#bulwarkbolvirk

[coivi]

CONTINUED FROM HERE ║ @bulwarkbolvirk.

Not often would he find himself completely and unashamedly welcoming the simple touches and kisses, especially ones graciously placed to wide, toughened knuckles. Normally, Cyrus acted as the appeaser, but it was definitely appreciated by the way his lips rose up into a smile, his facial expressions softening to that of awed admiration at the burly, rugged figure of brawn and might. Still, less than a couple of hours ago, they were just friends. Bestfriends. But now, the two had shared a bed for the night, completely naked, with kisses being exchanged. This was going to become the best winter season Cyrus had ever lived in all the centuries he had passed on blindly through.

As Bolvirk sat up into a more comfortable position, the warlock could not help but allow his eyes to drift across his physique. That smooth supple skin, tan-like in nature. Cyrus' mind began to wonder then. Wonder when and if he could freely touch him now, to graze, caress and otherwise, simply touch, every fibre of his being. It was then, as he took in the sight of his stocky nature, that he began to take note of the various scarring that marred him. Most notably, the two marks on the right-side of his abdomen, the two at his left pectoral, and the scar on the brow. The latter he had known, it was a distinguishable feature that primarily made Cyrus believe, upon first meeting him, that Bolvirk was a toughened, resilient man. That statement was still true to this day, but now, he saw him in a whole new light: as the gentle giant he knew him for, one that would not hurt a fly whizzing around or a spider in its webbed home. Aside from the fact Cyrus was dangerously attracted to him on a primitive, physical and sexual kind of way, it was Bolvirk's heart and compassionate personality that wooed him. That made him want to curl up into him, pull up on these warm covers and waste the day away, kissing him, touching him, protecting him... loving him. Today seemed like the perfect day to do all of that; house chores could wait. If not, he knew he could utilise his magical capabilities to get the work done, without ever having to lift a finger. This dreaded storm just made him want to relax, and sleep, and zone out with a good book in his hand, or simply exchanging pleasant conversation with his best-friend, while appreciating his natural masculine beauty.

"Aye, I made it all this morning," he replied earnestly. "I hope you're hungry." He shook his head at the question and moved to sit opposite him, with the tray of food between them. "Not yet, I decided to wait so I'm gonna eat with you. Tuck in... please." Cyrus did just that. There was plenty of food to go around, but as an avid meat-eater, he immediately stuck a fork into a sizzling smoky sausage, brought it to up to sink his teeth into it. The exterior made a crispy crunching sound, it was seasoned perfectly, and it was the perfect temperature for it to be consumed. Over his long life, Cyrus had damn near perfected his skills in the kitchen. He had a lot of ingredients, both foreign and local, exotic spices and herbs, revolutionary recipes he had concocted out of pure boredom.

As he began on eating, his home howled with the wind. It was a chilling sound, but calming to his ears. Cyrus knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was perhaps one of the safest places in the world. A hurricane could blast through and not a single piece of stone from his home would be destroyed. Alas, with the day seemingly not getting any better, he thought out loud, swallowing the food in his mouth first before opening his mouth to speak. "Did you sleep well? I'm sorry if I snored." He was a soundless sleeper, but on the days he was void of energy, there was a chance he let out a few snores out of pure exhaustion.

[castafar]

continued from ╳ | @bulwarkbolvirk.

   Despite the fact his six-eight build was drenched from the rain, his clothes dripping wet onto a stone floor beneath his feet, he wasn’t actively looking to dry off as soon as both he and his friend had sought shelter at a quiet and quaint inn. Instead, he stayed by the window, looking through the murky haze of the torrential downpour. Natural storms calmed him. The ones he summoned were always much, much worse than this, so when Mother Nature deemed it fit to soak the land through, he found it weirdly comforting to whatever was left of his soul. Raiju breathed more easily. He felt more at peace.

   After some time, his attention reverted back to that of his current paramour, watching as wet fabrics were peeled from his dense, large musculature. There’s a glimmer in the hue of his eyes as he inspects the man, as he goes about building the fire and lighting the interior of the room for the night. But then, the attention comes back to him. As beckoned to, his arms cross, grab onto the hem of his linen shirt and pull, dragging the material upwards along a wide and slender torso. The smooth, tan skin of his body is still wet, but Raiju figures it’ll dry in time. He’s careless with his clothes, so it’s not unusual for him to have tossed the wet garment onto a nearby chair. He maintains eye contact as his hands come down to the front of his waist, to fumble and undo the knot of string that hold his leather and linen-made pants up. He had stolen it from a rich nobleman, but it was perhaps the only article of clothing that stretched well enough to accommodate the heft of his robust ass and his toned, tree-trunk thighs. The pants are of finer quality, so he’s careful to remove them, as well as his underwear. As he does so, carefully, he bares himself to his friend completely, turning his back to him to fold the fabrics over an iron railing to dry off.

   Naked as the day he arrived on this Earth, he makes his way across the room, coming up to Bolvirk and standing directly in front of him, his hands surge forth, collect the hem of the linen shirt and pull, to drag the material up, over and off him, to finally expose that tough, solid frame. His voice was deep, soft and sultry. “By the Gods, you truly are a gift,” Raiju commented with a soft grunt following, just as a hand grazes and cups the volume of a pec. It’s only brief, as he moved away to set the shirt to dry.

[coivi-a]

There was two sure things that Cyrus knew he loved to do: travelling, and getting to help protect the supernatural, mythical and abnormal creatures of the world. He had taken the journey in the search of a Kelpie — he had heard from a source that it appeared out of nowhere in one of Canadas many lakes  — and alas, preferring it to be kept secret, he had set up a campsite to stay for the next week or two, whilst he befriended the dangerous water creature. Days prior to arriving at his destination, he had wondered how it had arrived there and immediately got to looking through his books to re-kindle his memory on the lore. While he went about his research, he wondered if his friend and current lover, Bolvirk, wished to join him for the week. He was practically beaming with pride when they accepted the invitation, without a moment to spare.

It was a crisp, grey afternoon. He turned to look at the source of heat in the campsite and sighed, immediately coming to lower himself into a squat to begin placing more logs onto the fire. When he heard the grunt of his man rising from his slumber within the tent, he stood, dressed down to only his black flip-flops, boxer shorts that came down mid-thigh, and a white t-shirt that hugged his body in all of the right places, mainly his mid-section, arms and shoulders.

 “Hey there, beautiful,” he begins, shooting his partner a kind and fair smile, noting the sleepy expression on his face, he continued. “You look like you slept well, didn’t think it would be as comfortable as it is.” Cyrus motioned to the tent that both he and Bolvirk had built-up. The make-shift fire-pit that they had kept running for three days now had been well stocked too, to not only provide them with a heat source but to also enable them to cook their breakfast and dinner. Not only that, Cyrus made sure to keep the fire lit to keep away mosquitoes and any other beasts that dared to come into their campsite. Approaching the man, leaving the coffee to brew behind him, he leaned on in, pecking at Bolvirk’s set of lips, and then moving away, landing several more kisses along his cheek, the scruff of his jaw and down across his neck and shoulder. Naturally, his arms coil and fold around the man’s torso, hands settling along his lower back to tenderly caress the smooth skin beneath his shirt. “You hungry? I was just about to make some lunch for us.” It was the first time since their arrival that he decided to sleep in. Who could blame him, when he was comforted by the warmth and presence of such a kingly, pleasant man?

                                            ↪ @bulwarkbolvirk​ gets a plotted starter.