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second verse, same as the first

Too many.

Emmaus knew already that he had had too many.

He couldn't rightly recall exactly /what/ he had had too many /of/, but the fact was there in his pretty head, plain as day--/too many/.

The stairs seemed to sympathize with him. Leaning heavily on Eren, the tiny sin'dorei made his way cautiously up the carpeted flight of stairs to their bedroom for the night, the rich reds, vivid golds, and clean ivories beneath his bare feet enthralling his gaze as he sought, with the night elf's help, to put one foot in front of the other. It was a small wonder the purple-skinned lout didn't simply heft Emmaus up like a sack of potatoes and tote him--perhaps /he/ had had too many, too.

"We need to... never, ever, ever do that again." The black-haired boy tried his best to be quiet as he brushed against the doorway to their room, very nearly toppling over and only /just/ saved by the large, strong hand that slid up from his waist to his chest, holding him firmly upright.

His stage whisper was loud enough to elicit a giggle from his kaldorei companion. "What, steal a devilsaur and leap it over a canyon?"

Their session. Eren referred to their tabletop session downstairs, and the darkcaster game master whose hand grew more and more lenient with each drink he took. Really, they had all, collectively, overdone it that night, but oh! It had been lovely to wallow in excess, just once.

Emmaus groaned as Eren lowered him to the edge of the bed, bracing himself as the world spun beneath his feet. "I meant more... all the drinks. That was too many drinks. I..." He trailed off, squinting, unsure as to whether he felt sick, or simply thirsty. Thankfully it seemed to be more the latter, so he continued on a completely different vein, "How are you still upright? Can you bring me a water? I'd get it myself but I think I'd end up on the floor."

"You're a lightweight," the night elf teased, complying anyway with the black-haired boy's request. He was even so kind as to steady Emmaus's hands upon the glass as he drank, suddenly parched and trying to get it all down in one long draught. "You're still going to regret this in the morning~"

"Well maybe if you make sure I sleep through the morning, I won't." The words were half-muffled, said into the glass--the disappointingly empty glass, which was only lowered as an afterthought.

Eren's steely blue brows rose ever so slightly in surprise. Emmaus was not usually quite so /direct/--typically the younger elf clothed his suggestions in finery, sometimes even in whimsy. It was quite rare for the boy to hit the night elf with a blatant "fuck me".

Not, Emmaus knew, that Eren would complain. The rogue plucked the glass from his grasp and placed it safely--for now--on the bedside table, then gently pushed him to his back on the bed. "I'm sure," the kaldorei said quietly, his breath hot against Emmaus's throat, "that can be arranged."

The grey-eyed boy giggled as he felt the scrape of Eren's fangs across the hard prominence of his throat and then the softer, kinder caress of those well-shaped lips against his tender skin. His limbs weren't cooperating with him, but his mind was still afloat--functioning well enough to remind him that even if he wanted Eren to stop, there was nothing he could do to /make/ the night elf cease his affections.

The thought dragged a shiver down his back and nestled cozily in the pit of his belly. Even if he'd been sober, he was still small and weak; the half-dozen or so cocktails he'd imbibed over the course of the night simply rendered him more completely powerless, a fragile thing in Eren's capable grip.

Which, he reflected, was exactly where he wanted to be. But the other bit was just that /little/ bit more exciting to think about.

The night elf ground himself against Emmaus, between the boy's slender legs. The black-haired sin'dorei tried in vain to wrap his legs around Eren's hips, but it was simply too much to ask of him right then--he was too drunk, too noodly.

The devil took hold of his tongue as he purred, "Oh /no/, I think I've lost the key to my pants," feigning helplessness as one hand fumbled feebly with the unfastening of his belt. "Can you pick a lock?"

"'Can I pick a lock'. It's like you don't even know me." Eren was plenty familiar with this game; while Emmaus played at pretending to be useless, he feigned insult, deftly seizing first one of Emmaus's hands and then the other, pinning them above the smaller elf's dizzy head. "Can I pick a lock. I ought to move you over to the couch for that."

"That's more of a punishment for you than me~"

"Sure about that?" The purple-skinned lout made as though to withdraw, to Emmaus's immediate protest--this time he /did/ manage to wrap his legs around the much larger, much lankier elf, squeezing him tightly for all that his thighs quivered unsteadily. "Knew it!"

Emmaus squirmed, his wrists crossed and caught beneath the heel of Eren's palm. "You know I ain't never been able to sleep apart from you," he whined, arching his back as he grappled to retain his tenuous grip around Eren's waist. "The sofa's for sufferin'."

The boy hummed a pleased sigh as Eren's lips closed over his. "You soaked up Eth's drawl," the night elf remarked, lowering himself /just/ so to rest a bit of himself upon the thoroughly sloshed boy's pale, needy form. "Of all the things you could have nicked from the table, you brought back /that/."

"Did I?" Emmaus honestly couldn't tell. "You'll just have to keep my mouth busy then, won't you?" he teased, more careful in how he enunciated his words--it had been a good long while since he himself had fancied Eth, and he knew Eren had /never/ felt that way about the priest. It would have been cruel to taunt his beloved with their friend's lazy mannerisms, especially while he was trying so valiantly to get a barely cooperative Emmaus undressed to fuck.

One by one the articles of his clothing slipped away, dragged off of him by considerate but urgent hands. He wasn't much help; he made a pass at Eren's shirt when his own hands were free, but his arms simply would not cooperate to pull the material up over the night elf's long, lean torso.

Emmaus wondered drunkenly if the darkcaster knew how many people had fucked in his house--who were probably at it right now, if their limbs and appendages were willing to cooperate with them. He couldn't imagine people retiring primly to bed, covers pulled up to their chins, lying side by side under cozy covers without even the /thought/ of fucking around. That wasn't necessarily /boring/, but Light, when had he and Eren /not/ fooled around after a night of socializing?

He couldn't recall, but then again, he could barely recall his own name. Maybe they were the abnormal ones. Between the poison in his veins and the night elf's bare skin against his own, Emmaus was more than happy to abandon his musings and focus solely on Eren and the tender, teasing touches he applied to the smaller elf's throat, his chest, his side, his loins. His soft, encouraging murmurings didn't make a lot of sense, but that was alright--they both knew Eren wasn't glued to him in that moment for his conversational skills.

