gold foil & marble stained; each breath of genesis in the lungs a gilded thing. luke warm, as anything artificial. l e s l i e … he is the crisp air of winter that can cut your throat; soot & smoke a welcome spice to make you thank him for it. genesis has likely never been this enamored with someone aside from himself-( & easily, of course, more than that. ) an arm is hooked round leslie’s hips & yanks him down. “mine.” purred with such self-satisfaction. each letter a kiss up until gen’s nose is tickled by white locks.
he never seems to get used to this / someone else to fill the silence / genesis is not much conversation but he is - more - than leslie is familiar with. this needling want to be close, whether he truly likes it or not. stalk through back streets in search of one, and for what? quiet night in where leslie can sit at the side edge of the bed, watch the lights of wall market outside the window / rare night off / would it have changed anything if not? genesis moves so quietly that leslie doesn’t notice until the arm is around him, and the room tips sharply - his breath is all but punched out of him / the ungraceful way he falls / kicks out a leg. fits in his grasp like he wouldn’t fidget, wouldn’t dig his nails in at every kiss. leslie takes to pinching his arm, once, twice, thrice - knows genesis wants his agitated words / and he - does not - feel like giving in yet.
better this way. is it not so obvious that his face is warm?
ready wit: syrupy for the way words drip where they will & no further, flow with stickyquick ease. axel's half a nuisance ( half something else ) & all a menace - & genesis? well, he's. having a hard time with the dark. ( 's not the fear so much as the cold- which, is. fear... ah. ) buttfuck nowhere at night nestled into r o c k s, is. hrm. so he trades another fragment of information for another speck of not-affection: fingers curled loosely under another set to kiss. "-but i’m not telling you about their marriage.”
scattered lace; strapped around soft skin / solid muscle. coarse to the touch in comparison. still- standard issue wool & denim, ( the squeak of rubber along linoleum just outside ): these will prove a worse lover. roche is grabbed by the neck in passing / yanked low / rolled over to be pinned by the ready weight of thighs atop his own- & the door closes. locks. porcelain fingers lay against a throat freckled & genesis takes this kiss; hungry for hands already questing-( a l m o s t used to their proactivity. ) “now.” demand is layered into the roll of these hips- a h, yes, definitely- “n o w.”
gold foil & marble stained; each breath of genesis in the lungs a gilded thing. luke warm, as anything artificial. l e s l i e ... he is the crisp air of winter that can cut your throat; soot & smoke a welcome spice to make you thank him for it. genesis has likely never been this enamored with someone aside from himself-( & easily, of course, more than that. ) an arm is hooked round leslie's hips & yanks him down. "mine." purred with such self-satisfaction. each letter a kiss up until gen’s nose is tickled by white locks.
(◡‿◡✿) Slow sensual deep meaningful kisses with lots of PDA.
(◡‿◡✿) Lustful hands sliding down bodies with little tiny gasps of pleasure
(◡‿◡✿) Tugging on their hair gently only to move the kisses to their neck
(◡‿◡✿) Jawline kisses slowly moving back to their lips
(◕‿◕✿) Muffled kissing while getting the shit fucked out of them
he’s never known genesis to be particularly patient of a man. calculating, certainly, willing to see things through to the very end… but very quick to throw out what plans he had if a means for immediate gratification presented itself… and now might be one such time, as kunsel can practically hear genesis weighting his options, fingers brushing past a puckering rim – before simply thrusting back in.
they really aren’t leaving this closet anytime soon. rip to his responsibilities.
“im—patient.” kunsel wasn’t aware that he was holding his breath until it left him with a shudder, heated words melting into kiss and murmurs against his neck and doing their part in elevating his high, one that is betrayed by a sharp ‘ah’ at each brush to his prostate and the laxness with which his jaw hanged – although its quickly snapped shut at the mention of noise, each one now a contained hum reverberating through his throat.
part of it was stubbornness paired with the embarrassment that comes from the vulnerability of it all, and another was the idle curiosity of just how much was genesis willing to do in order to get them out of him.
but he can’t hold off forever, and what genesis wants he takes, and fffuck if kunsel wasn’t standing a little straighter, torn between leaning into the hand caressing his chest and the woolen turtleneck at his back.
the thought itself of genesis still being so put together while kunsel was close to bursting at the seams was irritating, but it made for something to grip as one of his hands reached back and over, gripping fabric off of genesis’ back and tugging it up again, deciding to try and get himself flush to genesis’ body. kunsel’s other hand trailed down, past tight abs and towards a dick that twitched with every puckering at his rim which fingers still penetrated, greedy grip giving way to forgoing his attempts at quieting himself.
a moan that ends on a high at the base of his throat, shrap inhales taken through clenched teeth, so close, a heat that permeated his entire body, different from what he’d experienced in the past – almost to a point where he felt indignated to have ever been treated any differently by past lovers, although kunsel will blame such thoughts on how close to release he was.
ai, caralho – curses muttered to himself as genesis set his demands, and a tiny part of kunsel feels like its a cop-out, a way to take without giving… kunsel had said he’d wanted him, and maybe that’s all genesis was after. ( paranoia cares not for the logic of being constantly reminded of how much genesis wants him as well.)
so, perhaps its from the way genesis had phrased it, or it was his need to be a bastard and keep genesis fixated on him, but the words that come out of kunsel next are clear, although slurred together as he throws his head back as he approaches the edge of his climax, a groan cut off in his throat as his hips jerked into the hand fisting his erection.
