laced with something dark.

adonis moreau. thirty-six. alchemist. ❝ what i want, i will always have in the end. ❞

[ofadonis]

( sam reid, cis man, he/him ) — Look what the werecat’s dragged in! If you take a look at our records, you’ll find that ADONIS MOREAU is a THIRTY SIX year old ALCHEMIST that’s been in Cromerth Woods for TEN YEARS. According to this file, they're a HUMAN hailing all the way from CROMERTH WOODS. That must be why they're INTELLIGENT and SELF-SERVING If you ask me, they remind me of the the snap of leather against flesh, the scent of chemicals boiling in a beaker, and the clawing want that comes with ambition. They are allied with NO ONE. ( kael, 25, GMT+8:00, he/him )

[fleshtearing]

ed doesn't offer much in terms of a coherent response. his hearing is overtaken by the roar of blood in his ears—a bit even drips out of his nose, a pleasant surprise for the tongue that swipes at it—and the steady buzzing of what he assumes is adonis' voice. if there's a knife's edge between pain and pleasure, this is catapulting him right into orbit. it's difficult to do anything but moan and writhe and sweat and hope that whatever eldritch monstrosity ends up bursting from his penis is at least nice enough not to do any permanent damage. one way to avoid that. claws fully extended, by technicality ed does obey the command given to him—but instead of ointment, he decides to get rid of the problem by removing flesh, instead. he doesn't bleed, at least. just starts to make a bit of a gooey mess.

[ofadonis]

There's always a bit of ill ease when he sees Ed's claws, and he starts to try to shift out of it. He always wondered if he could shift faster than his elixirs could reach his bloodstream. Perhaps now he has the answer as he shoves his fingers in, trying to dig the ointment out, but only serving to prep himself nicely. The biological mass left behind from shifting is always of interest, put in containers and stored well, but this time, the subject it comes from is of more interest to Adonis. He watches him like a hawk, humming as he makes notes and nods to his homonculi. One of them joins in, minding the claws as he shoves two fingers roughly in, trying to mime scooping out the ointment from his ass as the other simply stands behind, watching the scene as he is, waiting for the moment where the chains become necessary. Clicking his tongue, Adonis smirks devilishly, eyes raking over the desperate man in front of him. "Dear me," he says, feigning surprise. "Looks like you've rubbed the ointment in. Is my servant doing well?" The homonculi does it rough and quick, greedy as can be with mental orders from its master. "Say something, or we might end up hurting you, Killiam."

[fleshtearing]

he scoffs. "i can swallow anything." a gag would be so lucky to have him gnaw through it—far from the most grotesque thing he can do with it. or anything, for that matter. it's his thing. that must be at least part of the reason that adonis even keeps him around. why else? he clones himself for a reason; all the help are his own personal clay soldiers. but before he can open his mouth for another retort, donny's hand snakes its way between his legs and—oh. oh, fuck. ed makes a noise like a strangled goose, eyes wide as adonis pulls his gloved hand back. go on then, dog. to his credit, he obeys the command. not because he had heard it, per se, but because the symptoms of the alchemist's generous application of his product had started to become unbearable. for a long moment after he tears the offending outerwear off, he lays back against the exam table—knees up—and trembles. sweat beads across his brow, each breath rapid and shallow. fuck. he can feel his heartbeat in his asshole. it's funny, that it's that feeling that has him gritting his teeth and now the fire spreading from his cheeks all the way down to his taint. "fuck," he groans, finally rolling onto his stomach—a little less exposed than he was before. "that's—" ed lets out a long, shaky breath; "—i don't like that."

[ofadonis]

A smirk appears on his face as he wipes his glove on cloth and pretends to write something down, raising his eyebrow at the man before him. "Your cock seems to say otherwise." His hand grabs it gingerly and moves it, twisting and looking and examining it devilishly, knowing any movement or sensation shoots straight up through Ed's spine. Adonis lets go, his fingertips lingering on the shaft as he hums and looks at the man before him. Sweat dripping off his face, cock bobbing as the ointment affects him quickly and with precision.

"But perhaps I may be mistaken. I suppose you should simply take the ointment out of that hole of yours, otherwise it might seep in through your skin quicker." He places a bottle of lubricant from an erstwhile cupboard and waits, looking for the crack in his pride that allows him debauchery. "I would let my homonculi do it, but they might... bruise you," he lies, the two inching forward with the chains hidden out of sight. "Maybe teach them first, or they may run the risk of injuring that ass of yours."

