though they were reaching in to draw gently along his very soul. That sensation ripples out into his body and draws a soft moan from him, his eyes falling shut and his head dropping back. His nerves sing with desire, his skin aches for more of that touch, more of whatever it is that's reaching so deeply into him.
The moan only grows more breathless, more lustful, when Carden's hand cups and massages his desperate flesh--even through the fabric he can feel that same energy, those slow waves of utter bliss. It has grown hard by the time Azwel's trousers are unfastened and that flesh is bared. That touch stroking the soft, smooth skin makes him shiver with delight.
"Oh... oh, you know not what your touch does to me, do you?" he moans, voice utterly lust-drenched. His own hands stroke along Carden's sides, leaving trails of heat. "Mmmmm, it's but a whisper of that power within you and yet... it stirs something within me... something wonderful."
He gives a roll of his hips that manages to press himself against Carden's hand for a moment and work his trousers down to his legs. "I will teach you how to use it... and how to ruin your every lover for any other man, I feel sure...." He pauses to breathe. "If you but pull from me the last of my clothing," he finishes, gently teasing.
Once the trousers are gone Azwel pulls Carden close again, guiding him to straddle him. He arches into every touch of Carden's hands, his own moving slowly over the other's hips and sides. "Mmmh, can you feel it?" he whispers, "Can you feel your touch stirring my soul- ah, as a hand plunged into a pond stirs the sand at its bottom?"
Re: cont'd
Date: 2020-06-10 01:33 am (UTC)There's a surprising burst of strength from him as he gets Azwel's pants the rest of the way down his legs and a spark of magic to undo laces or loosen boots if needed. When he finishes, though, and returns back up to Azwel's arms, all he can do is moan softly for a moment and just exist, in the press of skin on skin.
"You feel too good," it's the opposite of a complaint, "I'll go mad," he doesn't care, doesn't mind, is completely pliant to being pulled back over him, rocks his hips down instinctively and then shifts more deliberately, wrapping a hand around both of their cocks and stroking them once together. It's experimental, he still doesn't know what he's doing, but there are some things, he figures, that translate, surely.
He tilts his head to the side for a moment when Azwel mentions that it's like stirring a pond and the expression on his face isn't so much confusion as recognition.
"Water..." he breathes, which tells Azwel nothing, except on the next stroke of his hand, there's power gathered there, the first sign of Carden doing anything actually deliberate with his magic.
---
When Carden presses against him again, Azwel lets his lips roam, hot and wet, along the other's neck. Those words cause something to uncoil within him and he arches, a sound in his throat almost like a purr. He's not the only one who feels too good. The hand holding both of their cocks together has left him shivering with delight, his eyes slipping shut.
That next stroke makes him cry out lustfully. "Ah! More of that," he breathes. "Yes... water... mmmmh, those waves of bliss...." He's rapidly becoming incoherent, writhing slowly under that touch in an obscenely wanton manner. If Carden continues with that, thick drops will seep from Azwel's tip, slick and hot.
The notion that he should try to keep his mind so he might guide Carden in their explorations is easily swept away by sheer sensation. Something, something about the night, about Carden's own magick, about this blissful resonance between their bodies, has combined into something Azwel has never experienced before.
---
Oddly, Carden seems to be becoming a little more coherent, something that, back home, Azwel would immediately recognize as that moment when he brings his mind around to bear on something, when something suddenly has his attention and focus. It turns his edges sharper, his mind running through multiple things at once and, like usual, he skips two or three steps of conscious cognition and taps directly into the core of something.
He's never brought someone else to his bed and no king would possess the books that would have that kind of knowledge. But he's smart and resourceful and an off-handed comment when he was younger by a peer about "stress relief" had led to a world of discovery about himself, at least, and spells can be... repurposed.
It's never occurred to him (and isn't actually occurring now) that it might be pleasurable to actually have full on sex like this, doesn't actually know if anyone else knows or does this. But as he shifts and slides his hand further back between Azwel's legs, he does at least know what he's about to do feels good for him. It's the barest moment of concentration to make his fingers slick and wet (Water) and then to slide one inside of Azwel's body (a hand dipping into the surface of a pond) while he reaches also for power, sending it radiating outward from the point of contact.
His gaze is bright and curious as he does it, ready to adjust for any kind of discomfort the moment he sees it.
---
Azwel can hear that focus sharpening, and his eyes ease open a little, gazing up at Carden with curiosity made warm and blurry with pleasure. His hands move slowly over Carden's skin and his eyes fall shut again when he feels the other's fingers move further back, toward his entrance. He bends his knees, putting his feet flat on the bed.
He's hot and soft around that finger, feeling as though he could easily take more and Oh! Oh, that touch and that ripple of liquid sensation, that power... his breath catches in a quiet gasp, leaves him in a lustful, shivering moan. His hips start to roll gently, pressing that finger further in, and he gives another breathless sound. The touch is enough, the finger pad brushing against his sensitive spot, but that added power... it feels too good, turns his nerves to hot, sweet liquid bliss.
An answering touch of magick hums in Azwel's fingers, drawing vibrant life along Carden's skin.