“yessir.”
then does kunsel lean his head to try and meet genesis’ mouth, sighs and whines escaping past parted lips until he finally gets close enough to seal a kiss, just a little more –
an entire minute then, is spent with their lips locked, kunsel refusing to give genesis any room to say anything else ( as he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it ). short, quick moans grow in their frequency until they’re long and drawn out, interrupted only by sharp needy inhales through kunsel’s nose.
soon enough, leg muscles start twitching as his grip on the back of genesis’ sweater tightened, kisses growing slackjawed as he brings himself to the edge – and is immediately racked with a full-body shudder, hips twitching into needless thrusts he cums into his hand and onto his stomach, a sharp a whine given into the mouth on his.
and then it’s over, just like that – and again frustration comes for him. to think any of his past experiences could’ve been like this instead of being as thrilling as rubbing to pieces of cardboard together…
“mmm,” a spent little noise murmured before he finally tilts his head away to catch his breath, lower lip chewed on as he let go of genesis’ sweater to lean on the door again, needing a little bit of leverage until his legs stopped feeling so weak.
“like that?” he asks, bringing to light the hand with which he brought himself over the edge with, stands of cum staining his palm. he might just be feeling a little smug post-release.
GENESIS.
‘ yessir ’
“ hngh- ” jerked in close / heat trails from his mind to tweak every sensitive nerve along the spine---settles into the receptacle his gut has become. pleasure. n e e d. strung out across not nothing, not this time - zantos leverages until he can meet a demand set desperately,
& genesis feels himself losing
that bet,
that bet.
‘s not like yessirs don’t trail after him on the regular.
( ‘s not like that does not thrill, just a little, each time. )
but kunsel.
genesis’ kiss stammers across their insistence. ( that bet. ) brain, offline- ( yessir ) -soft & warm the clutch of his shall be lover’s body. “ i want you,- ” a chastised dog’s plea for attention / a whine wrung tight & muffled.
noise assaults the senses.
what kind of fool would’ve asked for this,-- genesis’ chokes in attempt to keep his own keens quiet...lusting for the cut of each breath. “ z a nt o s ... ” drunk & daft.
thank fuck the little idiot insists on kissing / an excuse to hide the weakness in these eyes.
“ ... ”
‘ like that? ’
“ ... ” fabric resettles around gen’s body. a mess. it takes him far longer to come down; helped none by the hard line of ache pushed to straining against zantos’ hip. breath is a syrupy thing & that’s- not spectacular. “ ... ”
...alright. okay. breath? check. horniness? very much check.
noise outside? wouldn’t be able to tell; spell’s in place at least.
zantos? right the fuck here.
a little note of plaintive hunger / a little jolt of his hips into warm, melting heat. gen slinks in closer despite the breaths kunsel’s trying to take. lingers inside them for a moment ere easing out-
if the arm wrapped round them sits tight, so be it.
“ ...mine. ” husky. bereft. because this is it: the end, or not so much - but even in the latter case it’d be a postponement. zantos won’t stay. ( in the ways he’s begun to matter? yikes. )
genesis swallows hard against mercury’s slosh in the chest.
distraction is, as ever, found in lover’s skin. skin-hunger slows the mind when fed, & touch is content to trace curves & lines & wonder at the occasional bump of scar tissue.
( not going to invest emotion in things like that unless the fucker stays, though- & he won’t.
but that’s okay.
it has to be.
shut up & focus on your dick. )
encroaching on kunsel’s space ( his body ) is a good pastime. it’s indulged now, by the creeping stroke of one palm to that hip & he, sliding into place behind him.
shudders infest his spine.
breath is short, jittering through limbs to threaten them with uselessness- the dig of his mouth to their nape could be uncomfortable. can’t see, tries not to feel- but the better they fit, the harder it is not to.
slick smears across tan skin & pieces of genesis crumble apart as he slots into place. fuck. if it’s like this already, how can he even-?
but he needs. tight to bruising the grip on those hips / forehead dug into the sacred space between shoulder blades---ah. ( he signed up for this. y’know. be pathetic to pussy out now. )
& he wants,
he wants,
he wants.
this time, kunsel’s not offered the choice. it’s obvious enough anyway- strangely, how there’s no squirming to get away or get out. ( cake crumbs & mercury are an upsetting combination; the staccato of a pulse kicks it up to nauseating. )
“ okay,.. ”
you can do this, you can do this, you can do this, you can do this--
almost, does genesis simply slip the head of his cock inside & let himself just be dismantled. just like that. ( surely the sacrifice is great enough- )
but-
first time, insofar
as anything c o u n t s. his first time with kunsel, & it was made to count- dropping all efforts now-
ah, would be a waste.
so. uh. recalibrate...
it’s very odd to find the will & tenderness still- for this. hands’ grip loosens to rub instead little circles along his hips. ( alright. good start. ) slide his cock in quiet if obvious suggestion along the heat of their asshole--- press kiss after chaste yet fervent kiss where dark hair tickles gen’s nose.
