The look on Till's face is enough to tell him that he wins this round again. It's so easy to rile him up and who knew he would get this flustered over seeing him entirely naked after everything they've done? A chuckle leaves him at Till's little squeak. Then the next, it's Till's turn to be completely naked and Ivan manages to choke on air for a second, cheeks dusted pink. But, he quickly puts back his poker face on when Till is finished.
Dark eyes watch Till as he climbs into the tub and takes his seat across from him. Not what he had in mind but at least he can stare at his beautiful features. The grin transforms more into a soft smile. Compared to their time back at Anakt, Till has gained some muscle and looks so healthy. He's still pretty small compared to some of the more muscular men like Dewey but he's not scrawny like before. A good meal, sleep, and exercise have done wonders. It makes him a very happy man.
The silence is deafening. Not in a bad way but more of a 'who will break it first' kind of way. It does not go unnoticed when Till starts chewing on his lip and he wonders what's going on in his head? Does he like what he sees? And then those beautiful teal eyes are now watching him with intent. His facade breaks just a small crack.
Here they are completely naked, just centimeters away from each other with their skin touching. It takes everything for him not to just pull Till to him. They're supposed to be bathing.
In the next second, he's looking up at the towering figure and he falters because what is this?? Where did this boldness come from?? Shouldn't it be Ivan that makes the first move? He must be making a face right now, a darker flush painting his cheeks. With the water dripping from his long hair from this angle, Till looks.. absolutely captivating. Sexy if you will.
Before he even has a chance to comment back, his mouth is once again covered and he instantly melts into it. Yeah, he's been told he's unfair before. Till is even more so. He smiles against those lips and eagerly returns the kiss. The water is going to be cold by the time they're done...
Ivan's hands plant themselves on either side of Till's hips, pulling him closer until they're flushed together. He wastes no time in coaxing those red bitten lips open to slip his tongue in. "Someone's eager~!" It's as if their little fiasco in their room, although very unplanned, opened up the floodgates to even more possibilities. One of his hands slides up Till's bare back to rest at his neck, deepening the kiss.
Months ago, it might have been enough to simply feel the slightest brush of his skin; the heat suffusing from the briefest contact, a fleeting moment (something easily forgotten, easily cast aside). It would have been enough to only convey their feelings through subtext, only when it could settle into the undertone of animosity, a sham to pretend everything meant nothing and the end would hardly matter when it came. Weeks ago, the sound of a steady heartbeat beneath his ear, sleep-seeped breath fanning out against the crown of his head, a hand trapped within his own might have been enough. Hours ago... just a kiss. No fanfare, just dry heat, chapped skin.
But now.
It's true. The floodgates have opened, and none of it is enough, not anymore. A comforting embrace, a whisper of a kiss. No, he wants more. He knows there's more now. And if there's more he can take, then there's more he can give. It's a sensation that swells in his heart and sinks in his stomach, one that settles deep and casts away the thought of before, of the time when he dared ever look anywhere but in those dark eyes, imagined himself belonging anywhere but caught in that gaze.
He won't say it... but he'll feel it.
I love you.
Till sinks into the space just between Ivan's bent knees and bare stomach, settling his thighs on either side of the other's hips. It's a tight fit, but it gives him the angle he wants to support himself against the edge of the bath. The water dances against the porcelain, some cresting and pooling over the sides, before going still; steam rising all around them. There's plenty of time before the water goes cool, and at the moment, the heat is a good mask for why his skin is tinged in a full-bodied flush. It's one thing to trip over himself to crawl into Ivan's arms when he's half out of his mind, clamoring for some semblance of comfort in the chaotic maelstrom of his own head. With or without the drugs, it's always been easier to do in the heat of the moment. Thoughtlessly. But right now, there's clarity in his eyes.
There's intent.
Till barely lets up a breath's width, simply feeling the brush of their wet lips against one another, spit slick on his tongue, mouth open. He can feel how a single thread connects them, can envision it glistening in between their visible breath. He sinks closer, letting his elbows prop him up so he can let his hands roam. Fingers trace along Ivan's jaw, sliding down along the swell of his Adam's apple, the dip of his collar bones, resting atop his chest. There's a heart beneath that skin rattling against his ribcage, racing like mad. He keeps his palm flat.
"Hey..." The word is less spoken and more mouthed into Ivan's skin, tracing down his chin, hushed against his throat. "If I said..." And he has to say it now before he loses his nerve. "Said... I wanted to." And he has to sound like he's sure because if he doesn't sound sure, then he knows Ivan will be the first to back out, to say it's fine, they can wait, they have time. But they've been wasting so much time, and they almost lost time, so if he asks now. "...Will you teach me?" It sounds like a question, but as he says it, he makes sure to ease himself forward just a bit, pressing close enough to feel Ivan's body heat flush against him. It's enough to make his breath catch.
"Mmm. Not poison." He says as his eyes are inspected. Or maybe if you look at it in a different way, it could be poison. Just not in the way Shui probably thinks. Xóchitl isn't sure what he endured either, only bits and pieces. Maybe once his head is clear, he'll remember more.
Once he's scooped up again, his arms loosely wrap around Shui's shoulders, leaning his head in the crook of his neck until they reach the bathroom. When he's placed on the edge, he watches Shui with curiosity and then amusement as he tries to figure out how the bath works. Xóchitl can't help but to grin and giggle at the scene. It's so cute. He was about to try and show him how to work the knobs but of course, he uses his cool amazing dragon magic to fill the tub. He's not complaining. It is really really cool.
Hazy green eyes watch as the other stops in front of him and holds his breath as the sash is removed. His hands clench underneath the robes, expecting for the robe to be taken off next but to his surprise, Shui doesn't. He lets out the breath he's been holding and smiles, grateful for the consideration. Xóchitl thinks for a moment before he nods. "Yeah. I would prefer that. Thank you... Shui."
With his permission, he's once again gently picked up and placed in the water. The water itself has a slight pink hue as the blood starts to mix with the clean water. The robes are then carefully discarded to reveal purple marks everywhere from the manhandling and a few kicks when he refused to stay down.
The hot water feels good on his aching muscles, especially his back where his tail had been pulled harshly. He sighs as he sinks into the water, pulling his shoulders forward into himself and letting his tail dangle outside the tub. His ears droop down as he stares at his reflection. "...I apologized earlier because.. you were right. About humans I mean. No one stopped him from taking me. And he... he really hurt me. I'm so stupid... to let this happen to me. I should have listened to you."
Empathy isn't in his nature. He can't fully understand what Xóchitl is thinking, but he can infer it from what he has seen of humans across the ages. The closed off posture, the hesitant sluggish responses, the averted eyes; he's viewing himself and the world differently. He's reassessing his safety. He's scared. And while Shui cannot understand being afraid of anything, he can understand that expression, and thus, act accordingly. His hands remain respectful and gentle as he settles the other into the water, not at all put off by the way the blood suffuses through the clear water, letting it take on a light pink tinge. And he has no qualms with taking the water soaked robe and tossing it away onto the floor where it too leaks and puddles that bloodied hue.