[fleshtearing]

ed doesn't even bother to hold back—what's the point? adonis wants data. he gives data. it's not like shame or embarrassment has ever meant anything to him. if he's going to pinch at him like that, let him know how it feels. even without words. especially without words. "—fuck off," he chases, still pressing back against donny's hand. transparent? certainly. it doesn't matter. "science has nothing to do with self-respect. that's what you rich pansies made up to control the rest of us. now fucking—" he breaks off into another moan; "—fucking tell me to take my pants off, already. aren't you curious to see everything first hand? i could be rotting right now and you'd have no idea."

[ofadonis]

"I would gag you, but I've got the distinct feeling that you would bite through it." His homonculi expectantly wait to tie the shifter's calves down to restraints, cleverly tucked away in his examination table, just in case he disobeys, or goes for his body. "And I don't need to order you to take it off, because you're already begging me to do it." Coating his glove in the ointment, it takes all but a swift motion to slip it underneath his ass, and apply a generous amount to his hole and retracting his hand, as if nothing had happened. If a small dollop could do that to him now—well, Adonis is curious as to what a larger dose might be able to do. "Go on then, dog. Take off your pants. Let's see what you've gotten yourself into."

[fleshtearing]

"or what?" he asks, already feeling that steady burn begin to creep downstairs. he shifts his weight to and fro trying ( and failing ) to get comfortable again. of course, the source of his discomfort is swollen and obvious even underneath a thin layer of fabric. and peeking out more than it should, too. "you'll cry?" the weight of his insult ( what little it held to begin with ) falters with the moan that follows—adonis has always known the right buttons to push. this new product of his just makes them bigger. "it's—it's like i said. hot and—fuck—and—and—sensitive."

[ofadonis]

He makes notes. Market dilution as helpful ointment. Market concentrate as... aphrodisiac? Adonis smirks at him, the bark that Ed given losing its edge as he sees him grow hard and uncomfortable beneath the effects of his new product. He likes mouthing off? Fine. He'll let him mouth off as much as he wants. His gloved hand pinches the nipple again, as the clones grab chains from hidden compartments within the laboratory for his less... ethical experiments. "Sensitive. Does this mean that if I just do this," Adonis remarks, pinching hard as he eyes Ed's groin with intent. "You'll turn what? Into some pathetic animal in heat? Have some self respect—this is science."

[fleshtearing]

ed knows that he's the best lab rat a mad scientist could ask for—he's hard to kill and, when prompted properly, eager to try new things. to boldly go where no shapeshifter has gone before... or whatever. the bold part is true, at least—that's obvious by the way he immediately, shamelessly, shoves his hands down his undergarments. he still has a bit he can rub in. not much. probably better to start with a conservative amount. "that's what i like to hear," he moans ( again, shamelessly ) tongue between his teeth. "but i think you just like watching. perve."

[ofadonis]

Well. That was certainly enlightening. Ill-advised and short-sighted, but enlightening. Ed rubs the experimental ointment on his dick, and Adonis waits to take notes, eyeing him curiously. Eyes flit to his hand, then to his face as he makes a show of himself for an audience of one. Not that he minds, of course—Adonis was always about mixing business with pleasure, though he didn't like being called a perv by the man who thinks clothes should be optional. "Watch your mouth, mutt." His hand pinches a nipple hard as he returns it to his pen. Aphrodisiac, possible? Test on others. "Now. describe the feeling."

[ofadonis]

"I tried. The homonculus didn't survive." Alchemy was an odd duck, and while he was no master yet—experiments on flesh, willing and less than enthusiastic helped. Writing the feedback down in a notepad—warm, tingly, Adonis couldn't help but grimace. Internal feelings were helpful, but were of no use to him. Warm to one might be cold to another, and with their differeing biologies, who knows what warm actually is, from tepid to boiling. He purses his lips, and simply touches the affected area with his leather glove, starting to massage it, trying to give it some external stimuli. "Alright then, Ed," he says "Does this feel good or bad? Give me details."

