judgementor | [Aefenglom IC Inbox]

[ Whatever Steak might have wanted to say — and, in all honesty, he doesn't even know — is kicked right out of the window by Red Wine's teeth, painfully sharp against his lip, cutting through all the noise and uncertainty and dragging him back to a world where there's nothing more than bodies pressed warm against one another, tongues clashing as his hand strays under the line of Red Wine's trousers.

Perhaps, for once, he can follow Red Wine's instructions, shutting up in favour of dragging his teeth across Red Wine's lower lip, an echo of what Red Wine put him through only moments ago. In favour of fingers tracing the line of Red Wine's hip bone, thumb smooth against cool skin, a flutter of some indescribable emotion flitting through his chest as the tips of his fingers graze the curve of Red Wine's thigh, slow and gentle exploring against soft skin. ]

[He makes another noise, a soft 'mn' of what is undeniably pleasure as he shifts his body subtly to the touches sliding under his clothes. Even an hour ago he would never have even entertained the notion of ending up in a position like this with Steak of all people--

(though the position itself is not an altogether novel one)

--yet as it happens, and the shared sensations filter through the bond linking them, he can't imagine he would want to be doing it with anyone else.

His fingers push into soft red hair, trace up the unfamiliar shape of Steak's horns, and he keeps his eyes closed as he seeks out another kiss each time Steak needs to pull back for breath.]

[ Steak can't say he's even slightly certain of what he's doing, or why, given everything that's hung between them for centuries, but the noise Red Wine makes emboldens his hand, roughens the kiss with teeth tweaking at Red Wine's lip. The tips of his fingers brush against the length of Red Wine's cock, a brief stumble across flesh as he gasps for breath and opens his eyes, distracted, momentarily, by the lines for Red Wine's face.

Something in his chest flutters, and his lips find the corner of Red Wine's mouth, the line of his jaw, before he catches Red Wine in another kiss, one which stutters only as hands find the curve of his horns.

He could complain, but he doesn't. Instead, new appendages twitch and curl and finally find the cool skin of Red Wine's stomach. ]

Ah--

[It's surprise that forces that sound out of him, carried on a gasp punched out of his chest as he twitches and opens his eyes, meeting Steak's in the moment he opens his own.

And-- Gods, for that moment he could just drown in the rich colour of those eyes.

There's something alien and wholly unnatural about the limbs that brush against his stomach and he makes another of those noises, an uncertain murmur into a kiss as he brings one hand down and touches one of those appendages, letting the tip of it wind around his fingers in the middle of its explorations.

No, no... it's okay. It's fine. His other hand tightens in Steak's hair.]

If you stop I'll kill you. [He whispers breathily, pushing himself up to claim another kiss.]

[ How many times has Red Wine threatened to kill Steak before? The words are so often shot between them that they're all but meaningless most of the time, and right now they make Steak laugh into the kiss, fingers lingering against the head of his cock as he presses back against Red Wine's lips, as tentacles curl further up Red Wine's hand and chest. ]

As if you could.

[ He breaks from the kiss to speak, to shift hands and appendages to the fabric of Red Wine's trousers, guided by nothing but natural progression and some sort of instinct. Is it just what human, and human-like, beings know to do? Or what?

He supposes that doesn't matter. What matters is taking off Red Wine's pyjama bottoms, and resolutely burying the little, persistent thought that he's only here, only willing to go this far because it's Red Wine on the receiving end of each kiss and touch.

Bury that far, far away under a pile of thoughts about how it's simply one-upmanship.

Nothing else. ]

You know I could. And you'd let me. [Just because he never has... It would have never benefited him to kill Steak, despite how much he claimed to hate him.

His body is still cool to the touch from lack of blood, but he can feel the heat stirring up between his hips as a warning of what's to come. Red Wine catches a soft hiss of air between his teeth, a lurching sensation in his chest as he grips Steak's wrist and stops him - again - from going any further.

But this time, the movements that gently pull eager fingers away from his clothes and skin are deliberate and measured. He looks up at Steak with a dizzy swirling in his head and a faint flush to his cheekbones and the tops of his ears.]

We-- This can't happen.

[It feels so good. It feels so good, but they can't. It's not right. If he has to lose this time, then so be it.]

It can't.

[ He'd argue, because the idea of Red Wine killing him — no matter how logically possible it might be — grates at his pride regardless, but the spell has been broken. Red Wine's hands, his words, wash over Steak like ice water, shocking him back out of whatever they were doing, his cheeks turning several shades of red as he scrambles off the bastard and shifts to cover... uh. Somewhat obvious signs of what their actions were doing to him.

He exhales, a huff, a noise of agreement and indigence all at the same time, unable to quite look in Red Wine's direction as he speaks. ]

Nothing happened.

[ They can just forget this, right? He'll just... grab his clothes. It'll be fine. ]

... No.

[God of Beginnings, he feels so cold suddenly. He sits up as Steak moves away and looks down at his knees, the colour draining out of him in stark opposition to the red flush on Steak's face.

He laces his hands together firmly to still the minute tremble he can feel in his fingers, and has to firmly convince himself that he needed to say what he'd said.]

No... nothing happened.

[ They're terrible liars, but Steak doesn't plan on calling Red Wine out on it, doesn't plan on crumbling this shoddy facade constructed to hide away everything that just happened. Instead, he busies himself pulling his armour back on, ducking his head away from seeing Red Wine even out of the corner of his eyes, locking back the lurch of something he can't unknot as he catches a glimpse of the unusually — even for here, where the bastard is undead — ashen pallor of Red Wine's face. ]

I'm going. [ He stumbles over the words rather than simply stating them, nervous more than his usual brusque, stuck on unfamiliar ground and trying desperately to claw his way back to normalcy.

Or at least to place where his mind doesn't linger on the feeling of Red Wine beneath him. ]

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