If the boy had any complaint, it was over the fact that he knew he wouldn't remember the evening in its entirety, come morning. The contents of their tabletop session were fine to forget--there were notes to review regarding that, after all--but the boozy sin that followed was actually something he'd like to wallow in later, especially during those sad spans of days or weeks while Eren was absent, working, when he couldn't just go get more of the real thing.

Alas. Perhaps if he focused /extra/ hard upon their present excess, his memory might overcome their previous ones. That was how it worked, right? Definitely.

#remiel writes #emmaus #emmaus and eren #'haven't you done this one before' yeah but I woke up with the dialogue and needed to do something with it

pillowtalk, but more upright and harried

[’I really gotta start churning out shorter stuff in other AUs’ I told myself, so here we are.]

#remiel writes #emmaus #empire AU #I really gotta write more empire AU stuff especially

Ceer Abernathy was not a trusting man.

In his youth, he'd been as wide-eyed and guileless as any child afforded a safe, comfortable life--his had been a position of privilege, after all. The firstborn son, brimming with talent, with power, heir to empires, inheritor of all that his family had worked so tirelessly to acquire. Never had he wanted, never had he had cause to complain. Indeed, his formative years had been like something out of a fairytale picture book...

Until they weren't.

#remiel writes #this isn't even an AU #this is more an alternative set of circumstances in the same universe #either way I took a break from my sib/emille stuff to barf this out so cheers

hoard shenanies

As hoards went, it wasn't much--little more than rough, moss-covered stones piled high round and round a hole in the ground, a once-great tower eroded to a mere derelict on a lonely hill. At the bottom of the hole sat one of the dragon's many caches--a small percentage of his treasure, stuffed and packed neatly into heavy, iron-bound chests and barrels. The dragon had learned early on that it was foolish to keep all his possessions in one place, and thus he had diversified his storage locations.

Vigorously.

Enchantment lay heavily over the place, the weight of a hundred spells cast on the place throughout the centuries. It had been a gaol once, then a scholar's haunt, then a garrison--on and on until it had fallen to ruin and eventually come into the dragon's black-taloned paws.

The tower's history was not important. Nor were its contents. What resided in the dark underbelly below was a fortune, certainly, but it mattered not one bit to the fair youth the dragon had brought with him on this particular visit.

No, what mattered was the /location/. Young Sir Kel had been sitting up on one of the fallen stones above for the entire evening. He had watched the sun sink below the horizon, felt the cool night air on his face. What this hoard lacked in opulent amenities, it made up for in /freedom/.

Ceer made his way up the rickety, mostly rotted old stairs carefully, carrying an armful of blankets and a skin of expensive red wine. His shawls fluttered in the chilly evening breeze; for once, his tendency to drape himself in fabric and cover his hair was almost fully justified, for it was downright /nippy/ and only getting cooler as the night progressed.

He found Kel sprawled upon the stones, long legs stretched out before him, his weight resting on the heels of his palms behind him as he gazed up at the first emerging stars. The wind tugged and tousled his shorn wheaten tresses, the picture of careless loveliness.

Though it took him a little juggling, Ceer managed to unfold one blanket and pull it over his own shoulders without having to set down the wineskin or the other blankets. That accomplished, he then dropped lightly to his knees beside Kel, the blanket falling over the lanky knight in the process.

"You're going to catch your death out here if you don't bundle up," the dragon chided, settling in not unlike a hen bedding down for the night.

"A little fresh air never hurt anyone," the fair youth argued, accepting the blankets nonetheless. Though it was quite dark, Ceer could see that he smiled; the taller of the two men leaned against the shorter, the skin beneath his thin linen shirt much cooler comparatively. Ceer was a /dragon/, after all--there was ash in his throat, fire in his belly. He burned hotter than almost all other living things, and there were times when the young knight seemed glad to have the affection and company of a living furnace.

Ceer offered him the wineskin and Kel took it, though he made no move to unstop it--yet. The dragon wrapped an arm around the fairer man's back, squeezing him close. "What do you think of this one?" he asked, gesturing with his free hand to the crumbling ruin before them.

"By far the best of all that you've shown me," the knight said decisively. "And not just because of the view!"

"Uh huh." Both Ceer's tone and brows held a dubious tint.

"There's also good wine," Kel teased, looking at the skin in his hands as though it had just suddenly appeared there. "And these quilts are lovel--"

Words continued to spill from the blond's lips, but they were muffled by the dragon's hot mouth. Ceer seared kisses into Kel's lips, soft and yielding yet at the same time /demanding/ and hungry.

It was less conscious action and more instinct that guided the displaced knight's hands up under the dragon's flimsy shawls. He fumbled blindly in his efforts to touch the dark-haired man's skin, to grope and tentatively squeeze like a man testing the ripeness of a peach. Ceer indulged and even encouraged--he treasured the earnestness of Kel's endeavors, the exploratory enthusiasm that sometimes gripped the young mortal.

Ceer was, however, far more deft in what he reached for. After a quick tug of Kel's laces, his fingers slipped in beneath the waist of Kel's trousers, sliding down to the prize therein with ease.

Kel was a young man, easily excited--a good stiff /breeze/ could excite men at his age, so it wasn't a surprise to either of them that the fair knight responded quickly to Ceer's skilled touch, modest manhood swelling and achingly hard beneath the dragon's firm, insistent strokes.

"Someone will see!" he protested against the dragon's mouth, not really considering the illogical nature of his worry.

The words were garbled, but Ceer understood--enough to laugh, at any rate. "/Who/ will see? I count only the two of us here. We haven't even a horse to traumatize with our antics." For some reason this caused Kel to laugh with an amusement bordering on hysteria. It was infectious, and Ceer barely managed to choke out, "I'm the horse!" before succumbing to more foolish giggling.

"You are the strangest horse I've ever ridden," the knight assured him, shaking.

They were a pair of fools, both of them, cackling like wild dogs and touching, feeling, squeezing one another with the youthful abandon of a couple on their honeymoon. The wineskin lay forgotten beside the knight's thigh; together, they behaved as though they'd already drained it, perhaps even delved into another.

