contains triggering content relating to death threats, suicide, murder and general death, please remember to tag accordingly! feel free to change pronouns & word orders to make them more suitable for rp!
“ I think I’d rather die, you know? ”
“ God, just strike me down already. ”
“ If she dies one more time I’m going to kill her. ”
“ Oh yeah, my dad died, forgot to mention. ”
“ You’re lucky I don’t have any knives right now. ”
“ If he doesn’t think I’d kill him for a corn chip, he’s wrong. ”
“ Quick question, can you not? stab me? ”
“ I made a bad pun! That’s not a ‘stabbable’ offence! ”
“ PERISH! ”
“ There are time I genuinely wish I wasn’t alive, but right now, I’m glad I’m alive. ”
“ Those are your last words— pathetic. ”
“ With my last breath, I want to be high. ”
“ Tommy the tomato plant was too young to die. ”
“ I’ll drink to that— I’m sorry it’s been such a hard day for you. ”
“ My funeral? It’ll be proper fancy: a bottle of whisky— the good stuff, my body in a ditch, and a pack of matches. Cheap viking funeral. ”
“ But it’s such a sad way to go. ”
“ I hope you die, sad and alone, knowing you could’ve had everything if you tried. ”
“ He’s dead, get over it. ”
“ I can’t just “get over it!” She was so much more than you’ll ever know. ”
“ Being immortal must be hard, nothing you can do to die. Sucks. ”
“ Humans are weak, they don’t even make good knife blocks. ”
“ Just do it. ”
“ I don’t care. Pull it. ”
He didn’t want to admit what happened. He didn’t want to because that would cause a level of fussing he really did not need right now… but it wasn’t like Gregory could lie and say he was jumped or anything. There was no damage to support that. That and Mole would go after attackers that did not exist and the waste of resources could not be afforded. A heavy sigh leaves the blond’s lungs as he realizes he’s just going to have to fess up.
“I suppose… I’ve gone too long without eating again.”
It wasn’t uncommon for him to become so absorbed in his work that he just… simply forgot to eat.
Christophe stared him down for a few long moments. Then he huffed, and promptly cuffed Gregory about the ear. “Anglais stupide.” He scowled. “Non, pas stupide, têtu.” With a grunt he rose to his feet, but his critical stare didn’t leave Gregory as he flicked more ashes from his cigarette. “We have been over zhis, non? You told me you would not be zhis stubborn again, non? Do I ‘ave to babyseet you? Nurse you? Hm? Se lever.”
“ i have been wondering- why do you carry your shovel around? it doesn’t seem.. conventional, per se.”
“Last I checked, wearing fake fangs and drinking excessive amounts of clamato juice was not ‘conventional’ eizher, yet you do not see me steecking my nose eento your business, non?”
It’s shameless how Kye let’s out a eager hum over the touch of his hands, the smallest breathless whine for more as Christophe squeezed his ass through his clothes and tugged him closer. The friction of grinding up against one another enough to make him pant, his hips eagerly bucking forward to give another filthy grind as he hissed out his words against his lips. Taking and worrying the soft supple flesh till it reddened from its treatment.
The searing kiss would be returned for all it was worth. Moaning out softly against his lips until he would pull away to speak up, keeping up that dirty grind for more of that pleasure.
“tu peux me baiser comme tu veux.” He whispered hotly, pulling away to make his way down onto his knees, skilled fingers easily working to tug Christophe’s cock free. He wouldn’t hesitate in giving him what he wanted. Pressing wet kisses along the shaft, “Fuck my throat, baise-moi brut, I want it. I want your cum. Want you to ruin me.”
And with that, he would finally wrap those sinful lips around the head and deepthroat his cock like he was made for it. Moaning out softly as his jaw held lax and open, the weight on his tongue enough to make him ache as he began bobbing his head, coaxing him to fuck his mouth like he said.
Christophe huffed as Kye pulled back, both of them a little breathless, his tongue licking up the redhead’s taste from his own lips. His hands were still happily indulging themselves with the globes of Kye’s ass and the French quip made him smirk again. “Comme si j'avais besoin de votre permission.” Pulling his hand back, he gave one of Kye’s cheeks a bit of a smack; expression smug and lecherous. His fingertips dug in, clinging as Kye pulled further away to slide down onto the floor. Christophe’s brows went up but it didn’t take a genius to see where this was going.
