Chrysaor ~ Hakan's Christmas Bash
The road is long, we carry on Try to have fun in the meantime
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@chrysacr
Chrysaor ~ Hakan's Christmas Bash
The road is long, we carry on Try to have fun in the meantime
The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) dir. Jim Sharman
My love, can you hear my screams?
"Yeah, that would do it," he mutters more to himself than anything as he lowers his hand and sends Chrys a thin-lipped smile as he tries to ignore the ever present reminder of Ba'al's words crawling around his face. Chrys is incredibly lucky that he does not see the illusion, because the thought alone makes him want to shudder i disgust. He has suffered a great deal more rancid tortures, but it is still a visceral image. Sighing softly, he shrugs and looks away. The image is a reminder that Ba'al could touch Chrys at any point, and that is what he fears the most. "The Lord of the Flies, Lord Beelzebub, Ba'al. Whatever name you know him for, he is my liege and master and he has decided that he is not happy with me."
Naturally, it just seemed like Elijah was being dramatic. Blood dripped from the corners of the banshee's eyes as his skin began to loosen, sag, and turn gray as if he had taken to decay. Chrysaor reached forward, placed a nearly skeletal hand over Elijah's, and asked. "I don't understand; what does that have to do with us?" A rat crawled out of Chrysaor's mouth and jumped towards Elijah before it burst into flies shortly before reaching him. "We can go somewhere? Home? I can protect you I-" Chrysaor didn't know what he could do in the face of a Greater Demon, but when it came to the incubus there was nothing he wouldn't try.
It crosses his mind, that for all his power and domain, the Lord of Lies might be somewhat insecure. There is not other explanation that would account for his belief that Elijah had managed to escape him once upon a time. He has always known where he is to end, knows who he belongs to, to which throne he prostrates to. Before anything, Elijah has always been cunning, and he knows who hold power. In the Inferno, he had never been the one to hold it, never attempted to in his desperation to clutch to who he had been, but despite not having power, he had always known who held it, who would wield it.
He had never doubted Beelzebub's might, never outwardly been anything but afraid of his lord and envious of his power, but he is well aware that his very existence as a cubi reveals his hand. He resisted the Inferno, and his hurry to avoid full damnation, he had drawn the disapproval of his master.
There is not a doubt on his mind that the peaceful existence he had carved for himself was gone.
The Temple of Aphrodite falls away, and they are back at the Count's castle. Ba'al gives him his warning, words etched into his skin, and the atmosphere shifts.
Chrysaor is back before him.
Or is he?
With the Lord of the Lies, he will never know.
"My liege has chosen to punish me for seeking freedom from the Inferno," he tells the banshee flatly, trying to pull back the raw fear running through him even as it shows on his tone, and then he hides his face on trembling hands and takes a shuddering breath. Fuck. He is spooked, he is playing right into Beelzebub's hands, but he needs to try and tell Chrysaor of Ba'al's promise before he falls into his impulses and kisses his lover. And if this is yet another illusion, if he is not even talking to Chrysaor right now? Well, he would rather delay the realization that he will never know the truth again. "And I believe if it is best for me to leave for the night."
Usually, Chrysaor wasn't in a good mood at parties, but that had changed since he and Elijah had gotten together. Going out to these things and being sociable wasn't so bad because when the banshee started to feel overstimulated, he would just default back to the retriever. Chrysaor had been in the middle of talking about the music when Elijah had blanched and spaced out, he'd mumbled a few things that contextually didn't make much sense, and now here he sat in front of him like all the life had been sucked right out of him.
"Your liege?" A cockroach skittered across Chrys's face, but only Elijah would perceive it. "Elijah, what are you talking about? We're having fun. What's going on with you?"
♒ February 12th: Southside Serpent, Drew Ray Tanner.
"Come on now," Elijah all but whines as he falls back into the bed with a huff and glares at him petulantly. It's teasing, he knows, but for a brief second he hesitated on the knowing. He is working on his idiocy, the discussing with Chrys weighting heavily on him and reminding him that he is worthy of his banshee's affection despite his own concerns. The more Chrys speaks, however, the more he realizes his hero is teasing and the glare turns playful as he tilts his head in consideration before inhaling sharply as his hand wraps around him and his eyes flutter closed to enjoy the sensation. "Very badly. Badly enough to beg, if it will convince you."
Elijah was endearing, he would always have that going for him and pushing his buttons was going to be endlessly amusing. Despite what the incubus claimed, at least where Chrys was concerned he remained good. Pure sunshine, the banshee wasn't willing to ever let that go. "No, I don't want to hear you beg." At least not right now, his grip closed around the other as he moved his hand up and down to make sure his lover was primed and comfortable. Elijah's weight across his palm as Chrysaor stayed propped up on his elbow with his eyes fixed on the incubus' face. "Just say please. Say: please Chrysaor, please come with me to the party." That was polite enough, he was sure that Elijah could paint it with a few more flowery words.
"I knew you would say that," Elijah admits with the edge of a laugh to his words as he pushes himself up and focuses on Chrysaor once more, eyes following the way the light coming through the window dances across his face and the way his eyes almost seem to shine as he imagines the night of the party. There is not a doubt on his mind that once Chrys is done wit his socializing for the night, he will be left alone to his devices while his banshee spent the night gossiping and snarking. He doesn't mind, not when the city has become a melting pot of supernatural's both alike and unlike anything he has ever known and he is so very curious about their stories. Knowledge is power, after all, and he covets power enviously. "Silver and gold, a flip on our colors in the past but one I cannot help appreciating," he muses, as he remembers Chrysaor's golden sword, and the silver bracelets he used to wear. "I am going to love that sight."
