BEAU MIRCHOFF, HOMOSEXUAL, CIS MALE & HE/HIM — well met ! as blood demands SAMAEL ICHABOD CARROLL has answered the call ! they have been chosen and are now claimed as the DIONYSUS. while they have been alive for 30 years, the adventure has just begun. they must now train hard in the ways of the WIZARD. while their SMARTS, COMPASSION & BOLDNESS can be an asset to the god’s cause, their ALOOFNESS, TEMPESTOUSNESS & IMPULSIVENESS could create some tension. only the fates will know in the end, but now their thread has been woven into the tapestry of myths and legends !
❝ dear boy, you're all duct tape and safety pins inside; how are you alive? ❞
samael ichabod carroll (march 21, 1994 - )
would-be savior preacher, faithless believer, nasty little habit of driving people insane--including himself.
parents: john carroll, charity carroll / dionysus
siblings: grace anne carroll
sexuality: unrepentant homosexual
exorcism attempts: five
class: enchantment wizard
parallels: josh washington, sam winchester, carrie, quentin coldwater, boy erased
❝ i learned the voices died with me ❞
bio
His father used to say, proudly, boastful, loudly, that Samael was a gift of god. In all his greatness and all his rage, to bless the congregation, and the very lives of those faithful. The more skeptic ones could whisper, but in a small town in the middle of nowhere like theirs, the pastor's words had power and Samael grew surrounded by expectations he never asked for.
It wasn't hard, if he was being honest, at least it wasn't hard to sway and move and sing praises to the lord while people weeped and trembled before him, overtaken by emotion, or God's presence. His father's hand on his shoulder as the congregation grew.
The visions, as his father would call it, were godsent. They didn't feel that way though, the sound of blood dripping into marble floors, the screeching of monsters hunting for sport, the voices that chased him until he broke into his father's liquor cabinet to shut them down. He couldn't know if it was that or being found with the tailor's boy but he was sent away discreetly months after.
Grey places with grey walls and grey people did nothing to chase away the visions of his father, not even when they pumped him full of pills. Sure, he couldn't do much, but he was all too aware of the chaos around him. He just couldn't tell if it was real or not. In the end, the place was shutdown, or his father took him home? There was a fire, he was sure. And screams. But maybe that was from a vision as well.
He was no longer allowed in church, too unstable his father said. Too dirty. And everyone that tried exorcising him walked away shaking and weeping, but not in religious joy anymore. His father no longer saw him as godly.
Eventually Samael found his new flock, amidst parties and concerts, sweaty bodies and out of body experiences, getting lost in hazy crowds pulsing with life and madness; where people flocked to him over hours that stretched into days and nights without him noticing. Not even then could he quiet the voices, the whispers, the visions or delirium that chased him, anything but god-given. Samael didn't talk much to god those days, but if he did, his message would be short and simple, so unlike the sermons he'd learned. "I'm just so fucking tired."
he caught the context clues in the guy's words and got the idea that he'd already heard about him. so no need to introduce himself to someone who already had all the info. instead he just nodded to acknowledge the name and the parent- not that he fully knew what the latter was about. greek gods weren't exactly something he'd thought that much about until very, very recently.
the question got a sharp and short snort of derision. not aimed at samael, of course, but at the idea of praying or whatever else to the god. "don't even know where he is or which statue is his. was just getting fresh air and trying to learn my way around. hate getting lost and it'd be a bad look since I'm supposed to protect this place or something."
samael of course, had seen the annoucement of the new chosen. and he knew the place all too well to be able to direct the demigod to where his father's statue stood, but he got the hint that was not what he wanted. "i've found that as long as you play it off well enough people will buy into the craziest stuff." he offers, though perhaps that's not of much help to him. brand new then... an adjustment, for sure.
"i can show you around, so you won't get lost." he motions towards the temples, "i'm quite familiar with this part, and the academy. the rest, more or less."
"i take it you're not... too happy with your father?" he mentions, stepping towards him, gracefully moving to his side, distant enough to avoid more bumps. "if you're not here for temples and such we can find more exciting sights elsewhere."
So much was on his mind that he needed to get some fresh air. But, as it turns out, fresh air in the temple district also mean the smell of incense smoke and other offerings to the gods. The faces of satyrs, nymphs, and others that he didn't even knew existed until recently passing him by like it was no big deal was still such a sight that he had to mentally remind himself not to stare. To think he was off living a mundane life when all of this was being sheltered from him.