( breath has not found a way to anchor into this body & efforts have been dismissed. it won’t be. this is going to be- stupidly hard, for stupider reasons. )
( the thrill of need spells reward into his veins-
that will be more than worth it. )
“ ...mine, now. ” betwixt little kisses. playful, plaintive. a lick. touch scrawls lightly across all that sensitive skin...across their cock just to feel what it’s like now, ( breathless for all that’s sated & soft. ) up, in innocent petting at their chest.
this is hardly confidence.
every touch makes fingers shake harder ( or--does it merely feel that way? can’t tell. don’t care. )--until their weight betrays the immediacy of craving.
genesis swallows. finds that slick, slick hand to steal
what they need from it - & tries not to choke on how
badly he wants to hold it.
don’t pussy out. ( nothing would be a clearer sign. )
ooh- oh. o-okayyyy. okay, okay, okay. okay!
ehrem. okay.
fuck.
with a face hotter than his cock, genesis deposits almost al his weight on kunsel’s shivery body &---takes his time. ( rushing now would be a perversion. no. will just suffer like an idiot instead.
you’re fucking welcome, zantos. )
“ dumb fucking virgi-nnnn-n-- ”
‘just the tip’. he’s very, very warm & genesis’ voice is tied down. perhaps he’s holding on too tightly; leaving crescents in tan skin. there’s no thought to spare on it when all wipes out just to feel---( oohhh, boy, mistakes have been made. )
“ ...--------fffffffuck, zantos-hgn--- ”
so maybe he feels good. okay. shut up.
bit. by. bit. excruciatingly slow / adamant to feel every minute detail. just the head, thick & warm & smarting---slick just to be helpful. not at all because zantos is a mouthwatering piece of shit somehow hooked into gen’s being-
rocking in & out just that little bit & ah!
a thought. my.
what unexpected rescue!
to tease.
there we are, such a splendid remedy for current failings---genesis keeps himself almost still. vertigo lands less refined kisses on kunsel’s nape, makes deep the odd shallow thrust - but it’s just this, just this, just this, with inches to spare.
it’s stupid hard not to moan zantos’ name like a besotted lovesick slut & genesis wishes he could say he’d held those back.
( nnnnope! why would he have that kind of luck. of course not. )
“ you’re going to pay for this- ”
( & yet---full lips’ smile. oh, but he feels good.
oh, but it feels good to be inside someone respected.
just. just that, though.
not really that either- kunsel shouldn’t think- uhm. )
okay but the horror indeed, of rotting alive. fun times!
this is so so long,,, i go through it all p fast though i think. have fun~
so. the genesis wars / copy wars. this is... gonna be long. main question: why the fuck did genesis turn people into copies of himself & what was that war about, if not going against exactly that? who is he, who was he there, what the fuck happened to change him if change he did:
while i’d love to say that degradation somehow changed genesis into being more apathetic, increased his tunnel-vision & the reckless way he claws for his ambitions---well, it did. it corroded his ability to think by, y’know, eating his brain- turning him over time into a reactionary ball of instinct rather than someone who even can keep his cool. for genesis it was his rationale that went first. for others it might’ve been their emotions first---but what kind of story doesn’t force a character to deal with their greatest ‘flaw’? so, degradation made his bad traits worse.
but.
turning the people who followed him out of SHINRA into copies of himself ? oh, honey.
while there were plans to have angeal & sephiroth follow him out & give him/them the advantage over SHINRA, these were...crippled by a lack of / & miscommunication.
while sephiroth & genesis loved each other, they were terrible at talking to each other---& genesis will not have known what to do to loosen SHINRA ( & hojo’s ) collar on seph any better than he already had. because it’s not that simple, not that obvious, & incredibly intricate work to try such a thing.
there was no time to figure it out & accomplish this.
genesis has been abused by his family & other figures of authority, bullied & molested by the people he lived around incl. people who called themselves friends, is/was a child soldier, knows damn well his worth is determined by a cost/reward picture that he’s no longer able to paint in his favour, is hated pettily by half his SOLDIER peers, is honestly terrified of human beings by this point & only sleeps because he’s capable of murdering them with his pinky nowadays...
he cannot trust, he cannot have a mind that is completely stable around people, he cannot rest or recover unless he knows he’s the strongest thing around & sheltered, he cannot expect the best or even basic decency of people. as far as genesis’ world view is concerned, he is truly alone - even when he has people who call themselves friends, even when he has people he would bleed for.
genesis trusts no-one, barely even himself. no safety anywhere.
accustomed to being left to his own devices & too up in his emotions to be able to bear waiting, genesis went ahead a little early with deserting en masse. ( giving kunsel ( @coscuvilheiro ) a bunch more work :ok_hand: what a lovely man to work with, huh? ) that’s not entirely fair though, bc given what he knows of SHINRA’s policies, he could not wait around while degrading - afraid of becoming just another bag of meat in the science dept.
which is precisely what their planned war is about/against.
angeal was left with sephiroth & zack, both of whom were intended to join their cause. angeal didn’t feel it right to involve zack & pussyfooted around it too much for it to happen; sephiroth was all ??? & angeal feared implicating his friend OR condemning his other friend in the event sephiroth would not agree.
so genesis is left convinced that sephiroth won’t come, fearful that angeal will choose zack & sephiroth & the status quo/a lack of so many dying in a war that technically doesn’t have to happen...