#remiel writes #ceer and kel #but in a dragons and knights setting #this is probably one of the happiest moments in the whole damn AU tbh

meatvision

It pleased Hysii to no end when he caught Thessaly trying hard not to stare.

The dragon favored tight-fitting garments for all of his large, handsome mortal guises--invariably he possessed a great deal of bulging, rippling muscle, and that was meant to be shown off, not hidden behind loose, baggy layers. The runty little half-elf was very visually-oriented, whether he was willing to admit it or not--Hysii had caught him stealing an eyeful /many/ a time.

That night was no exception to the tight, muscle-flaunting clothing rule, though the dragon had dressed his inconveniently jumbo-sized draenei disguise simply, as always. A white t-shirt hugged his meaty biceps and pectorals, and gray sweatpants hugged the expansive hillocks of his buttocks and thighs. He wore nothing beneath, and the soft bulge of his manhood was readily apparent beneath the worn gray fabric of his much-loved loungewear.

The draenei's thick tail swished idly back and forth as he stood before one of his many bookshelves, searching for something light, something pleasant in which to engross himself for a few hours. With no one about to admire him--Thessaly had disappeared a while back, off to snoop through his drawers, or his armory, or his cabinets--Hysii was forced to stimulate something besides his dick: his mind. Oh, the horror.

That was a part of him, perhaps even the /only/ part of him, the half-elf didn't like--he possessed an uncanny aversion to Hysii's tail, which was very sad for the big purple man because he thought, as tails went, he had a damn nice one. The little auburn-haired mite could have at least admired it from afar once in a while!

But no matter.

Hysii selected a fairly thick tome, a compendium of historical weapons from a bygone era, and retired to his easychair. Typically, he sprawled, one pasterned leg propped up against the chair's plush armrest; this did absolutely nothing to minimize the impressive protrusion at his groin, and indeed from most angles the draenei's crotch became even more of a distraction.

Of course, Hysii knew this. He often played these games, laid out one calculated ruse after another, waiting patiently for the curly-haired half-elf to dive gracefully into his trap. It rarely happened that way, given that Thessaly wasn't /anyone's/ idea of cooperative prey, but a dragon could hope...

Absently the dragon rolled one hoof back and forth--technically wiggling a toe, if he absolutely /had/ to translate the draenei's strange anatomy into terms his lizard-brain could understand. Draenei were /weird/ but wonderful, and especially because of those powerful, meaty tails--

Truthfully Hysii didn't know if he was really reading, or simply daydreaming with a book open; he didn't recall turning all that many pages before he heard a clatter of pans and a hail of vicious curses from the kitchen, a sure sign his quarrelsome houseguest was getting himself into trouble.

"What are you doing?" he called to the other, bassy voice carrying easily into the far off room.

"Fuck off, it's fine." Hysii could taste the bristling of the other's tone all the way in the livingroom, so defensive was the young halfsy.

He didn't have anything to be defensive /about/, though. The dragon didn't really own anything fragile enough to be broken by a mere fall or crash to the floor; he certainly didn't care if the monk did any exploratory rooting around in the cabinets--after all, he might find those cupcake foils Hysii was certain he had misplaced years and years ago.

The thought delighted him. They could have cupcakes!

Further crashes and the clanging of pans sounded from the kitchen. Whatever Thessaly was up to, it sounded as though the cookware was winning. "Wanna learn about these old swords, instead of whatever you're doing?"

Silence. For a moment Hysii worried perhaps one of the pots had collided with Thess's precious head. He was honestly relieved to hear the boy's faint footfalls, bare feet padding gingerly over the worn wooden floor as though at any moment it might burn him.

"That book got pictures?" the half-elf asked, guarded and hesitant as he lingered in the doorway.

"Most of them do. Come sit~" The dragon patted his thigh, though even as he did so, he felt Thessaly's unwarranted ire lashing up through the air toward him. "It's not going to kill you to sit with me for a little while. I won't bite~"

Reluctantly Thess approached, slipping into the dragon's lap. Hysii hugged him tightly, cradling his bony ward to his chest as they both shifted this way and that, searching for a comfortable position; the draenei's burly body wasn't exactly the easiest thing to lie upon, and the half-elf seemed to possess all manner of sharp protrusions, razor sharp elbows and hipbones just /dying/ to dig into all of Hysii's softest, most sensitive spots. "Yeah, whatever. You keep your hands to yourself or I /will/ bite."

"You /always/ bite!" the darker man protested. Nevertheless he settled his hand upon the half-elf's stomach, fingertips indenting ever so slightly in the boy's sparse, tender flesh; his other meaty paw held the book upright, so both of them could see. "Want me to go back to the beginning?" Hysii asked, flopping the book's pages back and forth quizzically.

"Nah. Here's alright. Here'd be better if you weren't such a fuckin' /pervert/," Thessaly hissed, shifting again as he realized it was the draenei's girthy dong poking his butt and not just some... other. Earnest piece of flesh.

"Hey, it ain't my fault. It's just /there/. Not like I can just schlorp it back up into me whenever someone visits my lap."

"You are so /gross/!"

"I could be worse~ Do you want to read about old swords or not?"

#remiel writes #mhoram/hysii #thessaly

chains

"Does this feel okay?"

Alex wedged his finger between the cold, uneven metal and Kelsey's captive wrist; there was enough room to wiggle, but certainly not enough room to jam another digit. The manacles he'd obtained were /heavy/, historically accurate down to the rough beaten iron texture and ground edges that would /absolutely/ leave livid bruises on the PA's wrists and forearms if he thrashed about too much.

Kelsey sat naked on the edge of their bed, shy though the game hadn't yet begun. The manacles with which the vampire had adorned his wrists were connected by a little over a foot of similarly rustic chain--a heavy hindrance, for all that very little strain was placed on the blond man's shoulders.

He simply nodded to Alex's question, but that seemed to worry the vampire. Quickly, to soothe away the apprehension that clouded the other's expression, he clarified, "Yeah, they're not too tight or anything. Sorry."

Neither of them felt any apology was warranted. Alex kissed the PA's brow, then his nose, then his cheek and temple. "If you're having second thoughts we can do something else? My only concerns are that you're pleased by what we're doing, and comfortable with it."