"You are young, Xóchitl," is all he says initially. He settles on the floor beside the bath, letting his arms fold against the porcelain frame just beside the tail hanging out lazily. And while the situation may not call for it, Shui is smiling in that same soft way, as if he's dealing with a much lesser situation. The gravity of it isn't something he can fully understand. Unfortunately or fortunately, it's something he never can understand. "I imagine this is the first time humans have truly disappointed you. The first time is always the worst." His fingertips dip into the water, swirling it and slowly absorbing the color out of it, until it's gone clear again. He seems less pleased by this blood offering than the previous as it's diluted with an inferior being, but he makes no real mention of it, simply removing his hand and resting it against his cheek.
"Perhaps, you should have listened, but that is neither here nor there. I have lived thousands of years, and I, too, have been betrayed by humans time and time again." His other fingers drum rhythmically against the bath's frame. "Humanity is rare altruistic. The concept of helping another with no benefit is beyond them. Seeing someone taken and intervening would be unnecessary trouble. Easier to be a bystander and say later how they wished they had the courage to help."
The drumming continues, and if Xóchitl were to recognize it, it wouldn't be all that surprising considering it was the slowest of the songs he sang the night prior. Not that Shui makes any show of the fact that he caught onto the soft melody after only hearing it once. "Rather than you listening... I should have never left." The drumming stops. "I will ensure nothing of this sort ever happens to you again. Whether by my hand or your own, you will never know weakness again." His hand reaches out again, lightly rubbing along the fur lining of Xóchitl's ear nearest him. He uses only the tip of his finger, stroking it with tenderness from the tip to where it disappears into his hair. "You are much more powerful than even you know. Your natural talents are suppressed by your inclination to humanity. I intend to see you hone your abilities so that no human dare ever believe themselves superior to you again."
His hand settles against the side of Xóchitl's head, nestling into his hair as he guides the other to look at him. A thumb coming just beneath his tearful right eye. "No one will ever hurt you again. Not unless you allow it."
They should definitely do it again. Both of their bodies want this don't they? Considering how he can feel how excited Till is through his pants. (Not like Ivan is any different but he has no shame.) Ivan hums contently, lowly when he feels Till's lips against his ear. It sends a pleasant chill down his spine because wow, the noises of his breathing sound so loud and sensual.
Ivan's hands continue their movements below the waistband, clearly enjoying what he is fondling in his hands. The man should have thought about it before he tried to turn the tables and kiss him out of his mind. Ivan is not going to lose this battle. Between the both of them, perhaps Ivan is the one that knows all the buttons to press to make Till lose his mind and he is rather proud of this fact. They haven't been together in this way for very long but he's a fast learner.
The classic novels that he's read didn't necessarily prepare him for just how the real thing is. They described the passion and heat but oh was this so much more than that. It's as if they're melting into each other, lost in the intimacy and wanting every inch of skin kissed and left with red marks. Just as he was about to move his mouth even lower, his hair is then tugged back and he makes a whining noise, reciprocating the pout as Till gets off his lap.
However, he finds another opportunity and wears his smug little grin. Raising his eyebrow he carefully and slowly starts to remove his pants and his underwear until he's completely naked. Sure, this should be a normal situation; two best guy friends sharing the same bath. However, these two guys also just spent the last hour and a half making out half-naked, touching each other, and pretty much just had sex.
Ivan, being a tease, gives a quick smooch upon Till's lips before he climbs into the bath and makes himself comfortable in the hot water. Smiling from ear to ear, he pats the water gently in front of him. "Your turn now, Till~!"
That grin speaks volumes. Something is coming that he's not entirely prepared for. And before he can even ready himself, he's face-to-face with a very naked Ivan. Which honestly shouldn't be all that of a shock to him. It's not like they haven't been shirtless the past hour and a half, and even if they hadn't been, he's seen Ivan's bare chest a thousand times over. There's nothing new about it. Old news. Moving on. Okay, his legs, sure, he's definitely seen Ivan in shorts before or even tight pants. The shape of them isn't unfamiliar, and just recently, he saw the in between, too. Hell, he literally had it in his hands! But for some reason, the whole picture, puzzle put together, makes his face feel hot.
His mouth is hanging open, threatening to let it be known that his mouth is, believe it or not, actually watering at the sight of Ivan undressed. It's not fair for him to still look that toned after barely being able to get up and about from bed for a month. But there he is, still strikingly built, full of lean muscle and even with the new addition of multiple bullet wound scars, his skin is mostly unblemished and pristine. It's as if his old work out regiment decided not to betray him just because he fell off for a month or two. And instead of feeling self-conscious, Till is too busy staring.
Which is exactly what Ivan wants, obviously.
It's all the more obvious with how he strides forward, likely fighting the pangs of pain in his hip and spine to climb into the bath in such a slow and sensational way. Till has to force himself to shut his mouth, ducking his head down when Ivan pats the space in front of him. His face is burning again, so much he feels a bit dizzy, but when he looks down all he can see is... well, the fact that he is very aware of how attractive Ivan is now. "Y-yeah!" The pitch is a bit high, but he pretends not to notice as he undoes his own pants jerking everything down in one quick motion. It kind of feels like he made a mistake saying they should just bathe together. Kind of feels a little dangerous.
But he climbs in all the same, purposely making sure to angle himself in the way of the faucet, pulling his knees up to give Ivan space. But it isn't a tub meant for two people, so he still feels his thighs against Ivan's calves, especially because unlike Till, Ivan is relaxed. While Till has himself drawn up, Ivan is at ease, completely comfortable with himself and the exposure... which makes sense. It's not like Till ever thought he had much to be self-conscious of, but somehow, he feels a bit inadequate next to Ivan. He always knew Ivan was stronger and taller, and all around just larger than him, but he hadn't realized just how much.
Yeah, this is dangerous.
He chews at his bottom lip again, eyeing Ivan from across the bath. But maybe he's not the one in danger here. Because, unfortunately, ever since he finally let himself look at Ivan, it's like he hasn't been able to look away. And sure, Ivan always said he wanted to be seen, but did he really think on just how that might be? Probably not like this.
Till presses his hands on the porcelain frame just beside Ivan's shoulders on both sides, staring him down. "You're so fucking unfair." The water ripples from the droplets already falling from his hair as he leans back down to kiss Ivan again. They've got some time before the water goes cold.
Oh, he really is so cute.. His Till is just so adorable he could just bite those red cheeks! "Yeah, it's really normal to feel this way. It makes you happy, doesn't it?" It's a rhetorical question, one that he has asked himself multiple times recently. When he feels he's not normal, he has to be reminded that everything is okay. The word vomit is not lost on him at all and just fuels his love filled heart.
Before he can say anything further though, those calloused hands are then grabbing his face and then he's (awkwardly) getting kissed. The teeth clashing does hurt slightly but it's nothing compared to the sheer joy he feels upon getting kissed. Maybe teasing can get him even more kisses in the future. Ivan makes a mental note of that.
The unfinished confession (?) pulls at his heart strings. It has to be him. Till said it had to be Ivan. No one else. He repeats it several times in his head as he kisses back. A lump forms in his throat and behind his closed eyelids, they start to get wet but he swallows it down briefly. As the water continues to heat up, Ivan wastes no time on getting his hands all over Till's body. He holds him so closely, on hand on his lower back and the other squeezing his thigh.
Ivan hums satisfyingly into the kiss. No matter if Till is experienced or clumsy, he welcomes all the smooches he can get. His snaggletooth catches on bruised lips and he lets his tongue wipe gently across to soothe the spot. "You're so cute." He chuckles before letting Till breathe and runs kisses down his jaw to his throat and finally collarbone. "I'm always yours. In every lifetime, every universe, I'm yours." He then lets the hand on Till's lower back run up and down his spine, then slipping past the waistband to tease.
