judgementor | [Aefenglom IC Inbox]

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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