"I am very pleased." Despite the instinctive worry Kel felt at being bound, a deep flush had already crept over his face and shoulders; truthfully he was /delighted/ with what the vampire had in mind.

What had started out as a simple attempt at roleplaying had evolved into something else entirely, an odd, unique scenario they returned to time after time--Alex stepping into the role of the powerful, charismatic noble, and Kelsey shifting into the simple, pliant farmhand after which the noble so ceaselessly lusted.

They had a fucking /plot/.

Outside the confines of their game, neither of them could discuss it with a straight face. They were /nerds/. They were /roleplaying nerds/. Other couples just invested in cheap fuzzy handcuffs and maybe the occasional paddle but not these two, oh boy--they took their escapist delights to a whole other level.

Alex ran his fingers through Kelsey's hair, combing the fine, fair locks back from his long face. "As long as you're sure. You know I'll stop any time you need me to, just--"

"Say my name, I know." Kelsey's voice was soft as he finished the other's sentence, vulnerable and trusting as he soaked up what he'd come to realize were the vampire's pre-game displays of affection. It just wasn't in Alex's nature to be cruel--he had to reassure both the PA and himself that what he did, he did with Kelsey's blessing, for their mutual pleasure. "And if for whatever reason I can't speak, snapping my fingers works just as well."

"Just because everyone knows the procedure doesn't mean the flight attendant will stop doing the demonstration." The vampire punctuated his little jest with a kiss, short and sweet but as always the other man's lips were like fire on Kelsey's skin. "I love you."

The blond man blushed all the harder. "I love you, too," he murmured, smiling the faintly dopey smile of a man well and truly filled to the brim with love.

It was a beautiful smile, but quite short-lived. Without further ado the vampire tightened his grip on the PA's hair, twisting his head back cruelly, looking down into Kelsey's shocked face with a mixture of disappointment and outright contempt.

"This is what happens when you try to escape." Gone was the mirth, gone was the sweetness. Each word the vampire spoke was harsh, rife with poorly-contained ire. The right honorable Lord Alexander was a frightening man to begin with--adding righteous anger to that was just /excessive/. The Lord was clearly not at all pleased with his serf-turned-reluctant-concubine.

For his part, Kel the farmhand was stunned silent by his Lord's displeasure. Or perhaps by the hand pulling his hair, or by the fact that he was completely, utterly bare, his naked throat exposed to a man who--to his knowledge--regularly /dined/ upon vulnerable, defenseless throats such as his.

The vampire released his hold on the blond man's hair, flexing his fingers as though he'd just touched something vile but had nothing upon which to wipe his befouled appendage--he was nearly bare himself, save for a pair of sleek black briefs.

Even clad in so little, Alex knew he cut an imposing figure--like a lost underwear model, preternaturally well-lit. His physique was impressive, broad shoulders and thin, tapered waist, narrow hips and a tight, rounded bubble butt. Back when it had been in fashion for men to show off their shapely legs, the vampire had been quite the tasty, envied treat.

He was a hairy man, though the fluff that dusted his arms, chest, legs, and groin was soft, fine and straight and thickly grown, a slightly darker shade than the smoky chestnut tresses adorning his head. Alex knew Kelsey loved the unbroken trail of hair that tracked down from his chest, down his lower abdomen and into his groin. It was a route the PA's lips had traversed countless times, for countless reasons. Kel the farmhand had proved equally visually oriented, though it was like pulling eyeteeth to get him to give in to his baser desires and service his Lord as he was meant to.

He'd learn. Sooner rather than later, if the hard shove Lord Alexander gave him was any indication. Kel hit the bed with a soft /fwump/, manacled wrists pinned down near his hips where the chain was caught beneath him. It had to feel awkward, uncomfortable even--the chain was hard and cold, and it probably didn't feel very nice at all digging into sensitive, raw-nerved flesh.

Alex straddled his hips, bearing down with a hand splayed firmly across Kelsey's chest to keep him from rising. "I could have you hanged. You could be rotting in some godforsaken cell right now, but because I am /merciful/--" Alex paused, gouging his nails into the other's chest, an ugly hint of enjoyment penetrating his mask of contempt, then continued. "Because I am a /good/ and /kind/ and /merciful/ liege, I have decided to /spare/ you."

He examined his handiwork, the crescent indentations upon Kelsey's chest reddening quickly; Alex had found that when he wanted to bruise the lanky PA, it was best to overdo it rather than employing his usual light, considerate pressure, for the man's hide was remarkably resilient.

Kel the farmhand was, quite often, heartbreakingly brave--and foolish. "If this was truly mercy, you would not have me in chains, my Lord." The words came quick; Alex had slapped him many a time already for speaking out of turn, and this time was no exception.

The smack of flesh on flesh seemed excessively loud in the nobly appointed room. Pins and needles, a hundred pinchy little fire ants, ate at the back of Alex's hand and the side of Kelsey's face. Kelsey managed to look reasonably taken aback and possibly even a little cowed, though they both knew he loved the sudden, sharp abuses the Lord visited upon his serf. They made his stomach flop over in all the most delightful ways, made the core of him ache to be possessed and filled.

"You were not called upon to speak. If and when I have a want to hear your voice, I will make that plain to you." It was strange for Alex, donning this haughty man's mantle for an evening. He himself was humble, a bit spoiled but overall possessed of a gentle, accommodating nature; to really throw himself into his character and give himself over to that harsh, unrelenting sense of entitlement was downright jarring.

Jarring, but worth it, if the erection rubbing against his cloth-covered bottom was any indication. The vampire slid himself back ever so slightly, grinding and teasing the captive PA as surely the Lord would torment his serf. Let him have a hint, a taste of pleasure, to remind him of what he was missing out on by being so poorly behaved.

"You are going to /atone/," Lord Alexander continued, grinning. Perhaps he didn't enjoy his mercurial nature, all the myriad frustrations he suffered dealing with other people's stupidity--but /this/, this he relished. "Tonight we are going to reaffirm that lacking fealty of yours, so hopefully this beautiful body will not be wasted feeding crows."