A part of him has to wonder if risking the kiss is worth it when those hands start to roam. It's one thing when they aren't on a timer, but with the water running, just behind them, it's kind of important not to get too caught up the moment. Worse still, his brain is already muddled with all the things they've already gotten up to, which means there's definitely more (because Ivan hinted at more, right? There's gotta be even more that they can do!). And education is very, very, very important. And... yeah, he's lost the mark again. The goal post is moving like Ivan's hand down his bare back, the heat drawing a pathway he can't quite trace.
Why does his hand keep going... there?
The tinge of blood on the tip of Ivan's tongue does nothing to dissuade him, after all, he had practically been on track to raw his own damn lips, but it's the words that follow that earn a response. "Wha- There's nothing cu-uuuhh..." Wasn't the goal to kiss Ivan stupid? Guess it's another one of the nine out of ten. God dammit. His head is tipping back at the mouth leaving hot trails across already well-trodden territory. He no doubt has bruises a plenty peppering his jawline and throat, but the addition of his bare collarbones earns a small yelp, one echoed again as hot fingers slide beneath his waistband a second time.
Sure, they can do it again, but should they? He doesn't have enough of a brain left in his head to really contemplate that, especially when it's too fixated on why Ivan keeps grabbing his ass. It's not that he's against it. Actually, from the looks of it, he seems pretty game for whatever is going to happen, which is kind of embarrassing, all things considered. It's probably not normal to go from never experiencing a boner before to two in one day within the span of about an hour, but who knows, maybe this is his body's apology for lagging behind. Kind of. Or maybe it's just another betrayal because Ivan is saying things that make his stomach do more of those little flips.
He threads his fingers back up through Ivan's hair, kissing along the shell of his ear, mostly because it's all he can reach from his angle. But it feels nice, the tickle of dark slightly-curled hair against his nose when he edges closer. Ivan smells great even without a bath. There's that basic shampoo they've all gotten to using, but mostly, it's the underlayer of his sweat that really seals the deal. His natural scent is probably the only thing more familiar than his hands. It's something he's taken note of ever since they were kids, noticed it change as they aged, but it's always had an unmistakable tinge to it that let Till know exactly who was in the room, who had been in his room. Back then, he used to smell Ivan on his clothes when they'd get into fights, roll around with each other in the grass until someone split them up or until Ivan took pity on him (especially when Ivan ended up being the one with a bigger build in the end). And even on his worst day, he could remember waking up to that scent filling his room. He had been through Hell that night and somehow ended up waking up practically in Ivan's arms, definitely face first in his neck, inhaling that soothing scent.
"Bath's... gonna overflow." He's mumbling as he reaches back to grab Ivan's wrist, using his other hand to support himself so the two of them don't just go tumbling off the bathroom side stool. As a little revenge, he tugs Ivan's hair as he leans back, pouting a bit. "Time's up." And while it's a little awkward, obviously, he manages to shuffle off of Ivan's lap, ignoring his, uhm, pants problem to turn off the tab because they last thing they need is Hyuna dragging their asses for wasting water. Though, they technically are saving water by bathing together, so... she shouldn't be too mad.
He feels the temperature, giving an approving nod before turning back to Ivan. "You first." Not that he's waiting too long to start taking off his own pants because it's a little restricting, and really, can he pretend to be modest when he's the one with a mess half up his chest and stomach? Though, maybe he should be a little more embarrassed about the situation. It's not like they've ever bathed together before, but it just... kind of makes sense, right?
Xóchitl doesn't mind the scales across Shui's cheeks and doesn't see him in any kind of different light but he's grateful for the consideration that they may hurt a bit. While it's true that Xóchitl is the one that woke him up and needs him to fulfill his vengeance, Shui is free to leave whenever he wants. Of course he'd be upset but if Shui had decided to disappear completely, there would be nothing he could do to keep him. So, to have him repeat what he's said again even after their fight, it made it more real in a way.
The sword itself, he realizes, seems to have some type of tether to Shui and though the memory is blurry, he does recall seeing the sword flying around. It's nice to know that the sword approved of him.
What changed? Just last night Shui had looked at him with regret and anger. Now, he's laughing and being so... gentle. He doesn't ask. Not yet. They have tomorrow, he can ask then. For now, he lets Shui get close, dabbing at his still healing wounds. Doesn't he find him dirty? Then again.. Shui is not a stranger to violence so who's he to say he should be disgusted?
Xóchitl flinches slightly at the tender touch on his bruises and closes his eyes. If he was in better condition, most should have healed by now. The smallest cuts have already been closed but the larger ones (specifically his head and where the chains were) are taking longer. Nevertheless, he nods at the question. "A bath sounds nice... but, I can't really feel my legs." He looks shyly, maybe guilty, about being a burden. "I'm.. going to need some help."
Here in the room, covered in a robe, he feels warm and safe. The thought of Shui seeing him completely bare though, makes his anxiety spike. Sure, he must have seen him when he walked in on him and his captor but Xóchitl was unconscious. Now, he's more awake with enough sense to be just a little scared. No, he doesn't think Shui will do anything like that man but can you blame him for still being uneasy when exposed?
In the back of his mind he fights with himself. Xóchitl doesn't want to let that memory tarnish everything he's done so far. He wants to feel free to dress as he had previously, not be afraid to show off his midriff even in the comfort of his temporary home. On the other hand, having clothes on gives him a sense of security and safety. He bites his lip but sticks to needing the help.
It might be unsettling for Xóchitl to witness the sudden whiplash of personalities, but to Shui, it's completely natural, like giving into any impulse. He feels no anger or distain toward the other, and if anything, he feels their views may very well align after what he witnessed. It's a calming kind of clarity that's washed over him. And to a degree, it's as if he's only now truly seeing Xóchitl for who he is. While the being that had released him wore the same face, he carried a very human disposition. The disconnect continued on into the following nights with the hotel room and the club. It's only after seeing Xóchitl bloody his hands that he feels as if he's finally encountered a being such as himself.
The defeat in Xóchitl's voice makes him shake his head. "I had no intention of leaving you alone. I may not know what you endured, but I imagine either from the repeated head trauma... or perhaps, poison?" Shui tips up the other's chin, observing the dilation of his pupils. The sizing is similar, thankfully, yet they aren't their natural size nor are they simply responding to the stimulation of lights. While he isn't well-versed in medication, he's seen the effects of poisons before whether ingested or otherwise. It seems less to edge on the side of trauma, again: thankfully.
He lowers his hand only scoop Xóchitl up into his arms again with the utmost care. It wouldn't be too difficult to balance him with one arm, but he imagines that might be a bit much for the other to endure with all the bruising and still healing wounds. It's best not to jostle him too much as he heads into the adjoining restroom, frowning at the lack of a proper bath. The size of it is certainly lacking in his opinion, but it's the functionality of it that makes him pause as he settles Xóchitl on the edge. Shui goes about fiddling with the knobs, brow raised as the water comes out cold, then growling when it comes out from overhead, before ignoring it all together and simply shoving a hand into the porcelain frame and supplying the water himself. Steam rises from the water near immediately as it fills to the brim.