wich a hack scientist who just won’t be upfront with him & yet is the only cooperative link to the science indeed of what genesis is & where he comes from.
his parents wanted a trophy child, never approved of him joining SOLDIER ( rather than becoming, say, a director as a political marriage between SHINRA & the rhapsodos clan ), & are against genesis’ power in the clan because he uses it however the fuck he sees fit to. ( he’s loyal to the life he can live with his position in SHINRA...not to his family. )
so that’s no help either----& gen’s growing increasingly unstable not thanks to degradation, but by finding out just how much of his life is a lie & just how many times he has been sold.
joining SHINRA was his choice...except he was set up for it. the rhapsodos assholes suck balls & are abusive but they were h i s family. nope. sold to them by SHINRA for usefulness in the future---which they did get. making his own choices & living his own life, having escaped the intense control of his mother? not quite!
you’re still just a product, & no-one will help you when you’re not perfect &/or powerful.
they considered & caaaarefully approached teaming up with wutai but that was a...nnnnnnnope. genesis alone is responsible for far too much grief in wutai & of the ones who came with him, the majority were people he’d fought with in the war - so, they could boast the same. they didn’t go far with that attempt because it was obvious they’d be ambushed &, yeah. just.
really, what were you even thinking.
as far as he was concerned, genesis had only allies who were weaker than he. they were all 2nds & 2rds- the difference between ranks is ridiculous. ( another reason why SHINRA avoids having too many 1sts running about at a time. ) they weren’t strong enough to go against everything SHINRA has.
not just the SOLDIERs left behind, but fucking everything. & since they were challenging SHINRA’s very power over the land, you bet that bitch will pit everything they need & can against this threat.
so. fuck.
of course, if he could think clearly he’d be able to calm the fuck down & work on getting more/stronger allies sensibly... hate to say it, but gen’s only got a leash on his unreasonableness on a good day & is ruled by it all the rest of the time. during crisis core he was also still young & didn’t have a fully matured brain / the life experience & chill to be able to be more stable. crisis core was just not a good era for gen to need to have his shit together.
that’s what he teamed up with kunsel for. even angeal. but neither are available to him now - only people he’s never allowed near him & sure won’t start now, & a hack scientist who forms the acute reminder of all genesis wishes to be...not even being in the realm of possibility.
every emotional, mental, & physical trigger is being hammered on.
being controlled? having his fate controlled? who he is, what he is, why he is- getting to choose where he goes in life & why, what he feels---he was supposed to get free of his mother, not be wrapped up cosily in a life all of her making. & for SHINRA to basically be a repeat parent? the same deal? wow. okay. fuck.
being weak? powerless vs the ones who threaten him? his injury won’t heal & his body keeps weakening. his ability to handle materia is affected as much as his mind, but least overall - still, joining SOLDIER was how genesis came to feel safe in his body after being abused so much in his childhood.
& now it’s slowly being taken away... by the fact that he belongs to his mother, to his creator, to SHINRA. because they made him. because they chose what to make of him. what he would make of himself.
he doesn’t even get to control his personality anymore; fast losing the ability to think clearly enough, to rule himself instead of being ruled by every instinct & emotion & thought.
he was losing his shit not to a lack of will to stop it, but to his brain literally rotting away. & it was fucking terrifying.
so he’s operating in a constant state of triggered---of extremes.
he’s also constantly accompanied by the acute reminder of all this bullshit that keeps his injury wide open: hollander.
hollander who knows about angeal’s mom & knows things about her that genesis... well, that make him not like her very much anymore. she was supposed to be better than his mother, who tried to control every aspect of his being & succeeded until a physical separation from her ( leaving to join SHINRA ) became the opportunity for mental & emotional independence from her as well.
a scientist who keeps trying to figure out a way to stop degradation, what it is, etc---by taking samples of genesis, of other SOLDIERs ( S ones & G ones ), etcetera. genesis grew numb to the concept of figuring out people’s genes with bits of blood & bits of flesh & bits of marrow, more out of horror & the need to repress it than anything else.
he knows this motherfucker isn’t great enough at his job, but he’s good enough to be kept on &- well. it’s not like the science dept. deserted with him, now is it? it’s all genesis has got.
& he knows this.
relying on smth so unreliable while already without any means to control his situation drives him fucking mental - but he hasn’t got the option to stop. because then what? just degrade all the way? what’ll he even turn into- that’s another fucking question that plagues him.
his mind is spacious, & it has room for so fucking much. genesis was never one to forget traumatic things, unfortunately. it all remains stuck in his head, only able to leave once healed - & he never learned how to heal. bear in mind he comes from an abusive household, became a child soldier, and is now a 20-ish soldier.
he’s only learned to compartmentalise, not to heal.
so the conclusion to this mess was to make his allies as strong as he. that’s basically it. they weren’t supposed to become copies... they were supposed to be infused with genesis’ strength. alas. science ain’t that convenient, & hollander isn’t that good at the refined nuances of this work. hojo could have probably done it - though he wouldn’t care to.