"Hmmm, true, maybe I should wear something else." Chrysaor teased, "You were never into red were you? Navy blue? Maybe I'll do a nice carmine or citrine." He could pull off just about anything, Chrys might have been dead but he had impeccable bone structure. The banshee turned to lay on his side, his hand rest for a moment on the incubus' chest before his fingers walked their way to Elijah's waistline. "That's assuming I go at all, maybe I'll stay home that night: let you go and have your fun." Chrysaor's hand slipped underneath, his fingers wrapped around Elijah as the banshee stayed propped up on his elbow. "I mean, how badly do you really want me to go? Ask very, very nicely."
"Like that wasn't a given," Elijah snarks playfully as he rolls his eyes and drops unto his back, hitting the mattress with a soft huff as he hums in agreement as the other speaks. It's true, but for a moment considers arguing for the benefits of the coupon before snorting and stopping himself. Doing anything of the sort would only lead to bickering and he is far too comfortable for that at this point. "I have a couple of ideas, with the main color being black," he admits, the underlying truth clear for the both of them: black is Chrys' color and he had chosen it so they could match more easily. "But I am thinking on adding golden accessories and detailing to the blazer to make it unique."
"Black is eternal." Elijah knew the quickest and surest heart to the banshee's heart was through it. Though the incubus lost him at gold, Chrys had already worn gold to one of these events and while he liked the embellishments, he wanted something more for the grave that would play with the neon lights. "I'm going to do rivets, steel ones I think. That'll match your gold if we're both wearing black." Chrysaor was obsessed with the riveted belts that came out in the early two-thousands, he didn't get excited about much, but a night with Elijah was something that the banshee could get behind. There wouldn't be any dancing, but Chrys would go, make out with his boyfriend in some dark corner, then sit with the stoners who complained about everything while Elijah had his fun elsewhere.
"My phone's lockscreen?" He asks-says sheepishly, more of a question than anything as he rubs his face against Chrysaor's hand comfortingly, soaking in the coolness of the spirit's hand, a sharp contrast to his seemingly feverish heat. "And my eternal love and adoration? Which includes a free coupon for you to redeem when you want me to tone down my energy or some time alone when I am being clingy?" He truly hadn't thought the bribe through, so he blurted the only thing he had on mind and snorted at the comment itself. He is smiling lightly at his own weirdness, when Chrysaor replies to his question and the smile turns unbearably fond. "I love you so much, Chrys."
"I hate that. I would've liked it better if you said it was to jerk off to." Chrysaor did enjoy playing with Elijah's feelings, the incubus just had so many of them that it was hard not to pick them up one at a time so that the banshee could shuffle them around a bit. "I have my own apartment already for when you get too clingy, I want something else." Elijah pulled out the I love you and Chrysaor just rolled his eyes, he had about seven unanswered texts from Elijah that had the same message somewhere buried within. "What are we wearing to this Christmas Rave?" He just changed the topic instead, but still implied the obvious, something that he knew Elijah would like: they were going together and their outfits would be coordinated.
"Would bribery allow me to keep my hands?" He inquires lightly, even as he sheds his jacket and steps deeper into the bedroom, hand falling into his jeans as he takes those off too and throws them aside, so he can make it to the bed in his boxers and a soft t-shirt. Carefully, he lies next to Chrysaor, and rests his head on his hand, keeping himself up just enough to send his lover a lopsided grin. "Hello there, mea tudo. How was your day?"
"Depend: what do you plan on using the photo for? And, what are you offering?" Elijah cradled his face against Chrysaor's hand and there was something to the motion that always reminded him of home. It was Elijah that was coming back to his den, but it was Chrys who felt suddenly like the realm itself had gotten a bit warmer. It was true that the banshee could be a depressing creature, he orbited around death and destruction - he himself was a fragment of his own trauma. Elijah was everything else, the thing that made Chrysaor feel like he might still be at least a little bit human. "Better now." One small confession of obsessive affection, that was all the banshee was willing to spare.
who? @chrysacr where? elijah's place notes: kiss kiss fall in love, also sorry for setting the starters always in woven, il cane nero or elijah's place but I genuinely think Chrys would hiss if Elijah tries to bring him somehwere else when he doesn't want to
Elijah walks into his apartment with a pep to his step, now that he has gotten his solomon ring from Bebe. One problem solved, he can now focus on bugging Chrysaor into admitting out loud that he now loves him even more because he got the ring. Snickering softly to himself, he moves deeper into his apartment, his feet taking him towards the banshee without hesitation. He ends up leaning against the doorframe leading to his bedroom, arms crossed and lips tilted into a fond smile as he sees Chrys lying on the bed.
"You know? I don't think I will ever tire of looking at you," he admits softly, voice warm. "You are beautiful no matter what, but in my bed? You look like you belong here, with me. I almost want to take a photo."
While Chrysaor had his own place, he did enjoy sleeping over at Elijah's time and again. Last night had been yet another one of those times, though the banshee actually didn't need to sleep much, he did but only to pass time. At present Chrys sat up reading, nothing especially stimulating, just something he'd plucked from around Elijah's place and started through. "Take a photo and lose your hands, it's your choice." There was a smile at the edge of his lips though as he spoke before he gestured for Elijah to join him.