---
"Oh good. I'm glad some things translate." It's an admission that he knows about that he's done this to himself. It's a second admission he doesn't know about, that he doesn't seem to know that some people consider one position or another more powerful or better. There's no sense of him trying to do any nonsense like pull a fae creature under his power or assert any kind of dominance. It's just something he knows feels good in a situation where he knows little about how things go, but is reasonably certain feeling good is the goal, and relief that it's okay floods his tone.
He knows it usually takes him a moment to work to two, but Azwel seems so eager that he almost grows perhaps too hasty, consumed with the way he rolls his hips, how heated he seems. He pushes power inside him, instead, more cool and wet feeling, though whether it's actually a burst of any actual wetness or just the sensation of it in magic is difficult to tell. He moans and shifts slightly as Azwel's hands trace his skin, the motion grinding him a bit on his lap, though the angles are wrong for it to be a perfect sort of friction.
---
"Mmmmh, yes... it does...." The thought of Carden's asserting any dominance over him doesn't even occur to Azwel. Pleasure is pleasure, as far as he's concerned, and this feels far too good for him to object to anything so inconsequential as their positioning. He'd pledged his body to Carden for this night, to be stroked and filled and brought to the highest ecstasy they can reach.
A velvety sound escapes him at that power rippling into him. More than simply the cool water sensation that heats up quickly against his skin and becomes slick and perfect, the magick itself, stroking his soul in all the right ways, has him delirious with a kind of pleasure he can't even describe, that loops his senses back round into his body and simply intensifies everything he feels until a single finger within him is almost too much, leaving him shaking and craving more.
As Carden moves against him, though, Azwel can tell the experience could be a little better for the younger man, and he slides one hand forward. His fingers are hot and smooth and gentle, and stroke over that desperate flesh with that same vibrant energy. Azwel purrs softly in his throat, his hand's rhythm matching Carden's.
---
It occurs to him, quite suddenly, that they've barely scratched the surface of what Azwel might teach him and he's already so close to coming that he isn't sure how he's not. The magic scores along his skin and he whimpers, moans, pushing his hips into Azwel's grip.
"Tell me this enchantment means we get more than one go at this this night," it's an order more than a question and permission more than that. Surely the fae have ways to stretch time, to be able to transcend bodily concerns. Carden is young still and he is certain it won't take long even without it, but he doesn't want to have to wait, either. He leans down over Azwel, bites a kiss into his shoulder, but gently,
"There is so much more I wish to do with you, even without knowing fully what it is..."
---
"Oh, yes, as much as you wish, for as long as you wish," Azwel breathes in reply, a tender smile crossing his features. It's the longest night of the year but, even besides that, time means little to his kind. Days can pass for a human among the fae only for mere hours to have gone by for the rest of man's world.
More than that, though, he knows instinctively, in his soul, that time is not this young king's only concern. Mortals burn through their passion so brightly and so quickly, deliciously intense but so very brief. And yet their bodies require such patience at times, else they get injured. This is not a time for unwanted pain.
"I can promise you," he murmurs, slipping the fingers of his other hand into Carden's hair, "Your passion will burn as long as you wish it to on this night. Your body will do whatever you wish it to do." Here his smile grows a bit amused. "Mmmh, after all, I cannot counsel patience at this time when I, myself, possess none." Still, the warm vibrant touch of his hand on such desperate flesh hums with something intended to calm the younger man's ardour somewhat, to make it last longer.
No more words, for now. He lets his hand slide from around the other's cock and lifts his legs, curling them around Carden's waist. He's soft and inviting around Carden's finger, hot and clearly aching desperately for their bodies to join. His very core throbs with that same energy, twining around Carden's own, fitting perfectly into the contours of its reality. His head drops back as a soft moan leaves him. "No need to wait," he breathes, as though having read the other's mind.
Re: cont'd
Date: 2020-06-10 01:35 am (UTC)The way Azwel is moving, the things he can feel himself being urged to with the magic coiling around him, pulling at him... it all points to one thing, but there's still so much he doesn't know.
"Thank you," he breathes, like being swept into fae time is a gift instead of a curse, fine to pay whatever price it takes in this moment to transcend mortal concerns for an evening of bliss if it's going to be like this. He also is fairly certain that this, connected as it is to Midwinter, will not hurt him, or any hurt it brings is inevitable, perhaps. "Show me," it's an order, but one breathed in fascination, not command, "Tell me what to do. The things I want... I do not know the words for them. I do not know what they are. But I want them all the same." His head leans into the hand curled in his hair, trusting.
---
Azwel hums softly, breathlessly, his eyes falling shut. The small burst of power within him has him drawing in a shaky breath, then letting it fall out with a velvety moan. "Oh, gods," he whispers deliriously. It felt so good, so right.... What human can do this?
This one. Azwel pulls his attention back to Carden's words, listening, gazing up at him with half-open eyes. "Mmmh, take your fingers out, slowly," he purrs lustfully. His fingers trace along and over the other's swollen cock. "It's where this longs to go. You can feel that desire, that ache...." He tightens his legs around Carden's hips, one hand helping to guide Carden's tip to that hot, slick entrance. He moans almost plaintively as it touches the entrance. "Push your hips forward... slide into me... slowly, gently...."