He then pauses, turning back toward Xóchitl. Initially, he moves to tuck both hands into his robes, but only finds that obviously he's missing his outer robe, and thus has only a more tight fitted under robe on that lacks the flowing sleeves he's used to in times like these. Meaning, Shui can only cross his arms, lips pursed as he considers his next course of action.
But it's obvious enough. He's the one who dressed Xóchitl after all. Why would he expect Xóchitl to be able to comfortably undress himself with all those wounds? Shui kneels in front of the other, reaching for the tied sash, pulling it free, but not yet sliding the robe off of him. He hesitates, glancing up. "Would you like to undress after I help you into the water? While I have no ill-intention with you, I imagine you might have... reservations."
"I have to disagree. Some people are abandoned by their parents. Other die from starvation or in cold in an alleyway because they have no homes. I meant more meta-phyiscal way anyways. When you die. It is just you. No one will be able to face that cold embrace but, yourself. I just think people cling to their connection far...FAR too much. I think most people are afraid to be alone."
"Well, if you put it that way, I guess you're right."
She gives a shrug, arms crossing. "I mean, what's the point in being scared though? It's just a part of life. If something has a beginning, it has an ending. If you lived your life the way you wanted, who cares how you die? It shouldn't be you. You're dead." Definitely the view of someone who's been desensitized to death. "What about you, do you fear dying alone? Or do you just think you can't die?"
By now, he understands that there is no real anger behind the hisses and shouts. It just makes him nuzzle into Till further. A big comparison to their childhood where they punched and kicked without any questions. Ivan didn't grow up with any love until he met Till but even then, when you're forced to grow up in the slums without the proper social skills, he was bound to make things more difficult. Anakt Garden did not make this any better and neither did his guardian.
With the help of Till and the rebellion, he's been able to adjust and convey his emotions more properly. Was it perfect? No, far from it actually but, it's enough. Years of trauma won't go away so easily even with love. But, he knows that there's progress when Till doesn't push him away, when Ivan is able to be around other people without putting on his mask, and being closer to his family unlike before.
If he had ears and a tail, no doubt they'd be wagging like crazy right now as he looks at Till's blushing cheeks. He just loves to see Till be riled up. Ivan loves that he has this affect on his lover. What he doesn't expect is for Till to take him seriously. It makes him pause. He only said that to see what he would say but is he actually considering it? Nevertheless, his reaction makes Ivan laugh with endearment.
"Once a day?" It's not all that surprising considering what Till has been through. If he wasn't in the garden, he was locked up, if he wasn't in either, he was pulled around in the bars by Urak and the other parties. The memory leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He hums at the fingers grazing his neck. "I've done a lot of careful research for this, Till. Here at the rebellion? We're not the only ones, you know."
Now, he hasn't asked specific questions of how sex works but he's heard enough around the base to understand certain things. Not to mention what he's read before in classic literature. "People have done this multiple times a day. Humans back on the old Earth did it with the same gender too so.. it's not just for men and women." It was the segyein that forced everything to go back to old times for mating and birthing products. Not for love. Not for freedom.
At first, Ivan thought he was broken when he first started having feelings towards a boy. A small crush then grew into love and obsession. He felt like a parasite, a monster, a predator. It ached knowing Till would never love him back because that is not how this world works.
Till liked Mizi.
Boy likes Girl.
Normal.
The chains have been broken now. Ivan leans up just enough to give a quick peck to Till's lips. "People do it for love. Desire. Passion. Like us. I would like to explore that with you. If you want to?"
Not the only ones? At first, he wants to ask what that means exactly. Not the only ones who what? Have sex? (It was sex, right? They totally did it... right?) Or were they not the only ones who were... uh, not normal? Obviously Mizi and Sua were here, so that checked the boxes for the other side of the spectrum. No matter how he looked at Mizi over the years, it had never crossed his mind to want to kiss her, let alone have sex with her. And he had always been aware that she loved Sua. Not that he ever truly put two and two together to realize homosexuality was a possibility. Case point: Ivan. Even now, he didn't really know how to label what the two of them were doing. They were just all... weird. It didn't have a name that he knew because all he had ever been taught was the general biological stance of men and women, and sex between the two. But then again, when the craze of kissing had gone around the Garden, he hadn't really understood it. You couldn't get pregnant from kissing, so what was the point? Back then, sure, no idea. Now... well, he really wished he had given Ivan that adoption day present when they were teenagers and figured out just how nice kissing is.
The fleeting brush of lips against his own with those words make his heart swell. His face is still burning, the heat making the drumming in his ears return full force as he mulls it over. He's getting that twitchy embarrassed look on his face again, eyes flicking over, down, then up as he tugs at his own lip between his teeth. It's really not fair for Ivan to spring this on him after making him cry for an hour on their bedroom floor, but, in a way, he had brought it on himself by coming to Ivan in need of a distraction. And what did he think would happen when he asked his touch-starved lover best friend to kiss him?
"So... it's normal... feeling like this?" He's gnawing his already raw lip all the more; turning the reddened, chapped bottom lip into a throbbing bruise. "I mean, like... I... Well, what I mean is... I guess, I... umm..." It comes out in a rush again as Till ducks his head down. "If I did this with anyone it would obviously be you like what the fuck." Only once he's freed himself of the word vomit, does he peek up through his sweaty fringe, just barely taking in the look on Ivan's face before shutting him up immediately.
No teasing. Not this time.
His hands slip from around Ivan's shoulders and instead come forward to grab either side of his face and crash their mouths together. Yes, their teeth knock briefly, but Till is still getting the hang of the fact that the best way to shut Ivan up is to kiss him silly. And while nine times out of ten that backfires, he's willing to bet on the one out of ten that he might kiss the guy so stupid that he'll forget to be an insufferable know-it-all. Cause let's face it, you can love a guy as much as you wanna kick his ass.
It's only between the kiss that he manages a breathless, "It has to be you, Ivan... No one else could ever..." Make me feel this way. Not yet.
It feels like the last suffocating link to that basement has finally been lifted as the broken chains and cuffs fall onto the floor. He can breathe a little easier now. The gentle tone of his voice surprises him to say the least. It makes his heart skip a beat and melt into fondness. Is this the same person he met the other day? And as he stares into blue eyes, he feels tenderly cared for, so unlike the hungry thirsty eyes of his captor.
The coolness does wonders to his healing wounds and he notices Shui's human-like hands. It's nice. To another person, the icy temperature may have been off-putting but to Xóchitl, it was more comforting than anything else. Maybe it was because his body felt on fire or because it's so different from the memories of human heat. He doesn't respond right away on why he was apologizing. Instead, he watches Shui with curiosity and anticipation.
Both of them left things on bad terms and maybe both were at fault. Shui was right though. What use was it to dwell on what's already happened?
He has a million questions to ask. How did he find him? Why did he rescue him? Why treat him so tenderly after they disagreed on so many views? Perhaps in this moment, they're just two mythical beings finding solace in each other in a world full of critical violent humans. Or maybe that's only Xóchitl's reasons.
Xóchitl's heart continues to beat fast. Is it fear? Is it nervousness? It's confusing. It can't be fear as he doesn't feel any instincts to push him away but then again, he didn't feel that way about the guy at first either. However, Shui has proven himself, hasn't he? He's real. Genuine. Not even touching him completely as he lay in only a robe underneath him and leaving only a butterfly of a kiss on his dirty bloodied hand.