Kel deserved some sort of gold-plated award for the expression of dread that crawled into his eyes at Alex's words. The vampire knew, could /feel/, the expectant anticipation that waited, curled up inside Kelsey like a nest of cozy sugar gliders, warm and wriggling. Alex understood--sympathized, even. It was just the way Kelsey was wired: sometimes, he /needed/ to be hurt.

He needed to be treated poorly. He needed to be put in his place, humiliated. He needed to be treated like a /thing/. And he needed to be loved afterward, held and cherished and kissed and reassured that he was a person--Alex's favorite person.

It had taken time for the dark-haired vampire to understand fully the subtle nuances of what Kelsey needed, and how he could supply the experiences that would best please the PA.

Lord Alexander dragged his nails down the farmhand's chest, raking up harsh, red welts. He leaned in, laved his tongue over the scratches, then captured one of the bound man's nipples between his teeth, gently tormenting that tiny captive nub of flesh before moving on to the other.

The Lord loved Kel's body. He had seen it at work out in his fields and fallen immediately, madly, dangerously in love. And so spoiled, so entitled was he, Lord Alexander, that he had decided then and there that he /must/ have the farmhand for his own.

He had to lay claim to that beautiful body.

It was with deliberate grace that Alex readjusted his position atop the chained man, smothering the blond's face against his cloth-covered junk. The vampire gripped his hair, grinding Kelsey's face against his crotch, forcing him to breathe in the intoxicating scents therein--a little sweat, a little precum, faintly musky and mouthwatering.

Kel whimpered, struggling to raise his hands and failing miserably. Alex knew his protests were feigned--he could feel it in Kelsey, the desire to mouth the dark-haired man's genitals through his briefs, to peel back that black fabric with his teeth. He was free to do as he liked in that regard; the Lord had /plans/, such glorious plans for his serf's atonement.

It didn't take long for the simple farmhand to gather that his Lord wanted an active participant in his little game. He parted his lips, tentatively offering his tongue to press back against the vampire's thick cock, to toy with the heavy weight of his balls. The Lord practically purred with approval, rubbing Kel's scalp like one might rub behind a particularly obedient dog's ears.

This continued for quite some time. Alex's briefs became soaked through, not just with Kelsey's saliva but with his own precum--he enjoyed edging something fierce, after all, and he was always pleased to find ways to combine his pleasures with Kelsey's.

The PA's face was a sloppy mess. He was flushed red, both arousal and momentary suffocation playing equal parts. Alex was doing a good job of being rough with him, mistreating him--but then, it was easier for him when he abused his petty tricks, the empathy that came with his extra centuries and hunger for life. It was safer, more comfortable, for Alex when he could /feel/ how much Kelsey enjoyed having his own saliva smeared over his face, how much he enjoyed being made to suck and mouth at the vampire's cock through the sopping wet material of his briefs.

Eventually the Lord rose, extricating himself from his panting serf. He stood, stretching languidly and silently /daring/ the damp-faced man to follow suit, though to his mollified surprise Kel merely lay, panting, momentarily cowed. Perhaps the fair, simple man was beginning to better understand his role.

Alex took his time peeling the briefs off, the slick black material clinging to his cock, sticking to his thighs. Divested of his only covering, the Lord stood, splendid in his nakedness, examining the material he held dangling from but a single fingertip--until quite abruptly he elected to rejoin Kel on the bed, rubbing the soaking briefs across his long, startled face.

His whimpering pleased the Lord. The way he closed his eyes and surrendered to breathing in the musky, heavenly scent of Alex's precum, the way he /accepted/ what was being done to him...

Lord Alexander was /thrilled/. Deftly, the dark-haired man balled up his briefs and stuffed them into Kel's mouth, gagging him--though nothing could silence the piteous little whimpers that welled from his throat, seeping around the material that would soon be even /more/ soaked through with his slobber. It was delightfully undignified, but then, a simple farmhand did not deserve dignity, did he?

Lest Kel reclaim his defiant streak and begin struggling again--instead of whimpering and tentatively writhing as he was right then, squirming to cover his own nakedness though there was no feasible way to accomplish that--the Lord elected to move on along with his atonement. He flipped the long, leggy man over, gripping a possessive handful of his ass in the process and kneading, terribly direct in his assertion of dominance over the PA's firm, rounded bottom.

He wasted no time in slathering his fingers with the slick, silicone-based lube he liked for fucking Kelsey raw. The PA whined, choked but loud, as the vampire laid claim to that tight, round ring of muscle, forcing in first one finger, then another, and another.

It was /cruel/, the way the Lord handled him. The length of chain connecting the heavy manacles on Kel's wrists made an excellent handhold for the spiteful man; Alex tugged upon the manacles, noting with pleasure that the skin beneath the metal was already red, probably already bruised a bit from Kelsey's struggles. He'd be receiving quite a few more bruises before his atonement was complete, the vampire was sure.

"I hope you're beginning to understand, now, what belongs to me." His tone was acerbic, haughty and arrogant as befitted his high status. The fingers he worked into Kel's hole left the chained man slick and stretched; it took time, ample time, to make a butt fuckworthy, but God it was worth it.

And Kelsey /wanted/ it. The blond /wanted/ to be fucked and filled and /used/, a pathetic container for his Lord's seed. He wanted Alex to rub his fingers through the semen that oozed out of him, smear it over his abused skin and tell him what a filthy, filthy slut he was.

Sometimes Alex was honestly surprised by how dirty his boyfriend's private thoughts could get, during their game. Like, really, wow.

Realistically Alex knew that he wouldn't last long once he shoved himself inside that hot, achingly tight entrance. He maintained his grip on the chain connecting Kelsey's wrists while the other hand scratched long weals across the PA's fair back, left fingerprint-shaped dots of bruising on his hip, his upper thigh. Each mark was a tiny signature, a little 'I love you' written in burst blood vessels and abraded skin.

Kel, poor simple brave Kel, was hardly passive as his Lord penetrated him. He struggled, he whined--but he remained /obedient/, a pleasing new development. Perhaps his desire to remain among the living gripped him harshly, forced him to accept that his hands, his body, even the stretched, constricting passage Alex presently filled, belonged to his Lord, rather than him.