& as the first experiments obviously went sideways...genesis breathed in a fresh, sharp breath of relief.
the changed SOLDIERs were...weaker, diluted versions of him. some retained their selves a bit, but only temporarily. the parasite at home in genesis’ cells took over their foreign bodies; jenovah, the parasitical species.
genesis regained control over his immediate surroundings,
however horridly.
he hadn’t meant to, but here it was. & he shouldn’t, ethically speaking. morally. humanly.
but he wasn’t being human, he was surviving every extreme he’d ever been through all at once---without anyone to trust enough not to fuck him up when he slept. ( which he didn’t really do, of course. couldn’t. also not helpful. )
angeal & sephiroth still hadn’t joined up with him. kunsel couldn’t be contacted without being endangered & genesis selfishly, weakly, wanted him alive & well more than he wanted this success---success over what?
( what the fuck was he going to return to, once all this was over? would it be? )
genesis never expected to survive this. he also never expected to lose - a contradiction he’d lived for the longest time. success had come to him a few times when doing what was deemed impossible, & this stuck with him.
so, no success. genesis couldn’t be saved by hollander & hojo didn’t care.
yes, he was weakening. hollander? oh, gen can take him sleeping. the other SOLDIERs, though...theirs was only a one-sided trust. as i detailed in a headcanon on how genesis fed his ego & reputation by becoming someone who helped out his comrades ( not all selfish; genesis does have a need to be kind - just, little he values in a way that gives him the impulse )---but always kept them at arm’s length. he wanted their respect & even adoration, but they weren’t ones he wanted truly close. & that was fine.
but when you go to war together, & you lose sight of the us goal until it becomes all about you even though so many have signed away their entire lives to support the us cause...
morale whomst?
so what did he have left? himself. but he needed more
than himself. but he trusted nothing else. but what is
there when you spend every connection you have on
success? but what happens when they don’t want your
success anymore, & turn on you?
it wasn’t right by any stretch of the imagination, but genesis silently allowed hollander to go ham. & as this decimated morale,.. it was time to go about this faster. plenty of the SOLDIERs with him wanted to go & a bunch did---it’s just, well. deserting SHINRA...at war with wutai... where the fuck are you gonna go? most of the stayed. they didn’t know what to do - they’d gone with a man who had helped them feed their families & keep their jobs, thus safe enough to abandon SHINRA.
but now that man was pretty much the same as SHINRA. get rekt, scrub.
angeal has changed his mind, he won’t come. sephiroth doesn’t want to change; angeal chooses him over me. zack needs to be kept some kind of safe; he’s choosing them over me. these people want to go home but they can’t & that’s all because of me - they will react. hollander wants to run so i can’t hurt him.
where is safety where is safety where is safety
there wasn’t any, so he took the chance afforded to create some & went ahead turning his comrades into copies.
can i get a hail mary.
good? no. shameful? bit of an understatement. genesis on board with this decision? no. but what the fuck else could he do anymore? he didn’t think he could do anything else. self-respect? haha. ahh... that one’s funny. piss off.
the scale of this selfishness kinda eluded him, though not its wrongness. on a personal level, this was just not what he wanted. the bigger level of just how fucked up it was, was beyond him - genesis has always lived in the extremes of bad shit done unto him, done unto others by him.
he was too stuck in the moment, small, tunnel-vision, the usual inhibitors to his crueller streak absent ( angeal, his own habit of checking wtf he’s doing, a stable mind, stability at all, a body that does not terrify the living shit out of him, etc. ) that does not mean he did not know what he was doing.
genesis does not shirk responsibility for this decision. doesn’t need to. why the fuck would he? it’s on him. it’s just on him.
angeal shows up & genesis weathers his friend’s horror, his outrage, his anger. it’s harder to swallow the idea that angeal still trusts him, still expects trust. zack fair & sephiroth were left behind. apparently just because angeal is pathetic about doing what needs to be done.
genesis wonders quietly whether maybe that really does make him good.
the rest of the war is genesis losing even further his ability to do anything with sense or stability. angeal keeps him a little human & at some point genesis forsakes safety for that, tries to cling to the spot of peace & sense indeed that angeal’s company provides.
sephiroth never joins them. genesis never stops distrusting angeal & sephiroth. hollander finds only the potential for a cure, & genesis’ candid brutality, desperation, & flickering trust in sephiroth all backfire.
despite his continued aggression, genesis stopped fighting for real not too long after consciously choosing not to stop hollander, not to find some other way, not to not change everyone into copies. he doesn’t know how to stop fighting, how to roll over, & options for peace were void.
so he didn’t stop. but he didn’t care whether he won anymore, so long as he wouldn’t end up as feared: utterly without control, utterly owned, utterly used by everyone around him. without weight to his thoughts, his choice.
suppose deepground was an appropriate punishment,
though appropriate does not suit any of this.
[ @engineroars asked: ] UGH/UNF bc what if both...
[ to pin my muse. ] | with fury, with desire.
GENESIS.
sleek, what edge of steel sits close to cutting to roche’s throat. how it makes them press in tighter, how hunger leaps to the fore - & only genesis intends to deny it.
breath heaves through the chest / a cornered fury kept short.
‘tis unfair how attractive the little bastard wants to be---how they paw without ceasing at the seams of composure to find what’s ripped.
sink their nails in,
tear it open wide.
glove’s leather is torn & skin too, what mends itself while roche’s blade slits through. a vital few inches are maintained between it & gen’s own pulse.
& he refuses to let blues flick to that mouth---to the streaks of hair at his chin, to the-- hhh...