Shui's hair tunes out the world around them. The light only shines through thinly, illuminating just enough to make out their features. The hand that's lifted up moves to brush against Shui's cheek. He smiles back, getting teary and nods.
"Only if you let me continue to travel with you too and prove myself to you."
Considering his own touch is welcome, he has no reason to reject the other's, allowing that hand to gently caress his own cheek. The scaling catches on those already bruised fingers, but he flairs them out before smoothing them flush to his own skin to ease the abrasiveness. While he's taken to having more humanoid hands, Shui has no desire to completely absolve his more base form. It might be a sight and a feel easier to stomach for humans, but it isn't his truth, and he's never been one to shy from what is and isn't real. Shui isn't human. Not anymore.
He tips his cheek into that battered palm, letting the feverish heat of it cool against his skin. His lashes thread into one another, hiding away his rather intense attentions, giving the other a brief reprieve. Letting his hand sweep up from Xóchitl's wrist to just barely brush along his fingertips, Shui gives a low trill in his throat.
"You needn't ask for what is yours." The response may seem cryptic, but the meaning is very simple. Shui has told Xóchitl on more than one occasion that if Xóchitl truly needed him, he would remain. The events of the day are more than enough proof. Xóchitl is a being of vast emotions not tethered by humanity's constructs of morality. He exists as himself and acts as his emotions direct him. It's the exact kind of way Shui believes beings such as themselves should live, governed purely by their own personal desires and not by the laws of humans. They exist outside of humanity, above it even, and thus, they are ungovernable.
"I will stay at your side as long as you have use for me. I will lend you my sword in your time of need until you deem it unnecessary. Whether you prefer for me to wield it, or if you would simply like to use it yourself. It was fond of your hands." He gives the hand in his own a gentle squeeze to prove his point, laughing lightly, as he withdraws, tucking said hand back against Xóchitl's chest. It's hard not to appraise his appearance a touch: the darkened outer robe is ill-fitting on his smaller frame, all but puddling around him at the chest and hips, falling in waves along his forearms. There are cuts and bruises lining his wrists, ankles, throat.
He reaches to gently take the edge of his own robe, a pure white, dampening it with his own abilities enough so to dab at the blood caked in Xóchitl's lashes. It immediately blooms a light pink the more he rubs away, going from the eye socket up the brow bone, but pausing at where the wound has loosely scabbed. Instead, he adjusts the sleeve in his hand to a clean spot to remove the rivet of dried blood running from Xóchitl's cheek to his chin. "Could you stomach a bath? A fresh change of clothes?" He drops his sleeve, brushing the hair back from Xóchitl's forehead, feeling the heat pouring off of him. "Maybe rest proper afterward?"
Any other time he would have loved the praise, especially from the other considering how closed off he was, but in this moment everything just feels.. blank. He just makes a small noise of acknowledgement, still staring at the bloodied gore in front of him. Don't get him wrong, he has no regrets on what he's done. The bastard deserved it. And in the long run, he might have saved other poor future victims as well and they might not have been as lucky as him. Not that it's possible at all but if he sees even one twitch that the guy is still alive, he'll crush it like an insect.
Thankfully, he doesn't have to think on that any further because he's then carefully lifted up into Shui's arms. Xóchitl's arms rest between them, one of his hands resting on Shui's chest. Faintly, he can feel the heartbeat and it's grounding in the moment. He almost missed his real name. When he hears it, he has a split second of clarity because this was.. an unexpected opening. He gives a small smile then nuzzles underneath the other's neck, whispering "Shui..." just to feel how it sounds on his tongue.
Soon as they are outside, Xóchitl squints at the area around, vision still hazy but he can feel the breeze against his cheek and there's a pleasant scent of fresh rain coming. When Shui places his hand over his ear, he takes this as a sign to relax and allows himself to listen to the abnormal heartbeat of his companion. There's a muffled rumbling and some other noise but he doesn't bother to focus on it.
Instead, he falls back asleep to the lull of the peaceful walk. His tail unconsciously wraps around the other's waist, a comfort and a need to be closer.
At times like these, it would be nice to have an actual home to go to but it just hurts too much. For a hotel that constantly changes, the memories don't stay so it's easier to live and move on. Never to stay in one place.
Xóchitl stays asleep until they're both back at the hotel and he's placed back on the bed. He'll have to pay extra to keep the staff quiet about all the blood staining the blankets. Speaking of stains.. he must look awful. Disheveled. Cuts and bruises littering his body. Exhausted. His wrists are still a painful red and so are his ankles. It's taking longer for his body to recover, no thanks to the drugs still in his system.
Fingers grip onto the blood stained robe around his figure, pulling it closer to his body. Xóchitl stares at the carpet, not wanting to move. He can still feel those hands on his skin and he needs a shower. He knows he needs a shower. Clean away the filth. Scrub away the grime. Erase the memories. But he can't move. Doesn't want to move. Without looking up, he speaks up softly, a slight slur and quiver. "Shui.. I'm.. I'm so sorry. I'm really sorry."
The hotel staff welcomes them wordlessly, as if they know it best to simply avert their gazes, and that quiet follows them through their trek up their stairs (thankfully, few people opt for stairs nowadays). It's silence aside from the echo of his footsteps resounding off the closed stairwell, and when they arrive to their room again, he refrains from simply tearing the door away again. But only just so.
The bed is likely a lost cause. Even if the blood itself has become a flaked, cakey mess on most of Xóchitl's limbs and seeped in staining on his robes, there's no doubt the slightest hint of sweat will hydrate it enough to further ruin the sheets. Not that Shui cares. But as he settles on the edge of the bed, carefully breaking the remaining cuffs on Xóchitl's ankles, he listens the the trembling voice just above him.
"What are you apologizing for?" His voice is free of all hostility, if anything, it's the most casual and pleasant he's ever sounded to the other. There's even a hint of content to it as he leans over the other, taking each wrist carefully in between his own to remove the cuffs and gently cool the feverish wounds. He's made a point of shedding his claws and scales again for soft palms, likely a more comforting touch. His body temperature is more akin to ice again, not enough so that his breath is visible, but enough that it might be a bit jarring to realize he isn't a hardened corpse.
"You did well." Shui releases his wrists to reach for the chained collar, finally pulling it free to discard on the floor with the rest of the bindings. His fingers trace along the marks, barely ghosting over where his nails had dug in the night prior. "I imagine I should be the one apologizing... if I had only stayed with you, perhaps." But he doesn't go on, simply pressing his hand into the bed nearest Xóchitl's head, the other weighing down somewhere near his hip, not quite touching anymore. A web of hair falls over his shoulder, obscuring the bedside lamp, as he peers down at the other; that unnatural brightness is gone from his eyes, allowing the hint of blue to show properly. It's a clear aquamarine, much different from the stark white of his more manic expressions.
"But going on like that is useless. We had no need for apologies between us. I will simply do better in the future. If you allow me." The hand nearest Xóchitl's hip lifts to gently take one of his bloodied hands, drawing it up to his lips. His touch is barely there, a feathering lightness against the dried grime.
It takes a few seconds for him to come to. Eyes having trouble concentrating but all he sees is a blur. But, there's a warmth now on his shoulders and a familiar color of a calming blue. There's screaming. It's not him. There's red everywhere. Blood? His or...? He stares at Shui, eyes still unfocused. However, there's a familiar pull to the aura around them. A comfort. Somehow, he knows he's safe and his god is here.
