muses with a high pain tolerance where, very rarely, the pain tolerance can actively become an issue. they don’t notice when they’re injured, or if something is going on in their body and it doesn’t pass the threshold of ‘this is something I urgently need to do something about’ - muses with a high pain tolerance because they learnt to ignore their pain, so they don’t readily recognize it and can even make it worse without realising, while the people who love them scold them for not saying anything / “lying” about it (but they just didn’t notice, it wasn’t on purpose –)
"You really are," Kaveh coos, palms smoothing along surprisingly soft skin, "built so beautifully, niáng zǐ."
It's impossible, really, to take the words as anything but utterly earnest (utterly adoring) despite how unexpected the endearment is. Especially when they're accompanied with the hungry press of teeth to throat, the slide of hands from slim waist to broad chest. Each pass of palm on skin is languid, lingering- not quite enough to be frustrating, but just enough to be reverent.
(Kaveh hasn't touched anyone else since that one brief, beloved night that sings in his hazy memories, and so takes his time doing so now.)
Fingertips trail and tease, cupping his hands and letting the stilted breaths press each exhale into his waiting touch. Circling one pebbled nipple with the tip of a nail, his touch diverts downward, arches his spine into alignment with Kaveh's own body, and curls tenderly between his thighs, stroking slowly, testing each touch carefully. At Blade's throat, his mouth moves from a careful nip to a series of steady kisses, moving up toward the shell of an ear and nuzzling in gently. As steadily as the carving of his length in and out of him, his breath brushes his ear, heavy and even despite all his exertion.
"…and still need so much attention, hmmm?" Fond, almost inexplicably so, given everything between them, yet for no one else but Kaveh does this devotion make sense. "Niáng zǐ, tell me what else you need. You know I'll give you anything you ask." (so remember when i mentioned the wife thing in the AU-)
a low groan slips from blade's lips when warm palms glide over his bare skin, slow and deliberate. he should protest. he should correct him for calling him wife. of all the ridiculous things he can call him. kaveh says it so easily, so shamelessly. blade knows he ought to argue because if he doesn't, kaveh will keep saying it with an infuriating soft smile. yet the protest dies on his lips before it can form. because of the way kaveh looks at him. because of the way that he touches him. blade has never been unfamiliar with using his body as leverage. a distraction. a weapon. a means to an end. fleeting encounters were simple. he could perform desire without ever offering sincerity.
fingers map every scar. others have called them beautiful, a proof of survival. to blade, they are reminders. damage. ruin carved into flesh, and yet kaveh traces them so adoringly and earnestly. it is profoundly disarming.
kaveh's touch is unhurried, like searching for something deeper than mere heat and desire. the intent is there, to connect with one another not just through physical desire. blade meanwhile seeks silence. just the blessed quiet that comes after. ❛❛ the marks won't last. ❜❜ he mutters roughly. by morning, the mara will erase any evidence of this encounter. even tenderness is refused. his teeth grit as his face is lifted from the pillow, fingers threading into his hair. ❛❛ don't tease me so much. ❜❜ he urges, impatience laced into his voice. the answer comes in a sharper movement. sharp enough to make him grip the sheets tighter and enough for heat to stir in his stomach. but it is still not enough.
blade shifts onto his knees, claiming more control from this angle. his hips roll back in a slow and insistent motion. chasing friction. chasing that state where the mind finally goes mercifully blank. like this it is easier for him to dictate the pace and lose himself. he does not look over his shoulder because this is not the same as before. this is not the night they made love.
❛❛ you know what i want. ❜❜ he comments. but despite saying he will give anything he asks, he knows kaveh won't give it until he specifically states what he wants. ❛❛ just ... take me properly, ❜❜ he breathes, the words less rough now. ❛❛ i don't want to think. ❜❜ he doesn't want tenderness right now. he doesn't want to be adored and studied like something precious. he wants to feel, and only feel, right now. ❛❛ or else i'll roll us over and do it myself. ❜❜ and he won't stop riding him until he reaches that moment of bliss.
that place is unreachable for me; savour it for me. @pairidaezah. always accepting.
immortality through not being incapable of death but by coming back to life after you die no matter what is such a cool power like it’s just so fucking metal. you can rip me apart if you want, i’ll rise from my own viscera and all you’ll have done is piss me off
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