“ back off. ”
most would avoid what danger lilts through these notes. warning is plucked out of k’s sharp tack / a dancer’s heel struck to marble. most would note the flaring, narrowed soot of what’s gone black with---rage---really, & run.
roche doesn’t even flinch.
how fucking dare they.
what hand not occupied with an avoidance of decapitation---strains against another. roche backs their blade up with his elbow & reaches over it- too close, too fucking needlessly close.
could fight it harder, for sure. roche is only a third-
heat in shivers of taunting breath / forged into words that crawl, fizzing in the skin. hunger for this precision & this flair, it prowls through the senses to debate this: why not surrender to what you w a n t ?
because he’d be a fool not to.
genesis grinds his teeth & allows himself a minute more of this indulgence.
𝙾𝙽𝙻𝚈 𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙰𝙽 𝙶𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝙷𝙸𝙼 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 ── he who knows the power of honey - steeped words where others might find it deluded ; dissonance in carnal pleasure’s ears ── and yet he quakes under those words , cracks and bends like the earth below every time that heat finds him ( which one ? the sensuality of crimson god’s words , or the warmth of something so intimate as the silk embrace of his lips ? he can’t tell . he’s set ablaze either way . )
❝ genesis , ❞ he utters , voice steeped in something most depraved ─── something holy , too , like a prayer on his lips , or perhaps a plea : have mercy on my soul , i cannot survive you . of course he cannot . every point in his life since meeting him has taught him one thing and one thing only : that their beloved is calamity itself ; that even their presence is rapture . he supposes the temptations of danger have always drawn him in , but amidst all thrills , it is this one ─── only this one that fills the void because they were the void inside him itself … his purpose and reason , too ─── goddess , had he lost himself ? is there anything left of him now ? where did it all go ?
given ; he thinks . surrendered , every time they uttered a word ; every time they touched his face , and yes ─── every time he was grief and desperate hands clutching at the fabric of their red coat in the dark . he shivered under them back then , too ─── bent and broke under their heat before a frigid absence . repeating / repeating like a broken record or inescapable curse . he didn’t mind back then if it meant latching onto a part of them . he didn’t mind when it felt as though they took pieces of him whenever he left , too . maybe that’s what it was , in the end ─── watching them take off to the skies time and time again with a silent plea on his lips: take me with you . take me with you . anywhere . everywhere .
perhaps that’s why when beloved speaks ─── when they tear down the walls of inhibitions with a single flutter of their copper lashes and drink him in that he feels like a puzzle put together ; a shattered vase made whole ─── to hold him and him alone , here , beautiful , whole , whole , whole ─── complete in the light of his deity . his hand reaches out to cradle a cheek as bewitching gaze ensnares his own ; reminds him this warmth is real . reminds him that they are real ── their treasure / sweet obsession / sacred damnation . how thrilling , he thinks , to be favored among all the rest .
even with the absence of wet heat upon their own ( and what torture ! ) , roche leans ; cradles the other cheek as he frames their face and seizes him in a kiss ; tastes himself on their lips and wonders if he has always carried that with him , too .
❝ my ego is a ravenous thing , ❞ he says , softly , a tender murmur as nose affectionately brushes against their own , a coy smile upon rose lips to boot as his eyes meet genesis’ . ❝ to dwell in something so divine , and for the divine to dwell in me ─── i feel as though not even the world can touch me . ❞
GENESIS.
“ ---good... ” ecstasy’s single exhale. leant up into touch---a deliverance, from all ill - because, what ill exists beyond the severing of the self? lost, lost to all that surround / an arena of mockery, the audience comprises beasts wielding human cruelty.
this sensation has not been felt before.
sunk into the marrow of these bones. laden now, heavy, weighing one down like the anchor longed for. genesis had given up the search for it. nothing would yield & no act could create it.
& then roche...
( nothing matters save this: & then, roche. this bond the point when suffering gained its purpose; to be worth going through for on the other end one would find themselves once more within...
...a home to the soul. the person. even the body. )
‘ my ego is a ravenous thing, ’
“ feast. ”
palm to nape / as heavy.
“ i am your world... ” what sweet drunk certainty. its scent sits heavy in their kiss, “ you are mine. ” gen tastes the shape of their top lip just to tug at chin’s scruff with his teeth. drawn in tight is roche: cheek to cheek, words nestled into the flushed curve of an ear.
“ i have nowhere else to go, for i want
nowhere else to go. ” what pleasurable reward for severing this tie might exist--? well. if the world can offer that, still the choice would be uncertain---for what is there to love, to long for, other than home?
of course that matter is hypothetical alone.
we’ve suffered enough cruel choices.
“ i want you. ” teeth to ear’s lobe / & palm traces down each knob of that spine. lower, “ i crave you, ” dug deep under the collar of their jacket to be ensnared. soft this kiss to so vital a pulse---ere it warns of the edge of bruises ( that’ll vanish far too quickly, ) “ there is no sweeter pleasure than you near me---i crave no strangers, want for no curiosity elsewhere. ” they are the balm past its due date, unable to fulfil their purpose.
a placebo.
disentangling comes with only one upside: genesis gets to slink back down. onto his knees to mouth at the heat between their legs- fingers splayed under their pulse to keep them down just a little longer. ravenous indeed.
the body is a system of caves, where the damp & dank do reign. even now, they do---but flowers bloom nonetheless, & as long as they leave roche’s scent in the walls of him, scar them into all soft tissues crying out for this-
...