A small whimper escapes his lips as he starts to sit up. His entire body hurts and he doesn't even want to imagine what transpired while he lay unconscious. How long has he been here? Hours? Days? The screaming in the background is annoying. "J-Jian..ying?" His voice doesn't feel like it's coming out of his mouth. Oh, it really is him, isn't it? It's not a hallucination? A shaky hand comes to caress Shui's cheek until his green eyes switch the focus to the noise in the background.
That despicable man won't stop screaming. Blood still oozing out of his wrists where hands should be. That's right. This man. The memories come in small pieces and nothing but hatred and disgust fill his emotions.
Without thinking much further, he pushes himself up, grabbing Shui's sword at the same time and on wobbly legs, makes a beeline straight to the man. He's still screaming. "Why don't you just shut up?" he slurs. Teeth now baring like the wild animal that he is. If this is what the man wants? To have an wild animal he tried to tame? Then he'll have to deal with the consequences, won't he?
Before giving the man even a split chance to respond, he brings the sword down hard into the man's stomach. He cries out in pain but Xóchitl isn't done. "You disgusting piece of shit! How does it feel to be betrayed by your beloved 'pet'?!" Another stab into his leg. Another scream.
"Want me to sew your hands back together? Say I'm sorry? Call you Master?" A stab to the shoulder. How many screams is it now?
"You said I'm not a person so, it doesn't matter right?!"
Shui was right. Humans will just look at you as if you're nothing but a speck. A household pet. Cute and cuddly. Who is cute and cuddly now? Xóchitl yells in anger, stabbing everywhere that he can. Blood sprays everywhere, even on himself but he doesn't care. If he wants a monster, he'll get a monster. All the pain subjected to his body and mind, he'll pay back tenfold. "I hope you know that demons are real. Didn't that occur to you? I'm sure they're waiting for you. Hungry. Starving for a rotten soul like yours. They do love their humans as pets too you know. Maybe they'll even get you a cute bell collar." And with that, he lands a final stab into his head, stabbing it over and over and over again until the sword in his hand is covered in gore and blood.
The body underneath him is mutilated upon recognition. This is what Xóchitl is. How could he have forgotten?
After what seemed like forever, the adrenaline wears off. The sword falls to the ground along with him as his knees hit the pavement. He laughs at the bloodied pile of gore until the laughter fades into a quiet sob.
"Jianying.. please take me home." Xóchitl says in a whisper. He doesn't care what happens to the body. Let the cops find it. Let it rot here for weeks for all he cares. Let it be a warning. Maybe he can lit the house on fire and destroy all the evidence? Wouldn't that be nice?
The touch startles him, eyes wide all the while, but he doesn't shy away from it, simply watching in a somewhat guarded way... waiting for the ball to drop. Clearly Xóchitl is still not fully aware of the situation. The lack of focus in his eyes is more than enough to convey that, but there's something near its breaking point with each twitch of his eyes at the buzzing noise in the background.
And oh, he had forgotten the human. The screaming only comes into the foreground again as Xóchitl takes his abandoned blade and begins striding forward on shaken legs. The remnants of the cuffs on his ankles sound against the concrete as if announcing his advance, and Shui finds himself rising as if mesmerized by what may or may not transpire. He feels the way the blade sinks in, a shiver running up his spine and causing him to slash his tail across the pavement. Each cut sings through him making the brightness catch in his eyes. There's no way Xóchitl could have known his sword's spiritual connection, but through the bond, he feels every blow thrill through him. It's the same sort of swell of pleasure that he used to feel watching his followers tear through their enemies on the battlefield, the rush of blood, the crack of bone. And the pure rage flowing through Xóchitl leaves him in awe, simply enamored as he witnesses the messy display of raw emotion.
It's only once Xóchitl crumbles to the pavement that Shui is drawn from his role of spectator back into the moment. He settles behind the other, appraising his work as he gently slides his hands around Xóchitl's waist to tie the sash around his own outer robe draped over the other. Once it's bound enough to preserve his modesty, Shui gives a light hum, hugging him loosely. "You did well, Xóchitl. I could hear your soul singing. I thought I might never hear such a beautiful sound again."
But surely, those aren't the words he wants to hear now. He's done well to offer Shui a sight that scarcely exists in the world now, an act of true vengeance acted out with nothing more than passion fueling it. He never would have thought Xóchitl capable of it before, but this is proof enough that the same rage that carried him through centuries still exists today. Wars are fought in a much different way, a more private way, but they still exist.
With care, Shui slips his hands beneath Xóchitl's knees, pulling him up against his chest, cradling his upper body close. "My birth name is Shui." The mangled sword floats upward, swirling around a few times with the twirl of his fingertip, freeing itself of the excess gore as it soaks up the excess blood. It seems to carry a brighter shine, the blade back to being a pristine snow white as it soars back toward the pair, sliding into the sheath at Shui's hip. "Feel free to call me by that name." He casually steps through the mess of a corpse, purposely making sure to crush the rest of the man's skull beneath his heel as he ascends the staircase.
The blade makes quick work of each door in their path, cutting through effortlessly until they've made a way to the outside world again. The sun is beginning to sink into the horizon painting the world in the same shades Xóchitl has painted his robes; an array of reds and purples, all bleeding into the blackness. He smiles at Xóchitl, pressing him nearer his chest, one hand sliding up to cover one of his ears, letting the other muffle sound against his chest as the house behind them is engulfed in a white flash of light before abruptly catching ablaze. A soft rumble echoes after. People begin shouting in the distance, but he casually adjusts his hand's position, continuing to walk without a second thought. He imagines the hotel from before would be home, so that's where they'll go. And no one will stop them, of course.
[tw; kidnapping, abuse, drug abuse, sexual abuse, stalking, etc., basically please don't read if you have anything that really makes you uncomfortable about extremely dark topics.]
Was that all he is?? A spectacle? An animal?? The words sting and he feels ashamed. About what exactly? About who he is? Because he isn't a human? Because he let his guard down? And now he's here, subjected to whatever this guy wants to do.
However, all that fight in him leaves for a second when he's brought harshly onto the pavement. The impact leaves a scratch across his cheek and it stings. Without getting a break, he feels his tail being pulled and he does make pained noises, trying to kick at the guy with no avail. It hurts his back so painfully and at one point he tries to smack him with his tail but the grip is strong.
This is humiliating.
Xóchitl stares at the camera, fear and anger evident on his face yet with the drugs still kicking, his eyes droop. He's still fighting to stay awake. At the mention of the cops, he can't help but believe him. Yeah, they really wouldn't care, would they? It's happened before. He's just an animal. A cat. No one will bat an eye. Why did no one speak up as they saw him walk out of the bar? Why didn't anyone say anything??
When the man closes in to put his disgusting hands over Xóchitl's body, this time he takes the opportunity to bite the hand as hard as he can when it got too close to his mouth. Satisfied that it leaves a mark and starts to bleed. He smirks, a win. "Fuck you." He whispers before Wang smacks him hard enough to push him back down to the floor. He spits out some blood onto the pavement. The man then grabs a fistful of hair and brings him face to face.
"That is not how you treat your Master~! Don't you know the saying 'don't bite the hand that feeds you?'"