That was such a good thought. Alex rubbed his hands over Kelsey's shoulders, his back, his bottom. He spread the blond's cheeks, admiring the glorious sight of his own thick manhood spearing into Kelsey's very core; he really ought to take pictures sometime, to make the PA squirm in delight later.

He could just hear himself. 'Look how hot we are. Look how hot your ass is wrapped around my dick. The way you arch your back is so /depraved/, I love it.'

But that was a conversation for another day. He would have to ask permission to take pictures like that, when they were both sober and in a clear, stable place mentally. That was the secret to having that particular kind of fun--they had to discuss things, and be open and honest with one another about what was wanted, what was acceptable, what was allowed.

There was a fine line between playful neglect and... well, real neglect. Subjugating the captive farmhand included treating him to the neglect suffered by objects, certainly, but... The Lord wanted him to surrender himself fully, give himself over to his baser wants.

Lord Alexander wanted Kel to desire his touch. He wanted to see supplication in every line of that strong, beautiful body. He wanted Kel to crave the release that came born upon his Lord's hand. Sure, the haughty noble could keep the blond man bound and use him as little more than a sleeve for his aching cock, but where was the fun in that? Physical gratification was all fine and dandy but Lord Alexander was a man of complex, nuanced tastes--he craved /more/.

The vampire's hand closed around the chained man's cock and slowly rubbed; Alex let his head rest upon Kelsey's shoulder as he moved within him, his thrusts even, firm. His serf panted and whimpered beneath him, most of his resistance having long since bled away, replaced by what seemed like ashamed but at the same time /enthusiastic/ acceptance of his fate.

As tightly wound as he was, it took only a little extra stimulation to topple Kelsey off the high precipice of his climax. He bucked beneath Alex, burying his face in the covers as he came, whimpers turning sharp and aching as his cum slicked the bed and more importantly the vampire's fingers.

The dark-haired man immediately relinquished the chains and took hold of Kelsey's hair and forced his face back into view. With his other hand he wiped the blond's own cum onto his face; for the first time he actually regretted gagging the PA with his briefs, for he would have certainly liked to make the flushed, wrought man suck his fingers clean. Later, perhaps.

Having his own cum, slimy and fragrant, smeared over the side of his face was just too much for Kelsey. He sobbed, shuddering and trying to hide his face, unable to do so with the vampire's stern grip on his hair. Alex was buried so deeply within him, both the vampire's cock and his latent gifts shoved into the bound man's quivering flesh.

This was what he /wanted/. Had the blond but snapped his fingers, Alex would have gladly stopped, ungagged and unchained him, held him and kissed him and reassured him. But that was not what Kelsey craved, not right then anyway--he craved the look of borderline disgust on the vampire's handsome face, the way Lord Alexander roughly continued thrusting into his tightly clenching, spasming passage, the way the noble treated him as though he was something /filthy/, something disposable.

---

Hours later, the two of them lay in a sweat-dampened heap, aching and spent. Kelsey was a veritable puddle of cathartic shock, staring numbly into the space above their bed. Alex decided that both of them had probably had enough--if /he/ was exhausted and thirsty, then Kelsey certainly had to be.

The PA's body showcased in detail the routes their shared pleasure and pain had taken. Scratches, bruises, and even brilliantly reddened flesh on his pert rear where the vampire had gripped and spanked him adorned Kelsey's cooling body, dozens of marks that craved kisses, comfort.

Gingerly, Alex sat up, rubbing his face as though it was as simple as that to wipe away the Lord's haughty sneer. With all the gentleness he could manage, he cupped Kelsey's cheek and pulled the cum- and slobber-soaked briefs from his mouth; they'd been removed and replaced a few times, used to wipe up sweat and seed and shoved blithely back into the moaning blond's mouth.

Alex kissed him. Chaste and calm, the vampire laid soft, sweet kisses upon Kelsey's lips, his cheeks, his closed, fluttering eyelids. "We're alright. We're us again, and I love you," he whispered, his breath warm against the chained man's brow.

Kelsey wasn't ready to speak, not without prompting. It honestly took him a while to come down from the high of being so viciously used, of having his secret wishes so consummately fulfilled.

That was alright. Alex liked caring for Kelsey after their exploits, both the extreme and the tame. The lanky blond deserved every ounce of care the vampire bestowed upon him, after all.

Alex helped him sit up so he could unfasten the manacles on his wrists. Beneath, Kelsey's skin was rubbed raw, darker red bruises blooming here and there where he had struggled just a bit too hard, just a bit too long. Slowly, rubbing his arms and shoulders, Alex got him to stretch, to let himself rest, relax, ease into a new position. Even as loosely bound as he had been, Alex figured that since bindings of any sort left /him/ tense and uncomfortable, the same would hold true for Kelsey.

He touched Kelsey's face, and the bigger man flinched, albeit lightly. Alex wasn't offended. He had, after all, just spent the last several hours slapping him and rubbing semen on his face. That was /generally/ a pretty acceptable reason to flinch. "Shh, it's alright," he said, his words sweet and soothing. "I'm going to go get you some water, okay? Over crushed ice, just how you like it. I'll be right back."

It was slight, but the blond nodded. Truthfully Alex didn't like leaving him alone at all, but there was something to be said for the satisfaction of that first really long, really cold drink.

He hurried, scowling at his fridge's ice maker, standing naked and frankly quite vulnerable himself in his dark kitchen. The fluffy gray cat he and Kelsey had adopted slept in its box on the counter, sprawled belly up without the decency to slit open even one yellow eye and chirp a greeting at the sweaty, disheveled vampire. So rude.

He returned with two glasses, but set one on the nightstand by the bed. He felt it was necessary to wrap Kelsey's hands around his glass, to meet that unsteady, red-rimmed gaze with a warm swell of love and reassurance as the blond sucked down his water.

After that long drought, Kelsey lowered his glass and spoke, timid still but daring to return to himself. "Thank you. Are you, um." He trailed off, not really sure what even he wanted to ask, but that was alright, too.

"I'm good. Really good," the dark-haired vampire reassured, smiling. "We had fun, didn't we?"

Kelsey nodded, a flush creeping up over his cheeks. "Could we... like, get under the covers?" he asked, tentative but still wholly uncertain.

