[Aefenglom IC Inbox]

[judgementor]

"Leave a message. If it's important, I'll get back to you."

*beep*

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[judgementor]

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.

[battlebound]

[ 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. ]

[judgementor]

... 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.

[battlebound]

[ 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. ]