Protected by his mom, who was now gone. A pang of grief hit him in the chest hard enough that he lost focus and almost stumbled right into someone. Well, not just someone but someone he now lived with. He'd seen their face around during all his moving into the Big House not all that long after being chosen... which was kinda creepily not all that long after arriving.
A small nod of acknowledgement. Friendly-ish. "Hey." Not the most personable first greeting but he wasn't the most chatty to people he didn't know. "Don't think we've properly met yet, uh...?"
samael didn't often go to the temples, as soothing as the grounds could be the aura of worship was hard to tune out at times. it was different enough from things back home to make memories stay just that, but it wasn't removed enough not to mess with his head a little, especially when he contemplated his father's temple and what true worship of him might be.
it was a desperate measure, going there... with control slipping and new chosen popping up, samael had little other places to run to. not that it mattered, in the end, he couldn't really focus with people coming and going, leaving offerings, his siblings throwing looks over their shoulders at him with whispers all too real.
he did not notice the new chosen until it was too late, shoulder connecting with the other's, making samael automatically shrink into his large frame, eyes flashing for just a second... all the worship and power, tempting to just reach for it. what does he worship? he stumbles into an apology before his eyes and brain connect the dots.
new guy.
name... roman? ironic. brand new? maybe, he thought so, but he'd been mistaken before.
"samael." he offers, not touching. maybe for the better right now, "son of dionysus. chosen, as well." he goes quiet, curious eyes mapping the other's face. "have you come commune with your father?" his tone is a bit too dry for casual conversation, intensity he tries to pull back from before it's too late. he doesn't want to weird him out just yet; bad time to run into him.
a study in mutual drowning, mouths open for breath, they were but two pieces of flotsam trying not to be separated amid turbulent waters. but the ocean within napoleon seethed in samael’s presence, like a wine-red moon dictating his tides. he could feel the water rise.
with a loud, near-animalistic groan, napoleon breached the rosy ring of muscle from behind to accept the challenge, relishing the squeeze. meanwhile, his mouth latched onto samael’s neck in worship, one hand roaming up his neck to squeeze it. warmth soon welcomed him. “you like rilin’ me up,” the words were all heat, puffed breaths, “makin’ me mad for you, amore–” a groan cut him off as the walls pulsated around his length.
it took a bit of finesse, but he angled his cockhead just right and pushed into samael slowly, squeezing the man’s throat at the same time. “mhm,” the moan was thick with pleasure, drowning in abandon. unbidden, napoleon’s magic then flashed and rippled across the waters, making the bath glow a mystical teal and enveloping the both of them like an invisible sea mist as a way of aid for samael to become fully stretched out.
[ napoleon uses bless ]
frenzy, hunger, madness, all of it had begun making his skin prickle. “can i make love to you?” the question escaped in a low, almost pleading tone. please.
a gasp, his body relaxing, spread open, speared by napoleon. head dipping back into his shoulder as a mouth finds his neck, a hand following--fingers, that he grips, threatening to pull away at the first hint of too much, too far. and yet, was there such a thing when he drew him in, welcomed napoleon into his body and took his cock with darkened eyes and a teasing grin.
"doesn't take that much, with you." he breathes in of his air, voice low and raspy, thighs shaking slightly. he ponders on the picture they make, body on fire, lost in a haze of pleasure and temptation. what were supposed to be shallow waters turning into an ocean. of course it did, with napoleon involved.
his nails dig into his hand as it squeezes his throat, feels him press deeper push further, rub against his walls as magic coursed through his body... a surprised groan that turned into a pleased moan as it allowed napoleon to push further, deeper, harder. the press of magic not his own like electricity, power and control slipping, shared, snapped away. traded like kisses between them.
love. samael shakes his head, surrender, pleasure. he is filled with napoleon, drowning in him, pulling at him. the water glows, his body sings, the room waits with baited breath for the worship conducted through bodies and souls meeting, through magic thaat fills the air. samael's hands fall away, moving back, pushing napoleon deeper inside with hands on his ass, squeezing and relaxing around him as his voice echoes into the room. "yes."