"Of course, sweetheart," Alex cooed. He stood and held out his hands to help Kelsey up, then bundled up the dirty comforter and shoved it off on the floor. The blanket and sheets beneath were clean, and it was with great care that the vampire ushered Kelsey back into bed, joining him and wrapping his limbs about the more timid man like some sort of friendly, oddly shaped serpent.

Kelsey wanted to cling. Alex gave him all the permission and encouragement he could on that front, taking the PA's hands and placing them on himself--'yes, I'm yours, I'm here for you, I'm all yours, touch me'. The shaken blond nestled his face against Alex's shoulder and together they lay quiet for a while, Kelsey squeezing the vampire close and Alex petting and stroking him beneath the covers, murmuring the occasional sweetly spoken "I love you" and "we're alright, we're us now".

Eventually, after it seemed that Kelsey had begun to return to himself, to relax back into his own skin, Alex asked him softly, "Which first, shower or food?"

Kelsey seemed to debate this for a moment, then answered, "Mm, shower. M'all sticky."

This prompted Alex to huff a little laugh. "Me too. Wanna shower together?"

"Yesplease." Too many times, the younger man had been used and then left to care for himself afterward. Too many times, he'd been used and /discarded/. He craved the intimacy of after, the reassurance that he was still loved, still valued, still a person--not just some /thing/, valued only for what he could be used for.

Alex understood. They were both lucky, perhaps, that the vampire was a sappy, sentimental sort--for it wasn't out of obligation that he cared for Kelsey, oh no. It was open enthusiasm and love that fueled his attentiveness, his availability.

He needed to salve his own wounds with the care he bestowed upon Kelsey, after all. The Lord was a /terrible/ person. He was cruel and selfish, and though the noble spoke of atonement as though it was something he was owed by his serf, Alex felt that he was the one in need of atonement after all he did to Kelsey, all he put him through.

His conscience demanded recompense. He atoned for his cruelty, welcomed as it had been, with attention, with sweet soothing words. He paid his penance under the pelting deluge of hot water in the shower as he rubbed his lathery hands over Kelsey's back, and in the pop and sizzle before the stove as he made the blond sweet banana pancakes as Kelsey watched, wrapped snug in a bathrobe and nursing a glass of juice.

It was his understanding that penance wasn't supposed to be a dreaded, guilt-ridden thing. It was a price to be gladly exacted, paid to right the balance, to even the scales.

He cared for Kelsey to anneal both their wounds, to ease that vulnerable ache within both of them.

#remiel writes #ceer and kel/alex and kelsey #'is this too cringy to post?? ...nahhhh'#I've got a lot of internalized shame lmao

get boat [a trial run to domestic bliss]

Days bled into weeks, which then bled into months, and Ceer could not help but smile foolishly over each and every time Kelorillian visited him.

The darkcaster showed the paladin his homes--shared his life, quiet and unassuming as it presently was. Ceer had never been prone to adventure, though he was painfully well-suited for it with all his magic, wealth, and cunning. He preferred an easy life, a simple life--a safe life.

Not that anyone had ever called houseboats safe. Insurance liabilities sure, but safe?

Granted unless there came a hellacious flood the little houseboat--and all its dinky fairy lights--was probably safe enough where it floated, docked at some mostly-deserted marina. Ceer wasn't terribly concerned with actually leaving the boat; he and Kel stepped through a portal directly inside, without ever setting foot on the dock itself.

It was a cozy affair, seemingly where the darkcaster placed all of the decorations he couldn't incorporate elsewhere. A lamp in the shape of a fishnetted leg with a gaudy red shade sat dead in one corner, and several lawn gnomes of varying sizes and temperaments scowled and jeered from the kitchenette's tiny counter. A neatly folded bundle of at least half a dozen quilts occupied the dwelling's sole easychair, a wide-brimmed sunhat sitting atop them all like a long-missing prince.

Ceer made a beeline for the bed--a squat, squishy thing, shoved over into an alcove with a little round porthole right above. [There was a cleverly hung lace curtain blocking out the obnoxiously bright morning sun, though when they had left the brunet's home in the city it had certainly been close to evening.] More than anything else Ceer was reminded of a raft--which made sense, if they were to be lazily sailing through the sea of their dreams.

Kel joined him on the bed, though the paladin settled with considerably more grace and decorum, compared to Ceer's incredibly rumpled sprawl. Hesitance showed in those bright, fel-tinted eyes, and in that thin, worried line of a mouth, but over the last few weeks the paladin had emerged from behind his shield, dared to try tentative little jests--comments he otherwise jammed down, hid away, prior to his involvement with the darkcaster.

"My brother would tell you this isn't a real boat," Kel ventured quietly, smiling and shy as Ceer groped blindly for his hand to hold.

"Which brother--oh, Henris? Yeah he had a go at me a bit ago about how fishsticks aren't really fish, either."

The paladin laughed, pulling a face. "That's because they're not."

"You've never had mine. I used to make fishsticks and mac and cheese for Ren all the time when he was little," Ceer said, waxing nostalgic over his tiny redheaded son's formative years. He had been such a cute thing, a mop of tousled carroty curls and big, suspicious eyes. "You forget, home is completely land-locked," he teased, scrunching up his elegant features and looking suddenly boyish himself. "Fish, even in minced stick form, are fancy."

The face Kel made in return indicated he wasn't buying the darkcaster's flights of fancy even for a moment, which in turn only caused Ceer to giggle more. After a few moments however, he added thoughtfully, "He'd be right, though. A houseboat is neither a true boat nor a true house. It just... is."

Gulls squabbled outside, and the occasional bell sang over the waves that gently rocked their vessel. Ceer pulled Kel down to lie beside him, a chaste enough intention but one that evolved quickly into possessive, needy cuddling.

The fairy lights that danced above--soft silver, pink, and gold--were most certainly of the magical variety, their creation a simple spell, lasting orbs of illumination that would not catch fire or prove jarring to one's gaze. They lent the houseboat an almost whimsical atmosphere, as though the two elves had absconded away to some secret clubhouse of sorts.