[fleshtearing]

"maybe you should fix that," he suggests, shrugging. yeah, just make them explosion proof. how hard could it possibly be? he's supposed to be an expert. but watching adonis scribble away in his notebook isn't enough to keep his interest, and by the time he's looked up again ed's eyes are glazed over and staring off into the distance. nobody home. he's back thinking about digging up that salamander. what a nice night that had been... at least until—"hey—oh." he snaps back in an instant, mouth hanging open. "it's... inter—esting. nice. very... sensitive." it's about as intelligent a speech as he can manage with donny touching him like that. maybe this isn't so beneath him, after all! "will it—fuck, will it do that everywhere?"

[ofadonis]

His hand pulls away to make a note. Sensitivity? Heat plus sensitivity from extract of salamander. Dilution preferable. The tone of voice doesn't escape his notice, of course, but he puts it aside for the moment to observe Ed lying back against his chair as always. The man has had no thoughts in his head, save for feeding or fucking like some unsightly animal, but he seemed to want to be put through testing, so he simply shrugs. "Oh, try it." Adonis dares him to do anything, intrigued by what's about to happen. "Any data is good data."

[fleshtearing]

"volatile? why not make a bomb or something, then?" he grimaces a little, torn away from what he's sure is a very riveting conversation about how actually, it's not lame at all, because blah, blah, blah, blah... couldn't adonis ever say something interesting? it feels sometimes that all the only time he uses his voice for something worthwhile is for some kind of punishment. otherwise, yawn, it's usually a lecture. "you know, i think i am starting to feel something," he probably interrupts, glancing briefly down at his chest—visibly, no change—before shifts his attention ( the little he has ) back toward adonis. "it's kinda warm. a little tingly."

[ofadonis]

"I tried. The homonculus didn't survive." Alchemy was an odd duck, and while he was no master yet—experiments on flesh, willing and less than enthusiastic helped. Writing the feedback down in a notepad—warm, tingly, Adonis couldn't help but grimace. Internal feelings were helpful, but were of no use to him. Warm to one might be cold to another, and with their differeing biologies, who knows what warm actually is, from tepid to boiling. He purses his lips, and simply touches the affected area with his leather glove, starting to massage it, trying to give it some external stimuli. "Alright then, Ed," he says "Does this feel good or bad? Give me details."

[fleshtearing]

"you're always so picky about it," he says, rolling his eyes. adonis is right to get specific with him, though—when he doesn't, he'll take any excuse to get filthy with it. the disapproval and disdain only make him more eager to misbehave; he's like a kitten that way, batting mischievously at an expensive trinket left too close to the edge of a countertop. if someone doesn't pull him away, he'll knock it off. every. time. but donny has done the pushing he expects, so ed is dutiful enough to pull the scraps of his shirt off and follow instructions like a good boy. for now. "why make lotion, anyway? seems beneath you," he says, slathering a dollop of the stuff over his chest.

[ofadonis]

Tearing away the poor excuse of a shirt off him, Ed actually does what he's told. The medicines are on standby, and so are any restraints if he might have a good notion to try anything. A perfectly gloved hand makes notes against which section of the body he slathers the lotion against—his chest—and hums against the notion that a lotion is beneath him. "The salamander secretion was too volatile for powders and not harmful enough to concoct any poisons," he replies, eyes tracing over his chest for any adverse reactions present. A rash, perhaps. Some sort of expression of it working. "Hm. If you feel nothing yet, perhaps applying more somewhere else will hasten the process."

[fleshtearing]

"you're making lotion?" it can't possibly be that simple. knowing adonis—and he likes to think that he does, to some extent—he's leaving out the key details he needs to make an informed decision. he would make an excellent doctor. maybe it's just time for another prostate exam. he's always been partial to those, hasn't he? settling himself on the plush exam table ( no, not just because he's been given an order... ) "what do you want me to do with it, then? jerk off with it?"

[ofadonis]

Adonis doesn't dignify what he says with a response, before sighing and realizing that he has to talk to the man with a brain the size of a teaspoon. This would not get done unless he talked to him, which was often a drawback of actually using someone else for his tests. "Just rub a patch of skin with it, Ed." He pauses, before making the instructions more specific—the man was like a dog sometimes, so perhaps clarity would be his friend. "Take your shirt off and just get some of it onto your shoulder, or arm, or chest perhaps."