At that, he spits blood onto his face, successfully making the man cry out in disgust and surprise, effectively dropping him back down. Oh, he's done it now, it seems. Still, he can't help but grin because there's no way he's going down without a fight even with all these shackles. But what he doesn't take into consideration is how effective the drugs are and it's getting harder to stay awake.
"Don't worry," the guy says while wiping the blood. "You'll get used to this. You just need to be disciplined and domesticated. It won't be that hard." Wang grabs a cloth from nearby, one covered in dirt, and shoves it into Xóchitl's mouth then tying it around so he doesn't bite anymore. Xóchitl struggles against him but with how weak his body is and constricted, he can only let it happen. The glare he sends the other's way should be enough to kill a man.
"Now that that's taken care of, why don't you be a good boy and stay right there while I bandage this up? Hm?" He laughs, taking a few steps away to clean up his bleeding hand. This is a souvenir after all. Bitten by the one and only idol! People will be jealous!
Xóchitl still struggles with the chains, trying desperately to slip out or make his skin so raw it gets slippery enough to slip threw. With the limited oxygen he finds his vision going in and out. The blood from his bleeding cheek inside his mouth coats the cloth in blood. It tasted awful. He lets his head hang, exhausted but still jerks trying to show his resistance. It doesn't help that his back still aches from his tail being pulled. He feels disgusting. A phantom of hands roaming everywhere on him. Must stay awake..
Before his vision goes dark, he can make out the man's shoes come back closer. He's saying something but he can't hear. If only he listened to Shui...
Although he hadn't been in the best mood when they parted, the distance has done him well. Self-reflection had always been a core value of his upbringing. Perhaps, he had forgotten somewhere along the way just how cruel the world had made him. Once upon a time, surely, he had much more patience with others, held his tongue longer, humored views he disagreed with. It's hard to say if the years in confinement had ruined his temper or if something else had been simmering just beneath the surface, but regardless, he's found peace in nature. No matter how the world changes, flowers still bloom, birds still sing, and water still flows. It's away from humanity's cities that he calms his mind and finds himself wanting to apologize properly, make amends for his ill manners.
But Xóchitl hasn't called for him...
And Xóchitl doesn't call for him. Not that night. Not even that morning.
Time passes as Shui waits in the woodlands skirting the city, finally calmed enough to revert to his more humanoid form, but not so accommodating that he's concealed his inhumanity entirely. His tail lashes sluggishly as he lazes beside the river, one hand submerged in the water, the other tucked beneath his cheek, hair fully wild and loose.
If Xóchitl would only call for him already, he might be able to show him this wonderful place. If only...
But the call comes wordlessly, a singing in his blood, something that cools him to the bone. It flashes behind his eyes like a thunderclap, the smash of a head into pavement. And he moves without question, drawing himself to the source. Blood sacrifices aren't uncommon with the holy and unholy. Just as demons sign their contracts in blood with those they grant the wills of... so do gods. He's taken many a blood pact with the wishes of his followers. Their very souls tethered to his consciousness allowing him to seek them out on the battlefield and grant them the strength to overcome adversity. It's an ancient ritual, and often times, it requires far more than a few drops of blood. Sometimes, not even the blood of the one praying, but a little's enough.
He descends the stairs as if he's nothing more than a haunt, barely taking in the scene before him: Xóchitl strown across the floor, a stranger between his bare thighs, half undressed himself, laughing. There's blood painting the concrete just beside the pair, a clean splatter. More blood droplets pepper the ground here and there, but none is as damning as the splash of red running down Xóchitl's chin, seeping into his gag. He's likely been struck multiple times from the looks of it, some oozing from a gash across his forehead making opening one eye a bit difficult.
His soul is calling. And Shui answers.
His methods are hardly pretty, but his initial thought is simple. Those hands are touching what they have no right to touch, thus, those hands should be no more. He draws his blade and sweeps it cleanly between the two, severing both of Wang's hands at the wrists. There's an immediate spray of blood that comes seconds after he's kick the offending party out of the way. It paints the concrete in a spew spanning a few feet, and his screams come within seconds of him understanding what has happened. They're raw and shrill, but Shui ignores him, instead crouching beside Xóchitl. He reaches back to pull the chains free from the waterlines of the house's foundation, before removing his outer robe and fanning it out across Xóchitl's bare shoulders. He gently pulls the gag from between Xóchitl's clenched teeth. His hands hover, not yet giving into the desire to touch directly.
Xóchitl watches as Shui disappears and he's left alone in the cold night. He rubs his neck, feeling the wetness of blood from the wounds. They'll heal soon enough so he doesn't bother to worry about it. Was there anything else he could have said or done to turn this around? It seems that the other is so set on his views of humans that they just can't see eye to eye. Lies? It's survival. It's trust. He's donned this disguise for a few years now and it has gained approval. Is that the problem?
It annoys him at most. If he could JUST take a chance.. Xóchitl isn't a human. Can't he trust him? It hasn't even been 24 hours. Well, it's no matter. If he doesn't believe his words, he'll show him. When Shui comes back he can see for himself that this world is different from the one he came from. Huffing out of annoyance, Xóchitl walks back into the club and sits at the bar.
He waves at some of the people from earlier, giving his best smile even if he didn't feel like it. The loud music still hurts his ears and a headache is on the verge of being full force. This is tiring. Just when he thought... maybe, he could have found someone that he could understand or connect with. Humans were nice but they weren't immortal like him. Xóchitl sighs, tracing shapes onto the counter until a man sits into the seat next to him. He really didn't want company right now but then again... maybe it'll take his mind off of Shui.
The man introduces himself as a fan and chats up about how inspiring Xóchitl is. He's flattered, truly and it improves his mood a bit. The man seemed genuine, with light in his eyes and animated hand gestures. He was average looking but he finds the company is nice and even laughs at some of the jokes, despite himself. It is then that the man orders them a drink and with a toast, they take a sip.
As they continue chatting, Xóchitl's head begins to get fuzzy. He always knew he was a light weight but it was only a few sips. Surely, it shouldn't be that fast, right? Maybe this wasn't a good idea. 'It's fine, Shui will come back and he can take me home.' is what he believes but after the fight they had... he'd be lucky. The man says something to Xóchitl that he can't really understand. Were the lights always this bright? The music is also so very loud. Louder than before. Why did they raise the bass?
The room is spinning now. This isn't good. He feels someone grab him by the waist and guiding him away from the bar. He follows, swaying slightly until he's leaning against the person. Where are they going? Once they make it out of the bar, the cold air hits but it does nothing to ease his drowsiness. After that, it's all a blur.
A car door opens. The scenery going by quickly, a mixture of colors and bright lights. A hand caresses his hair and his neck. Then, nothing.
The next time he wakes, it's dark. It's cold. His head hurts. Something is wrong. His vision is still hazy but when he looks around, he notices he's no longer at the bar. Xóchitl tries to get up only to find metal chains shackling him down. Chains around his neck, his wrists and ankles... Before he can think of why or where he is, he notices a figure come down a flight of stairs. The man from the bar.
Xóchitl struggles against the chains weakly. The man speaks, "You know, I was going to just have some fun with you and brag about getting with a local celebrity but once I realized your secret, I figured... why not take some pictures? That would make headlines~!"