casimiro wakes up in stages. at first, it's a small ache in the core of his being, like he'd been hollowed out and filled, before being completely empty. it isn't a feeling he's afraid of, it's not one that scares him. it's almost a feeling of satisfaction, of wholeness in a sense that he'd not known until recently.
then it's the sensory feeling of being in a bed that isn't his own. the sheets feel different, the weight of the blankets on his naked body feel off. the pillow isn't as cold as he's used to.
then it's the feeling of warmth around him, not from a blanket, but from a body. it comes back to him in pieces, hazy, dream filled memories of the previous night, only hours ago. he yawns, stretches, and turns to see samael there. "good morning." he says through the yawn, grin spreading over his features. there's only the smallest wince as he moves—he had told sam not to hold back and the son of madness didn't disappoint. "what time is it?"
the room is more alive when there are others besides samael in it. it's burrow-like nature in full evidence. bed warm and inviting against the slight chill of the stone walls covered in vines. not subtle, but undeniable in its pull. he can still taste casimiro in his tongue, can distinguish his scent lingering in the sheets, his heat as greedy arms pulls him back towards him as consciousness starts spreading through his body.
he opens his eyes to the sound of his voice, sees the evidence of their night written on his face, marked all over his body. satisfaction purrs deeply inside him. he grins, it is so easy to lose time like this. "morning."
it takes him a second to stretch, searching through tangled sheets for his phone before he grunts "early." drifting closer again to press a kiss against his shoulder, where marks of his teeth are still visible. "didn't hurt you, did i?" he knew cas was able to defend himself, and he had tried to keep it together but not all was avoidable in the heat of the moment. his fingers traced other marks left, some fading already, mapping it out, remembering. he tried to focus on the sated feeling both of them had and not the ever present need for more.
black, and purple.
an abundance, a void. a swirling vortex of horrors, experienced and imagined. so easy, to let himself be swept up, swept away. an excuse. it's an excuse. it's what he's seeking, an excuse to be weak, an excuse to give up, an excuse to let go--
red, and blue.
huck's eyes flicker, one each. the seat of wisdom. the siege perilous, anchored to the role, the position, by not one grip -- but two. a dual-tone gaze in response to samael's swirling vortex. a will greater than one man's, for he has to hold on by even the last fingernail, but not for himself.
his breathing, his arching, his hands pulling on samael's back, were in time with the push-pull of sturdy hips. the vortex whirled around him, ventured inside him, but huck just held fast, held on. nodded for samael to keep going, as the very thing he dared to deny himself be what kept him held together.
like a river running into sea, like gravity, pushing and pulling and balancing precariously. like sliding home. he feels huck's powers respond to his own, reason amidst chaos, temperance in the eye of the storm. red and blue, staring back at him, lilac filled his view and he closed his eyes dipping in for a searing kiss.
the nod encouraged him, arm dipping below huck's hip as he held him, hovering over the bed, filled to the brim with every deep thrust, a crescendo of lust and bliss.
samael was drowning in him, consuming and being consumed, taking him to the edge and over and back again, and again. pure energy, pure need. if the walls were soundproof he was truly testing them, the sound of his hips, of flesh meeting and moans echoing demanded to be heard. his own pleasure took a backseat as he leaned back and carved a space for himself inside huck, touched his flesh like branding him, turning every patch of skin into an erogenous zone, taking him to the throes of orgasm and holding him there for longer than he'd ever felt, would ever feel. no beggining, no end, endless pleasure, complete revelry. madness, for the son of wisdom and he took it.
"mine."
his voice echoed, and whatever huck saw on top of him was a far cry away from calm and collected, controlled samael. it was the beast inside; for once completely free and fully enraptured by him.
it was messy and aggressive, the way napoleon ate him out, but he couldn’t get enough of samael’s taste. like a man starved, he worked on that ring with much zeal, teasing and probing. his hands, too, were caught in worship as they ascended those splayed thighs and then back down to the perky ass, squeezing.
when napoleon breached the surface again, it was to mesh his lips against the other’s. the cold of the water droplets on his lips seemed to vaporize the instant they began the searing kiss - hot, wet, and full of raw hunger. letting their tongues dance together, he reaches back around to slip two digits inside samael again, testing for softness.