A sigh as his already swollen cock met the cooler air outside its confines; a nearly inaudible groan when those lips cascaded along his length. His hands gripped at arm rests of his chair and he let his head dip back a few inches, inhaling deeply. “Comment puis-je refuser une demande aussi honnête?” A hand left its perch to comb back through those red curls almost affectionately.
Almost.
As Kye took Christophe into his mouth, he let those fingers tighten at the back of Kye’s head, gripping the crimson locks mercilessly. He wasted no time in giving Kye exactly the treatment he wanted; shoving the other boy’s head roughly back down as he pulled back on his cock. He let his hips roll forward, jutting, in perfect time with the force of his hand so as to strike deep and powerfully as far as he could fit himself down the redhead’s throat. It was heavenly- tight and wet- and he moaned outright, unabashed in his pleasure as brown eyes rolled skyward.
“Oh, Dieu. That’s eet. Just like zhat. Take all of me, vous putain. Sale pute. Voici ce que tu veux? To choke on my cock? Take all of eet. Swallow. I don’t care eef you find eet hard to breathe. Eef you want to taste my cum zhen work for eet. Lazy harlot.” Christophe pressed forward, and shoved at Kye’s head, slotting into his throat and staying there with a heady groan.
❝——Um…no.❞ Well, so much for subtlety. His crimson crown of curls is hung around his face in shame as he looks down at the rather gigantic pumpkin which appears to be quite intact despite his foot currently being stuck inside it, his arms held out at his sides in order to maintain some semblance of balance. This is already embarrassing enough without him face-planting onto the ground.
❝——Please don’t judge me right now. I’m feeling pretty vulnerable.❞
Christophe stared at Kyle for a few moments before heaving a weary sounding sigh. “Les Américains.” He moved closer to Kyle, wrapping an arm around the redhead’s back to help support his balance. He took just a moment to finish his cigarette with one final inhale, before flicking it to the ground. When he spoke, the smoke rose up from his mouth in thick coils. “Reste calme. We will get eet out. Hold onto me, and angle your foot downwards. D’accord? Come now.”
Still holding Kyle’s waist, Christophe leaned forward to grasp at the redhead’s leg. “Un, deux, trois-” With a grunt, he heaved, attempting to dislodge Kyle’s foot from the squash.
Shippy Starters / Accepting
@furieuxveneration : “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”
“My clothes are soakin’ in your tub.” He answers in a matter-of-fact tone. “I was…. caught in a situation, but that’s somethin’ you ain’t gotta worry your pretty head over,” Kenny attempts to reassure the other and winks.
Still, Kenny is comfortable in the bed and under the covers. The fucking nerve of this little shit. “Why? You got jealous bitches, who’d have a problem with this?” Kenny asks with a cocky expression and fearless. He leaves his phone forgotten and rolls on his back.
“Did you have a long day, darlin’? Sorry, I didn’t have time to make dinner.”
Christophe’s eyes narrowed. He pulled the spent cigarette from his lips, crushing the used butt into a nearby ash tray. He exhaled a stream of smoke off to the right and continued staring the blond down with a dour expression. “You are een my house, een my bed. I would say I deserve to know what ‘situation’ eet was, salaud.” He stepped further into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Kenny’s question brought a scowl to his lips.
“I have a problem weeth zhis,” he spat. Closing the distance to the bed, he let his hands come to rest on his hips, his critical stare practically shooting red hot lasers at the intruder in his bed. “Get up, get your clothes, and get out. Tout suite.”
“I wouldn’t have asked you to dance, if I knew I had two left feet,” Kenny chuckles and finally let Christophe’s hands go. Kenny’s busy with his phone looking for music to play during the dance. To anyone else this may have been strange… but is anything ever normal with Kenny?
Prom Dress, by Mxmtoon began playing and filling the silence around the pair. Glancing up from his phone, Kenny appeared happy and expecting of Christophe.
Laughs! “You look sour, C’mere– do you want to waltz? Slow dance?”