“ you're mine. ” were it possible to force this, would the axis of genesis’ world be claimed? just a little. but it must be an offer only while they are flesh & blood & human bone: this bleeding heart, dropped onto no platter. simply dropped.
in surrender to being caught or...
“ ...are you going to let me make you come like this..? ”
heat a flare of blue beyond so flimsy a veil. this... the plush furl of lips lax, cushioning the tip of him. red on rose, hunger taking them in once more - no waiting on cues ere he sinks down. roche is the proactive sort, & genesis has a craving that won’t suffer interruption---probably.
( they’re a little too breathtaking to ignore during most attempts at attention.
but still.
there’s a cock to be savoured & this shall be made roche’s problem. )
[ @engineroars said: ) ❛ i want you. and the thought of anyone else having you is like a knife twist in my dark soul. ❜ // bc he's a possessive lil bitch; next
GENESIS.
p l e a s u r e . it slinks into that knife’s twist - the place where insecurity lurks, where disaster & disappointment are the same thing.
“ your dark---soul? ” a facetious way to respond when tittering fans scatter in the crowd / losing genesis because he wants them to. ( they’re good for very little. this,
this fierce, bold declaration---this is what they’re good for. )
“ such drama. ”
it’s a mockery laced with need. roche’s desperation is- a drink of life itself. heeded & heard in the clutch of a pulse tight---snatched up by loneliness & twisted around the shape of it like blown glass, the work of someone wishing to pervert.
“ you want me to b e l o n g to you?
with you? near you... ”
full lips curl only at their corners. mmm... to be wanted. with a passion fierce / theirs a hunger for genesis to be possessed - it is.
thrilling.
gloved & gloved, two sets of fingers entwine - before
they lose the crowd.
genesis slips into an alleyway. roche: hot on these heels, craving & demanding at once. fuck. ( good things happen to bad folk. )
“ ---you have me. ” it trips off the tongue.
( perhaps he’s desperate too. )
roche’s grip is a tight thing & they keep trying to twist, to take charge, to steer genesis into the godsdamned wall---let them have him. right here, where the desire of fans ( mere nobodies / & roche knows this, doesn’t he? )---might be doused by the sight of them.
( or just, redirected. hrm. )
“ you have me, and i crave the heat of your belonging. ”
alright, going for needlessly honest.
so he lets them. shoved into the grit of brick upon brick- a wild, vulnerable wide to these eyes as note after note clings sticky to the symphony presented. “ no one person nor crowd could slake my thirst to be known--- ” drawn in breath to breath & in the peripheral- the crowd, the crowd. it shifts - & all their tinny voices a cacophony difficult to untangle.
they’re still there, of course. tittering morons who know less than the cut of his coat tails / who fixate on the curl of most commercial smile as though it lets them be his lover.
searching, they are. so rarely do they catch a glimpse; with the scent caught, they won’t drop it ‘til their ardour’s faded.
it’s these threads that twine around thought / plucked into awareness over & over as the heat of roche’s eyes ‘distracts’---their near wet need to possess so much as a fragment of the world--! ( so much love for it. so much unanswered love.
the world is undeserving.
genesis might be, as well---‘deserving’ is a matter of opinion. trite, meaningless. )
gloved fingers twine into the hair at that nape & yank them mouth to fevered mouth: this admission-
“ make them watch you own me. ”
-just as the first fools stumble into the alley.
heh.
ooc okay but pantyhose & a croptop hoodie tho...
or stockings & garters & a croptop hoodie. i love,,, combining lingerie style shit with comfy clothes... Blease.
@ofrhapsodos said: [ ask ] “you’re perfect.” a simple truth. yet it slinks from lips cautious - made such by knowing this: how h a r d & g r u e s o m e the battle for worth can be. between the two of them, how many scars, how many injuries–? just for that?
& yet, it would be a disservice to deny this. to ignore this: roche’s unintentional perfection. all that they are - a l l of it. crafted & not / ‘tis the crafter, the crafting. no, just the artist- no, also the art. even the scars. even wasted effort, though genesis would not encourage those sooner than cut the boy’s limbs off ( so. not at all. )
“whether you try or not.” deadened notes. to meet perfection on the other side of death—of surrender to what’s inescapable. there is no worth. there is no striving for it that’d truly reward— & here roche is. p e r f e c t i o n. the kinship of those flawed yet trying-( valuable regardless. )
WHAT COULD BE A SWEETER PLEASURE THAN THIS ─── the gradual thawing of a soul , growing / blooming just for him where such tenderness is not so freely bestowed . how could he ever put it into words ─── fashion poetry of such elation ; he , once such a cold thing , naught but dust ? how does one give voice to this salvation ?
is it foolish to say that , ironically , he’s found himself in ruin ? his ruin and his alone ─── the pain and the chaos / the warmth and the cold and the warmth again ; dressed in crimson . once upon a time he could only marvel at genesis , just as he has with most things and people in his life ( he hungered so , living in a world with no sky … all lovely things kept so far from reach ) . despite his silence he was … frightened , once ─── frightened of coming too close to that fire . frightened of getting burned ; and he did get burned , perhaps more times than he’d like .