“want to fuck you now,” he growls the last word through clenched teeth. twisting one of samael’s arms behind his back, napoleon encouraged the other’s spine to arch as his cock rubbed up the cleft of that ass, rutting all nice and slow. then, keeping to his word, napoleon’s thick head began pressing against the pucker he’s lavished with love, asking for entry.
from behind, he leaned in, wrapped an arm around samael’s throat so that he could whisper near the shell of his ear, “be a good boy and open up for me.”
ravenous, desperate, words that samael understood intimately, words he might use to describe the way napoleon ate him, clawed at him, touched him, kissed him. he responded in kind, feeding off it, and into it, control ever so fragile as it slipped, as he tasted himself, tasted napoleon, as tongues danced and battled and mapped out all the spaces they knew so intimately once upon a time.
fingers, breaching, prodding, fucking, hole tightening, squeezing. maddening heat that drew him in, a trap he was not sure he'd even meant to set. he chuckled, low and dirty, arms pulled, twisting, forced into an arch as darkened eyes met napoleon's. "and if i say no?" he teased, a smirk in his lips as a game was set, pieces moved on the board. they had no composure, no moderance around each other and it was far too late to start now.
thick, large, intimidating perhaps if he hadn't known it so well, rubbing and teasing and pushing, testing resistance that he'd worn down, feeling him clench and relax and kiss at the thick glans of his cock as he was manhandled, arm on his throat--
flashes, of struggling to breath, holding down or held down? lungs fighting for air, fingers clawing.
a gasping breath, lips on his ear, whispering, hard and hot and firm and in charge. samael growled, tongue wetting lips, tasting napoleon still. he wanted to bite. "why don't you make me." he dared, pushed, forced him deeper into whatever frenzy they found themselves in, body relaxing but not giving. not yet. who was in charge? who would be on top when the haze descended and they found themselves adrift, barely holding onto each other once more?
stripped. flayed, almost, or in a way. left bare, exposed, before the full weight and measure of one samael ichabod. pulled into orbit. stretched, elongated, if his leaner limbs and longer torso was any indication. if huck is tense and strike is lax, why is huck the one getting teased open by a blunt, probing tip spreading slick precum?
teeth make huck gasp, head falling back. that's one he'll get in trouble for -- if his other even notices. it's dangerous. a specific form of risking getting caught, and it just cants huck's hips further up, giving samael a better angle to burrow into. "I can take it," he repeats, if not just because that thick spread just short-circuits him enough. fingers run down sam's back, curled and desperate for more, for less, for things to keep changing so he can ride the turbulence and not fly apart.
the grip locks on, and huck's all but pulled down sam's cock like gravity. "all of it," he exhales. sam goes in, breath falls out. "all of you." in a flash of clarity, huck's eyes lock onto sam's.
like a shark smelling blood in the water samael gobbles up the surrender, the arch of his body, the limbs wrapped around him, pulling him in. the neck, offered to mark and claim like samael wants to do to his whole body.
he wants to laugh, and it takes some effort holding that in. the danger they walk so gladly into. the movement of hips raising off the bed, calling to him. i can take it. his fingers almost rip the sheet apart, closing down on them as he buries himself inside huck.
sweat drips down his forehead, their eyes meet as he feels himself welcomed to the hilt inside the addictive heat of him. he nods, the last resistance breaking... he holds his gaze for just a second. "you can take it." he repeats, either a mantra or a prayer, or an attempt of convincing himself before his eyes turn into dark, purple orbes that could drown a man or turn him mad.
the air in the room grows heavy, tension building up and up, every brush of skin from thighs against hips, to arms around his back a new unknown ecstasy, every breath, every taste and scent a new addiction. they almost glow in the darkened room. his thrusts are not careful or measured, the grip on huck's hair and hip, so similar to their first time together and yet... unrestrained, like the strongest dose of liquor hitting all at once. it does not matter how intoxicated they get, only the bliss that spreads through their bodies, that seeps from every pore. the moans and groans that fill his room as he lets go for the first time in a long, long time and hopes huck doesn't burn out under the intensity of him.
what light that filled the room was there to limn and paint their bodies – their wrestling, writhing bodies that rocked against each other, desperate.
napoleon’s breaths syncopated; his heartbeats followed suit. he heard the sounds from somewhere faraway, muffled, as if his entire self had begun drowning under the waves of other’s ecstasy. he drove further in. napoleon bared his teeth to hiss lowly, curling his fingers up the velvet ring as a means of massaging it, pleasuring it, loosening it. then it picked up pace. slow to hasty, gentle to feverish, all until napoleon was pumping the digits in and out.