Christophe huffed and promptly crossed his arms over his chest. His expression was dubious and a little bit irritated, but then the latter emotion was almost always present. He watched Kenny fiddle with his phone and quirked a brow at the choice of music, but didn’t comment on it. Instead, his brow furrowed at Kenny’s teasing. He hesitated but eventually, grudgingly, stepped closer to the blond.
“I am not a fan of dancing,” was his initial quip in response to the “sour” comment. Unfolding his arms, he plopped one onto Kenny’s shoulder, and the other at his waist. “Do you tango?”
Christophe was tired of it. Tired of Gregory’s smug teasing. The other had been riling him all day with no respite to be found, so now Christophe was making some for himself.
But not to cool down, no; the opposite. If Gregory wanted Christophe worked up, well then, it was only fair of him to return the favor. Seeing as he’d had the element of surprise, it was simple to pin Gregory against the wall. Christophe knew if he slacked for even a moment, the blond would break his hold, though. They’d both trained extensively on how to break loose from being pinned in all manner of ways. So Christophe was swift, and merciless, and calculated in his movements even while he ravaged Gregory’s mouth.
He kept those wrists pinned, one-to-one, because combining both was too risky with Gregory’s strength. It was fine, though. Christophe didn’t need his hands right now. His lower half, too, stepped forward and close until he’d forced himself between Gregory’s legs. Like this it would be a lot harder for those limbs to do anything effective against Christophe.
He pushed, pressing, with his body until he had Gregory flattened and plastered against the wall in wake of that initial, desperate buck. It had felt good. This felt good. Gregory full of life and vigor and fighting to at least even the playing field, if not gain the upper hand. Christophe wasn’t having it, but he was having Gregory’s mouth. He soothed at the spot he’d bitten with his tongue almost apologetically, but then it was pushing past those lips to map out teeth and cheeks and gums. Their teeth clacked noisily together and Christophe growled with a rough huff from his nose. His groin nudged more insistently against Gregory’s where they were squashed together.
Christophe’s voice was raw as he cried out, hands rising to squeeze at the sides of his head. He was folded practically in half by that point, in the wake of his God’s anguish. He sobbed, trembling at the simple power pressing down upon him, at the mere thought of being cut-off from it. Surely the hurt in his God’s tone was so much worse than his fury. To know he was not only a disappointment, but had upset his God personally with his disobedience. What kind of loyal follower was he, indeed? He never should have let that boy go.
The sound of glass shattering made him flinch, but he deserved it; silently begged for God to destroy more and teach him a real lesson. Anything to soothe the wounds Christophe had caused. He choked on another sob and dug his fingernails into his scalp.
“Non, non! Non, Dieu, s'il vous plaît. I do not love zhem. I don’t care about zhem! Eet was a meestake! I was foolish, please, forgeeve me! I beg of you, Lord, I will do anyzhing! Anyzhing at all zhat you ask of me! I am but your humble servant, Lord, please... please, forgeeve me....” Christophe released his head so he could fully fold over onto the floor, before letting his legs unfold behind him as well, pressing himself to the ground. It was the lowest he could physically go yet he willed his body to just sink through the floor and keep going. “S'il vous plaît... s'il vous plaît...!”
Christophe didn’t protest when Kye stole his cigar. Merely let his eyes comb over Kye’s form, his own face unflinching in wake of the smoke. When Kye handed the cigar back, Christophe purposefully let his fingers brush along the back of Kye’s hand. While Kye rambled off about the prices and Christophe’s sources, an enticed grin slowly grew on his face, eyes alight. Though at the mention of being threatened he finally reacted, giving a scoff and flicking ashes from the cigar.
“Threaten me? Vous?” Christophe chuckled and took a deep drag from the cigar. Its end burned a red as brilliant and bright as Kye’s hair in the otherwise dimness of the room.
When he opened his mouth to speak again, the smoke poured from his lips like it was the maw of some great dragon. “You are getting ahead of yourself, petit renard. Bargain weeth, per’aps. Conveence me, certainly. But threaten?” He scoffed again; the picture of comfort and confidence. “I am not scared of you. How I may or may not be able to handle my sources, ees none of your concern. Your orders have been growing lately and eef I cannot take part een ze spoils, zhen I shall take a larger cut how I can.”
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