and now to bask in it ─── gentle ; freeing ─── a fire that consumes him in gentle embrace … roche wonders if it’s real . wonders if it’s a bandage he’s fashioned for himself for old bleeding wounds . for all of his hubris and egotism , ever since he was young he has sought to make his home in other people . it should have sickened him a long time ago . and yet .
this is where countenance is hidden ; eludes beloved’s gaze . it’s hard to face that kind of light , so tender to his soul that it maims him . something fragile within him overflows . what does he say , and how does he say it ─── that the only time he has ever even kissed perfection has been in the shadow of their wing ?
me, forgetting completely that gen has a wing bc it’s such obvious bs from the devs instead of lore-compliant:
smn: mentions their wing
me: huh wh- huh???
that said... who’s gonna come & groom gen’s black/blue feathers...
ugh. he really did say that out loud, huh? heat runs up kunsel’s spine and colors his face, thankfully hidden – but the same cannot be said for his ears. ah, at least the lighting here is faint enough to let kunsel delude himself into believing it wouldn’t be notable against his skin.
still, where he told himself laid only embarrassment in having to step over the hurdle that was his own ego and need to be difficult, a smug thrill sparked up and refused to die down – he couldn’t exactly see genesis, but he certainly felt the lull in his ministrations.
hah ha – ah. a chuckle is almost vocalized at the bite, almost, but the air gets whisked out of his throat as a curt moan, head throwing back to glance over his shoulder as what was a purposeful stretch becomes a deliberate twist, a toying pressure in his gut that had his abdomen tense and refuse to let kunsel breathe anything other than high needy sighs – which he is quick to attempt to silence by biting down on his lower lip, face hidden in the crook of his elbow again.
thrice, huh? his entire body tenses at the mere thought, so close to release already that he could think of it like a genuine threat – but then this mess of debauchery just kept unfurling further and further. genesis was ‘just’ going to mess with him, and then they were 'just’ going to make out, and then it was 'just’ a handjob…
at the bite to his shoulder there’s a huff that comes across as annoyed, kunsel ready to retort after a groan is dragged out along with it, genesis clearly not knowing when to drop something – but there’s no smart retort that leaves him, only the sound of his frustration being twisted into a whine, now, and just – what the fuck, keep it together, what even was that –
still, as frustrated as he might be at the teasing of past misadventures, flush is his back with genesis’s chest, kunsel’s leaning against the door straightening just so, a shiver present at air brushing against his nape, the feel of genesis’ cock at his hip, the fading heat of a hand that had trailed down his chest. any moment now –
and then genesis trips over kunsel’s pants while getting ready to replace his fingers with something else, least they forget they really are in a 'stupid closet’. ever so graceful, a thought paired with a snort as kunsel let himself melt into the eager nuzzling at his nape, and he’s tempted to just tilt his head and captivate those lips for himself, but words are expected right now, and fine, fine, he can do that first.
“i’ll let you know if i need anything, thanks.” please, do take the grind of his hips as an invitation to continue. he said it once and he’s not saying it again.
GENESIS.
‘ i’ll let you know if i need anything, thanks. ’
the jolt & shudder of that pulse ( tucked neatly to these lips ) / what heat had wound up as it cools / the precise pitterpatter of breaths clawing up out of unsteady.
kunsel had been close.
very, very close.
glee pinches gen’s bottom lip. hmmm... what if..? pale fingers slide off the needy heat of his own cock. there’s something to be said for either sensitivity- what comes & then after, what has yet to come... indecision toys with their rim. hunger demands rewards immediate---
---& so fingers thrust back in.
“ actually,.. ” syllables miss a few steps in their dance. it’s okay; the only effort to matter right now is what would win back zantos’ heat, will bring it not merely to but over the edge--- “ i want one now. ”
tunnel vision had skipped over this tidbit: just how close zantos really was.
kisses slant across the slopes of their throat / warm, & yet nothing compared to the promises groaned for him alone to hear---how it is kunsel genesis wants, how it is so good just to touch him, how he’s worth the noise genesis will pull from him.
has done. mmm...
“ the noise you make drives me m a d. ” quickdeep & forceful, kunsel’s fucked. fixated on that little spot that made him sigh so pretty--only to twist wider & away / pulling to an almost stop---to slide in tender.
these clothes still worn do cling. they’re a nuisance unworthy of the attention it’d cost to deal with - gen’s too busy stroking down their chest in longslow passes, melded into the pleasure of body to body.
( it’s also helpful that this postpones the inevitable vulnerability of being inside them. haha, maybe kunsel will just be done with him once he comes! ) lip once more bitten / thrusts jolt into zantos’ body as all senses tune in, map out whatever will grant the advantage required to throw him off this precipice-- ( yeah. yeah, maybe he will. maybe that’s for the best.
be a shame.
nah, nah- it’s.
uhm. )
“ ...you’re going to come for me before you ever get my cock. ” to speak is a catharsis. every stupid truth, every horny lie---all that bubbles up the throat without consulting the mind. ( paranoid thing that it is. ) a long, flat line is drawn up the tendon in kunsel’s throat / landing in a sharp nip to ear’s lobe. “ and if you’re not kissing me when you do, i’ll make you do it over. ”