“wanna taste you,” he said around the cage of his teeth, words honey-thick with desire. it was impossible to not want a taste of samael. unable to resist, the son of poseidon slipped away and circled around the other, pressing the other male against the rim of the bath, back arched and ass perked to him.
and with his feast laid out perfectly, napoleon took up the offer and gorged. disappearing under the surface, the son of poseidon sacrificed his own breath to dive between the cleft of the other’s ass, ravishing the bud in between with special attention. tongue lashed out, lips suckled, all with a feverish haste as he ate the other out underwater.
samael let out a deep breath, almost a gasp as he's explored and filled, just on the right side of not enough. anticipation rising with every movement, muscles relaxing and loosening, body welcoming.
his hands craddled napoleon's head, a chuckle at his words as he let himself be manhandled, the push and pull of desire thickening around them. the longing for his taste as familiar as it is arousing, he lets him take the lead, bending over half out of water, ass displayed like a feast that napoleon dives right into.
samael felt a deep thrill at being chosen over air as he dove in to lick at his ass, eating him underwater. not an experience he could say he had felt before, not like this.
his hand went back to his hair, not keeping him there or guiding, simply holding onto the man as his tongue explored his rim, teased his entrance, searched for the way in his fingers had prepared. he hoped whatever was going on napo was still able to pull away... in the end he doesn't leave it up to him, pulling at his hair so he can move up his body, so he can taste more of him... and perhaps more, if he so wishes. if he's so lucky.
"i'm aware. wasn't looking for the real thing, i'm just shittin' you." did he want to die with a prayer on his lips? doubtful. he wanted to bring as much distance between him & the endless sermons he grew up with as possible. did it hold some sort of familiar safety? maybe. but it didn't matter. he'd been running from god his past for so long, he saw now way to turn back now. "oh please, it's all there is to it." when his so-called religion forbid him to live & love how he wanted to, could it be anything other than misery? christians, he assumed, had an easier time with it. probably. not that it mattered much, i had it worse than you & all that nonsense wouldn't really get anybody anywhere ever.
you often think about dying?
was he suicidal? unfortunately not in the slightest. for the longest time he thought he would be, thought that his loss could only result in one thing: his own death. but he was too stubborn to drop a chase in the midst of it, no matter how exhausting it turned out to be. as a kid, he might've been, perhaps. although, doubtful. he'd gone through life trusting it'd get better if he just kept walking. it did, for a long time. now? fuck if he knew. little busy in thought, he only noticed samael scooting closer when lips parted for a semi sophisticated response, "sometimes, perhaps." another swig of his little flask, followed by a quiet hiss, his jugular pulsing as he tensed for a moment. the best stuff tasted the worst at first, but he loved it.
"don't get the straitjacket out just yet. i'm not wanting to die. but i'm not gonna shed a tear when it happens." some may say his behavior was …self-destructive. he didn't think so. glancing to his side where the other sat, eyes roaming up his body until their eyes met. did he ...lean in closer against the younger demigod? he couldn't tell right now.
"you seem to be doing quite fine here." befriending everybody, getting involved, samael definitely was a better fit. ezrah was a danger to himself at best, a danger to the others on less optimal occasions. "more than this fine-blend moonshine an elf or a fairy probably pissed in? ah, i'm not so sure about that. they got some pretty old bottles around." he wasn't a connoisseur at all, but he knew his booze. kind of. he knew how quick it shut the lights off, that was all he needed to know.
"worries, me? i don't worry. you know what they say, don't worry and beee happy~~" little sing-song on the end there, little grin pulled on his lips when their shoulders bumped together, a minuscule of his weight resting against samael's body at that point. yeah, his flask must be kicking in, because he felt that all to familiar lightness in his every breath already. quick. though he wouldn't complain. "what's it to you, sam? why worry - if you even do and this isn't some fake display of concern to calm your conscience, about little old me? there's nothing in it for you." ezrah, who spent his life serving & protecting the people around him, had lost his way a long time ago, so the sheer idea someone else could do something out of the good of their heart seemed almost unbelievable. this whole good samaritan thing he got going, which included keeping his distance (usually) & refusing to share his wine, what was it for?
samael twists his head. tempted to ask why, then he just decides to move past it. he doesn't love the answer he gets either. it's... too simple, jaded, of course he understands, of course he wants to leave it all behind and walk away.
but one doesn't easily forget being holy, at least samael never has. then again, has ezrah ever felt holy? he shouldn't assume.
he has never been one to judge harshly when people look for a way out, the comment startles him a little, creases between his eyebrows, and he shakes his head. "i wouldn't do that." he knows what it feels like to be put away and called crazy. he knows what it might take to escape that.