[fleshtearing]

it all seems so silly when he puts it like that—a social call. no, he wants to say. i'm just bored. isn't that the point of a social call? he's got him there. usually does, the rat bastard. it's his own fault for continuing to crawl back. "is it because i didn't bring another gift? you know, finding useful materials isn't always easy." it's just deflection, meaningless discussion he brings up to fill the space between now and what he knows will happen. "what's this shit supposed to do?"

[ofadonis]

"It's supposed to be a lotion." He beckons Ed to come with him to his laboratory, a whirling room of clones and contraptions. Most purchased, some purlioned and others freely given. He gestures to a low examination table, plush and velvet, barely looking at Ed as he's sure that he's looking at the lotion like he's never seen before. Adonis prides himself on the man's predictability, but some days you never know. "But that's what I'm here to find out. Now, if you don't mind sitting, Killiam? We can begin the tests then. If it helps—it's an order."

[ofadonis]

@fleshtearing—

"Since you've come to darken my door, Ed, I suggest making yourself useful. Perhaps you might want to sample a new concoction that I've cooked up?" His homonculi, all perfect copies of him mill about, and one gingerly hands him the bottle that he would have searched for. "To the lab, or is this, gods forbid, a social call?"

[fleshtearing]

"if you want more of it, go and get it. have fun digging through all the mud." ed's tongue curls against the backs of his teeth, eyes flitting off to the side as he considers it. digging it back up, that is. "...maybe if you ask nice, i'll go and get it. but you can't spray me down when i get home." that doesn't need to be a promise. he knows it's going to happen sooner or later—adonis hates when he tracks dirt into his home. he can almost tolerate soap, now. "i can be any kind of guy i want. or you know, whatever. you gonna thank me or not?"

[ofadonis]

"Maybe if I ask nice." Adonis has the decency to hide a snort from Ed—Adonis never asks nice. Hell, he barely even asks at this point; he expects, and with Ed, he knows better than to do anything he tells him to. Puffing out his chest like a big bad predator in front of Adonis is simply not going to work, though it does give him ideas. "I promise I won't spray you down next time," he says sweetly, smiling at the words, though they give him enough wiggle room to blindside him if he tracks dirt through the house again. "And thank you. Will you at least tell me where you found this oh-so lovely present?"

[fleshtearing]

disdain or no disdain, ed can tell that adonis is pleased in some capacity. even better than needing to tell, he knows. every once in a while, he does something that nobody would expect—he uses his brain. learns something. commits it to memory. gods forbid, does something about it. it's not every day he saves something from his... enrichment opportunities. "where do you think i found it? wrist deep in a salamander," he answers, snorting. "maybe a little further. you know me. i'm not much of a just the tip kind of guy." any moment now, adonis will reach over and ice cold water will spray all over him. that's usually what happens when he shows up and gets vulgar. it's hard to switch back to being more... refined. "you like it, don't you? what does it matter where i got it?"

[ofadonis]

Wrist deep in a salamander. What a sentence to greet him. Edward—Ed wasn't exactly that tactful or blessed with social grace, but the reply only serves to make his head pound in irritation. Just a little. Between the grime on his face and the blood on his floor, there's always just some aspect of insolence that greets Adonis every time that they talk.

"Maybe I want more of the salamander heart. Maybe it's rare or valuable," he says pleasantly, the veil of disdain moving towards dismissal. Not just the tip kind of guy—what a thing to say. An eyebrow raises at that as it hits and he simply sighs. "And I know you're not the kind of guy you say you are. You are barely a guy at all, with the grime on your body."

[fleshtearing]

@ofadonis

"before you demand to hose me down," he starts—as usual, covered in several layers of blood and grime; "i've actually brought you something you'll like. a special present from me to you." in the remnants of some exorbitant shirt ed had stolen from the manor, he presents his still-dripping prize. "go on. open it up. i wrapped it special."

[ofadonis]

"Of course." His voice drips with veiled disdain, not enough that Edward might notice, but enough to make sure that Adonis himself feels half-decent about sullying his gloves with blood and guts and whatever the fuck the man thinks passes for a present. "I—ah." It's a salamander liver. A good component in alchemy, and he raises his eyebrow in surprise. Edward? Giving him a good present? The gods must have been throwing him for a loop. "Where did you find this?" He asks, handing the 'gift' off to a nearby clone. "Come on, spit it out before I turn the hose on you."