He's not sure what the man means but it becomes clear very quickly that his human disguise has been broken. Not only that but he no longer had his clothes. This was a set up for humiliation. Xóchitl begs for him to be let go but the man only laughs and takes pictures of him shackled and naked. If he had the energy, he would bare his teeth, lunge at him but whatever was in his body kept him from doing so. What was in that drink?
The man was so genuine.. how? Usually he can sense malicious intent but not this time. Where even are they? The drugs make him sleepy but he tries his best to stay awake. The man has his pictures but who knows what else he'll do if he goes to sleep again. What an ironic twist of fate... Right after the fight, he tried to prove Shui wrong and only ended up proving him right. Xóchitl deserves this doesn't he...? He chuckles sadly under his breath, clenching his fist as best as he could, still trying to get free by pulling at the chains. No doubt his wrist are now red and raw. Foolish. Should have learned your lesson years ago.
[tw; kidnapping, abuse, drug abuse, sexual abuse, stalking, etc., basically please don't read if you have anything that really makes you uncomfortable about extremely dark topics.]
It was child's play to get Xóchitl from the bar to his basement, like seriously, did the guy have literally no sense of danger? Oh well! Lucky fucking day! Not only did he get to see one Hell of a concert, chat up his favorite talent that he's kind of been stalking online for years (kick out of the mainstream fan club because those losers had no idea what an absolute gem Xóchitl is, and couldn't understand the artistry of his posts, fucking losers), he even got to take the babe home after just a single spiked drink! He definitely had back up drugs prepped and ready if the guy wasn't such a lightweight, but phew! lucky, lucky, lucky! His name should just be Lucky. Because now, not only did he have Xóchitl right here with him, he's going to have tons of pictures for the future. Whatever happened after today, who cares! Best day ever!
Wáng cheerfully bounds down the stairs, swinging his phone strap around his finger, grinning ear to ear at his captive. "Gosh! I had no idea you were ever cuter! Ears and a tail, you're like a little cat boy. Makes me feel waaaay less bad about chaining you up and all. I mean you get it, it's not like you're actually a person." He stands out of reach (not like there's any reach with those cuffs, oh boy!) and squats down for a few good shots on his cellphone. "I totally thought something was freaky when I saw you chatting up that guy you brought, but damn, I lucked out when he dipped on you." Closing in, he reaches out snatching up his idol's chin, cupping it just right to get a better angle of his expression. "Those eyes are so cool! Like it's so wild that your eyes do all this fucking weird shit. I'm so excited to see what other shit your body can do."
It's the only real warning he gives before he let's go of Xóchitl's chin to grab the chain at his throat, jerking it forward to knock him off balance, laughing at the little pained sounds that come when he hits the pavement. "Aw, I figured you might like hiss or something. Boring. But wow, this, this is so neat!" He snaps another pic seconds before reaching down and snatching up the visible tail, jerking it this way and that way to see how he twitches or just how it attaches at all. Basically gawking. "Is it like... part of your spine? What the fuck. You really are like a cat. Can you meow?" And he's going on and on, rambling off all his observations. Then he's backing up to set up a tripod for his phone, laughing and turning it on to record. "What about purr? Hmm? Can you purr for me, Xóchitl~? I'm so excited. Now that I know you're more like a cat person, is it really even a crime? I mean, I figured I'd just do whatever then kill you when you got all weird about it, but Hell, not like the cops would care if I picked a cat off the street and brought it home, right? If I take care of you, I'm just a good owner. Holy shit! Call me Master or something!"
He's closing in again, hands already all over Xóchitl's ears and petting his hair, his arms, chest, stomach... And huh, all these scars definitely aren't cute, but the tattoos are! "You're gonna be so happy with me, Baby. I'll even get you a cute new collar with a little bell if you're good."
The hand at his throat (for the 3rd time???) is surprising and makes him pause in his speech. This is a man who's been burned too many times, it seems. The piercing gaze is enough to make a chill go down his spine. Truly, this was the wrong approach. There's a threat in those words and the hand around his throat. One more move and he could be ended.
This isn't enough to scare him into submission but it is enough to stop him from trying to bargain with the dragon. His mind goes a mile a minute, wondering what he can do to turn this around. Sooner or later, someone is going to see and he's worried about Shui's identity being revealed. Not only that but if Shui is angry enough, Xóchitl doesn't believe he'll be able to stop him from causing harm.
"Fine. I'm not going to ask you to living amongst humans. But I am asking you to at the very least try not to cause trouble." If he wants to parade around with his big fancy tail and pretty scales then fine. Xóchitl will just have to pretend it's all cosplay and hopes no one questions it. "I won't force you to look human like me. But if I am going to try and find the person who killed my family, then I need you to cooperate with me for the time being." His hand is covering the other's around his neck, gripping it tightly. Sure it's not pressing hard but it's still nerve wrecking to have your life in the hands of a angry former god. "Please."
A part of him should let Shui go back to his cave. Save the trouble but another part doesn't want to. The big part doesn't want to let him go. Maybe it's because this is the first other worldly being other than himself that he's met in a long time. Maybe he's lonely. Maybe he feels bad for the god. Maybe he's just too trusting but Shui is his responsibility and like hell is he going to just let him go like that.
The look in those vibrant eyes is foreign to him, a hollowed imitation of the deathly gaze that sought him out in his resting place. This is not the being who called for him, and somehow, that adds to his frustrations. His nails bite into the fragile flesh, a trickle of warmth creeping down at just the tips. Xóchitl is unknowingly trying his patience with nothing more than a look.
Shui scoffs at the request, leaning in. And even as he peers into those eyes, he feels nothing: no sympathy, no hatred. There's an absence of that same drive he felt when the two first encountered one another. The unbridled spiritual energies of a creature not of this world, an echo of his own history, something familiar... No. He is the only being here with no place. He is the only one who resists the conformity of humanity. Xóchitl is nothing like him. Never has been.
"Trouble?" The word does strike a nerve but rather than acting out, he abruptly draws his hand away, purposely flinging the bits of blood across Xóchitl's fitted tee. It seeps into the fabric seamlessly, not a drop visible against the stark black. Yet the red paints the fair tips of his claws a bright red, and if he really pays attention, he can see the faint tendrils of the same energy that awoke him from his slumber; the raw power hiding just beneath the surface. It's forcefully uncultivated, power wasted on someone unwilling to take what he is owed. Shui brings a claw to his own mouth, tasting the blood, giving it another piece of him to stain, to prove it exists. The puncture wound is hidden just as well beneath Xóchitl's turtleneck and array of jewelry. No one will know the wound exists besides the two of them... unless the other man is a liar.
"I have no intention of causing you anymore trouble, Xóchitl. I believe my presence has done more than enough." His hand drops, claws licked clean of any trace of blood. It isn't as if a blood sacrifice is anything new for a god. "Enjoy your humanity for the night. Revel in your lies. I will come for you when you decide to be honest. Simply call for me when the time comes, won't you? Until then."
And without another word, he simply steps back, and in the next moment, in a flurry of what almost feels like the beginnings of a storm, nothing remains. To most, it might sound as though there had been a burst of heat thunder, a crackle of lightning leaving a hint of ozone. There might even be a question of if it might begin to rain, the scent heavy in the air. But if they were to look up, something seems to creep into the sky, a streak of white. Almost the reverse of air to ground lightning. A dragon.
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