"you don't need to want to die to think about dying." he says, "and it doesn't make you crazy if you want to..." he laughs at that, "though i'm not the right person to ask about your sanity, probably."
samael shook his head. then he sips on wine, fuck. "haven't done anything yet."
he doesn't extend himself on that, there is no need. some demigods felt their place was here, others were less certain, and sam... sam thought a lot about it, worried a lot about it.
the brush of shoulders, the proximity drew him out of his thoughts and he looked at him. watched for... anything really. sometimes his presence, his mood was enough to affect someone. sometimes, it was a lot more subtle than that.
"are you trying to offend me?" he asked quietly. brows furrowing once again. "there doesn't have to be anything in it for me..." he explained, "though, you're wrong. it's one thing if you go off and do something on your own, it is another if i have something to do with it."
"i don't want the blame, the guilt." he had enough of both. "i also don't want anything bad to happen to you, either way. but you can be cynical if you want."
he sips the wine once more, deciding it is safe enough. "should be better than what you have." he says, placing it on the older man's hands. "i am not supplying you." his tone is a little harsher then. "and you're not making yourself any favor like this." but then again, neither was samael, a lot of the time. he just hangs in there, watching him, watching the house.
assurance. confirmation. tedious things. necessary things, for one as needy but flighty as huck. without cause to grip, even the slightest shake of the branch would set wings to flapping -- but once he's latched on? he'll ride the trunk til it falls.
samael repeatedly explains his fear of his own influence, and yet huck's the one able to get the man to walk back on concerns, double back on assurances. a grin, a gesture, the slightest baring of his neck, little signals likely overloading samael's passive sensors. he's lifted, and he doesn't even think about it before wrapping around the man.
he's pinned, and he doesn't fight. not when samael's giving him what he wants. drinking him deep, serving him up, as mental and emotional and sensual and divine barricades fall. there's no liquor left to serve the surrender; it's completely sober, this time. long limbs encosing around samael's body, as if he could trap the larger man inside himself, one way or another.
huck latches onto his body, like he had before, and any uncertainty or shyness flees the building. he does look stunning in surrender, on his bed, in his arms. ready for him. there is no alcohol to blame now, the only think that could possibly intoxicate them is each other... and the odds of that aren't low.
"i know you can." he whispers darkly against his lips, letting them trace his cheek, teeth nipping at his ear as his hands trail his body, getting rid of anything that stands between them with not too much care. "you did so well last time," his eyes darken as he remembers, his mouth, his taste, the tight heat of him and the eyes that followed him eagerly. "so good for me, huck."
"letting me take care of you." a sigh as he takes in his scent, nose slowly brushing against his neck, getting lost in him already. "make you mine." he doesn't mean to sound like that, except he does, a little, teeth sinking into his neck and leaving a mark he won't regret later.
he pulls away, only to remove his own clothes, eyes on huck as he displays himself fully... then he's back on top of him, hard cock brushing against huck's, leaking against his balls as he guides it lower. he pulls his thighs open, clearing a path for him to tease at his entrance as lips kiss his chest, over his heart, soft beard scratching skin. he looks up, meeting his eyes as he sucks a nipple into his mouth, cock teasing at his hole, wetting it with precum, coaxing it open with nothing but gentle movements of his hips and the memory of his body, mapped out in a drunken night.
hands on his hip as he pulls him down on his cock, feels himself push past the tight ring with a deep rumbling groan, just the tip, just a tease to appease them and make him want it more. "want to show me how much more you can take?" he asks, abandoning any pretense, any calculation. he is pure need now. depriving himself of huck only served to make him more desperate for this, to let the beast roam free and trap the enchanting son of athena in ecstasy, ever beautiful, taking and giving and never ever feeling sated.
samael’s lips had a poetic finality to them when they pressed against his. a gesture of surrender, a white-flag kiss. napoleon welcomed it with the searing passion they both knew by now, the kind that crested and drowned. his hands lowered themselves, roving over the bulk of the other’s ass, squeezing …
by then, the other’s hands were all over him too, caressing, touching, reminiscing about the magic they once partook in and made together. when samael moved to straddle napoleon’s waist, he was quick to accommodate the other’s heft, manspreading and leaning back in a show of submission - although his hands were still very much on the other.
in fact, his hands now had a new motive. dipping between the cleft of samael’s ass, napoleon’s left hand followed the curve of muscle to what laid between, two fingers curling up to tease it under the warm bath water.