---
Carden considers this new information first with sharply raised eyebrows and then with a much shrewder, desiring look. A moment later, he does let his fingers trail slowly out of Azwel and then lets him help move him, moves with him,
"I've tried things larger, thicker than my own fingers," it would be an admission, except there's not even a thought to keep it a secret, no shame at all in telling this being something like this like there might be with a human, "But even I had never considered..." he trails off for a moment, laughs breathlessly, "Clearly I should have. It's not a difficult leap."
And then he has to shut up, because he's pushing in and that becomes everything in the entire world, narrowing in to that point.
---
Azwel says nothing, for once, breathless with need, his watching eyes dark and heated and gentle, that slight glow to them gone so very warm. When Carden slides into him he gives a soft moan, a more lustful sound than one could think possible, a sound quivering and dripping with desire that fills the room, that wraps around Carden. His core, so soft and hot and inviting, surrounds the younger man's shaft. Azwel's hands drop to Carden's hips, guiding them in a slow rolling motion that works him in further and further.
And the further in he goes, the more their magick swirls together, shivers, swirls again, until they fit against one another perfectly. As though their energies were meant to press and meld into one another like this. It fills them as Carden fills Azwel, delirious, beautifully mindless.
He starts to move under Carden, his hands urging the other's hips to thrust, now, a languid, gentle rhythm. He can see how much this unravels Azwel, how flushed and subsumed and debauched he is, how he drinks in every second of it.
---
For the first few moments, he's completely gone. Everything is the press of Azwel's body around him, the twining feeling of their magics together. There's no room for anything else, for even a stray thought. Azwel rolls his hips under him and Carden moans, but there's no way to coordinate anything further, nothing to do but to hold on.
And then, slowly, it clears a bit. He gets used to the sensations, can process them, enjoy them. His eyes focus a bit on Azwel, on the noises he's making, his expression. He's still not sure what he's doing, but if there's one thing Carden knows how to do, in any timeline, in any form, it's chase down something new, learn something. He bites his own lip more for focus than anything else and then shifts his weight, rolling his own hips for the first time on his own without Azwel's prompting, a motion that makes him cry out in pleasure.
The second is more clearly a thrust than a roll and his expression shifts slowly from dazed to enchanted, eyes wide as he takes in the beautiful man under him.
---
Azwel cannot see that enchanted expression, his eyes closed and his head dropped back slightly. He moves fluidly under Carden, urging him on, hands still guiding him, gently resting on his hips. It's ancient instinct, this movement, slow and seductive and primal. As though he's worn this body so many times that he can fall right into this rhythm unconsciously, yet has never, will never, grow tired of it.
He hums dreamily. "Listen to your body, now," he whispers. "It will..." his speech trails off for a moment as a wave of intense pleasure rolls through him, "oh, it will tell you what it wants. Fast? Slow? Rough? Gentle? Mmmhh, let go of thought... move... move until you find it...."
Oh, and he is, indeed, beautiful, suffused with bliss, pale skin flushed rosy and glistening with light sweat. It's a very human body, in that regard. That's where the similarities cease, of course, but it's that little bit of human-ness that makes them meld all the deeper.
---
It is, of course, easy to listen. Perhaps in another place and time, there might be a warning voice in the back of his head to not trust the enchantments of the fae, but they are long past the point where there's even a voice in the back of Carden's head to whisper caution anymore. He feels like he's melting, like they're really one being, one body, and there is a stray thought to wonder if sex is always like this or if this is just Azwel, just this night, this power. If so, he knows without a doubt, he'll spend the rest of his life seeking this out, hoping to find it.
The pace stays rolling, his thrusts not particularly violent but hard enough to bring them fully flush, to get him deep every push inwards. He can barely catch his breath and each one leaves him in a moan of pleasure, increasingly ecstatic sounding, a joy not just in the physical joining, but in finally being able to let his magic out, how wonderful it feels for a moment to just be some kind of conduit or a reservoir of it instead of it's keeper.
He doesn't have speech just at the moment, as they dive deeper, but it's easy to feel his wonder, layered on top of the pleasure, warm and sweet even in the tempest they're stirring.
---
One he finds that rhythm Azwel clings to him, despite being larger. He moves with him, moaning breathlessly when they join completely, matching Carden's motions until they ebb and flow like waves, pulsing with perfect bliss. But more than that--the bright, hot tendrils of magick, of pure life, slide and twine around every last bit of Carden's own magick, joining those forces as completely and perfectly as their bodies.
One hand curls in the hair at the back of Carden's head, pulling him forward onto him. This presses Azwel's cock between their bodies and he arches, losing his rhythm for a moment before flowing back into it. He whispers semicoherent words--praise and encouragement, little phrases jumbled up in bliss. His breath catches when Carden draws across his sensitive spot and his legs tighten, angling his hips.
After that, he cannot speak at all, mindless sounds of pleasure pushed out with every thrust. All he can do is move, twine his magick around the other, fill the room with soft cries and a heavy, sultry feeling.