“missed you, sammy,” napoleon whispered against the arch of other’s neck before his teeth scraped at it. fingers then rose up, pushing against the velvet-soft ring to ask for entry, to slip inside.
“hm, c’mon,” napoleon hummed the words lowly, a rasp like sandpaper enveloping each syllable. “open up for me, amore.”
this was a delicate dance between them, napoleon cocky as he was in diving into not-so-uncharted waters knew what he was getting into, seemed to respond to him in a way that eased samael--in an usettling way.
hands explored, mapped, claimed, even as he leaned back in submission, bared neck as if--he was so hard against him, cock thick and ready under the water, rubbing against the other's abs, fingers exploring, teasing, brushing. felt himself respond with almost teasing clenches of the muscle.
the low illumination in the room made it all seem erotic, sacred, forbidden. hands on short hair, lost in those strands like they would lose themselves in each other, another caressing biceps, teeth nipped at his throat. a drawn out, fugitive moan at the nickname. danger tasting sweet as grapes in his lips, could almost feel them exploding into his tongue, staining his lips. covering him in its juices as fingers pushed, proded, coaxed him open.
sam's moan was like a gasp of relief, electricity running through them, wound up before the inevitable explosion. his eyes closed, desire hanging heavy as he pulled napo into a kiss, neck bearing the evidence of his attention as he welcomed two of his fingers inside him, relaxing comfortably around them like they had always belonged there. everything to draw him in and keep him there. instead of making him stop it, the sweet words made him deepen the kiss, pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth but never letting go. no shield as he pulled napoleon deeper into his waters. it had been the same last time, and it had almost taken weeks for them to see surface again.
right now, he couldn't care less if they drowned, as long as napo continued his worship. as long as they both exploded in ecstasy around each other once more.
"can only do it a few times a day, sam." in the right space, with the right people, it's not like he'd want to. the freedom from inhibition, from responsibility. being able to blame it on that external factor, no matter how dishonest or unfair. having that safety net, that escape to clarity available, would only let someone slip that much further. knowing that there's a catch, a rescue, even if huck would hesitate to use it.
huck appreciated samael's almost unexpected bulk, his build. the way he would be eclipsed by the man. hidden. covered. smothered.
chest to chest, huck could feel sam breathing. it's intimate, and comforting, and the taste of what he'd been witnessing and missing all damn night. huck closed his eyes and leaned in, all but begging samael to break that last straw, again.
"--but I didn't cum yet," huck joked back. all before pulling back, and looking into samael's eyes. so close, that they almost had to cross, a little.
samael knew that, of course, and still... "would still feel better with you around." he almost mentions strike putting the magic to work but he's been careful with keeping them apart in his mind. especially when he admits how more at ease his presence makes samael feel. he only wonders if that's a good thing, or a sign that huck would get the brunt of his powers.
eyes closed, surrender in his body language when they have barely started. it drives him mad how easily huck breaks through his focus, his restraint. uncaring almost, for what can happen.
he laughs right against his face, cutting through the tension even as their eyes never leave each other's, deep pools of desire reflected in each other. it's so comfortable it startles him. he wants to let the moment stretch, to hold onto it for a while longer and he does, laugh turning to a smile, turning to a quiet grin as his hands find huck's thighs and pull him up.
"is that even a question?" he asks, eyes still stuck on his before he finally closes them. lips that were separed by sheer will meeting like magnet and metal snapping together. he carries him towards the bed as a slow kiss turns into a hungry one. the need barred all night coming out with full force as he drops him onto the sheets and climbs atop of huck. as he looks down at him, samael lets all his control slip, knowing... hoping, that after their last time huck can take it and come out fine on the other side of it.