The darkcaster festooned the paladin's lips and jaw and throat with kisses, leaving the occasional pink mark; he hadn't well and truly laid claim to Kel's neck, not yet--there had been a few lingering red marks but no honest suction bruises thus far.

Ceer slipped his fingers beneath the paladin's shirt, greedily seeking more of Kel's soft, untouched side. The noises the young elf made thrilled him--he was the first to touch Kel with that sort of love in mind, with lust tingling in his fingertips.

The brunet's ears laid back, coloring darkly at the tips, that brilliant warmth spreading to his cheeks as he nestled against Kel's throat. "You know..." He trailed off, coaxing.

"Mm?" Words were a little beyond Kel, right then. Ceer could feel the modest bulge of the blond's manhood pressing against his thigh; he was easy to wind up, easy to tease.

Ceer loved him. He /especially/ loved him like that. "There's a lot we could do... leading /up/ to lovemaking," he murmured, rubbing himself against Kel from shoulder to hip. "Little things. Easy things."

Even the smallest foray into sex was a monumental leap for Kelorillian, Ceer knew--and he was a patient man, willing to give the paladin all the time he needed to find the right moment, the moment where he was truly comfortable with sharing himself with the darkcaster.

But that didn't mean he'd refrain completely from making advances. Unless Kel very clearly didn't want them, he deserved all the admiring and ardent advances Ceer could throw at him.

The paladin squirmed, flushing hotly at Ceer's words, tactfully spoken as they were. "Ceer, I... I'm not sure if..."

He trailed off, his words lacking conviction to the darkcaster's ears. Had he sounded even remotely certain in his intention to rebuff the brunet's sweet, entreating advances, of /course/ Ceer would have ceased, eased back, given the blond room to breathe.

But. Kel didn't sound certain at all. There was want written in every line of him, from the tender frown formed by his ruddy lips to the sharp, bony press of his hips against Ceer's. The darkcaster's hands stole beneath the paladin's shirt and squeezed greedily at the warm, firm expanse of muscle he found therein, pulling Kel flush against him as he laid more kisses against the young elf's fair throat.

"I know you trust me," he practically purred. "Let me take care of you." /Let me teach you, let me show you everything good and wonderful./

Kel said nothing. Yet he did not push Ceer away, either--his own hands ventured bravely over the darkcaster's shoulders, long fingers digging into the meat of Ceer's arm. The brunet could taste the whimper that waited in Kel's throat, unvoiced but begging to be coaxed free.

He worked his hand beneath the waist of the paladin's trousers, beneath his underthings to the soft, naked skin beneath, and squeezed a prime handful of Kel's ass. That certainly loosed a whimper from the blond--Kel pulled back, fixing Ceer with a look that was somehow both bashfully pleased and affronted at the same time. "Ceer!" he protested, tone rife with hushed exasperation.

The darkcaster did not withdraw his hand--indeed, he held Kel close, kneading that taut, pert bottom with a cheeky grin plastered over his face. "What, you don't like this?"

"I like it! It's just... Not proper." Even as Kel spoke the words, Ceer could see that he realized how silly he sounded. The wilt of those long, fair ears was downright woebegone.

"Maybe not in public," Ceer conceded, hoping to soothe the poor dear's dinged ego. "But we're all alone here. And I love you. Physical manifestations of love between two consenting adults in private are /absolutely/ appropriate," he teased, rolling his hips against Kel's, the larger bulge of his own endowment painfully evident between them.

"I love you, too," the blond whispered, conflict written all over his long, handsome face. He didn't seem to think he was handsome, but Ceer certainly did--the goodness and warmth and compassion that lit Kelorillian's features from within were like sunshine to the darkcaster. "You know I've never," he began but paused, nervousness halting his words, stilling his tongue.

"I know." Gently, Ceer eased off kneading at Kel's butt and slid his hand up to the small of the lanky man's back instead. "I know it's all new, and you're nervous. I'm nervous too."

To his surprise, a little laugh bubbled forth from the paladin, quickly forced back down. "What could you possibly have to be nervous about?" he demanded, long golden brows furrowing slightly.

"Well, I want all your first times with me to be great!" Despite himself, Ceer giggled too--he was not the sort of man to refuse to laugh at himself when the chance arose. "And... I don't know, there might be things about me you end up not liking. I can't really name any but there's always the chance."

Kel did not dignify that worry with words--a dismissive huff was all it merited. Instead, and quite tentatively, the blond elf placed his lips upon Ceer's, offering an easy, careful kiss. "There's nothing about you I don't like," he affirmed, smiling shyly.

Ever the filthy dog, the darkcaster ground himself against the other's hips, brows rising with his brazen grin. "Even this?" he asked, fel-tainted blue eyes flicking down between them for the briefest of moments before returning to meet Kel's own green-stained gaze.

Blood rushed into Kel's features as he flushed anew, a hard gulp nearly audible in his throat as he sought desperately to swallow down his nervousness. "Even... even this. Especially this," he admitted finally, squeezing his eyes shut and hiding his burning face against Ceer's shoulder.

The brunet cooed, sympathetic noises spilling from his lips against Kel's ear, his golden hair, his delicate temple. "Let me take care of you," he entreated, dragging his fingertips across Kel's side, around to his stomach, down between them. He sought the fastenings of the paladin's trousers, and though he squirmed, Kel did not pull away or otherwise seek to halt him.

As he delved beneath the fabric concealing the blond's manhood, Ceer caught Kel's lip between his teeth, a light, distracting nip as his fingers closed around that modest protrusion. The darkcaster couldn't even place what it was specifically he found so wonderful about the paladin's smaller size; perhaps he looked forward to sucking it later, drawing it to the back of his throat with ease. Or maybe he felt a keen mix of excitement and relief--for he had certainly never had the chance to bottom for anyone, and Kel's rather average size seemed a lot less intimidating to acquaint himself with than his own impressive length.

The paladin shuddered as Ceer slowly stroked his cock, thumbing the delicate pink crown of it as he deepened their kiss. Kel's hands searched desperately for purchase over the darkcaster's back and shoulders; he was sensitive, easily worked up, it seemed.

That too suited Ceer. He himself had experience--and stamina--in spades, but all the fun experiences in the world couldn't compare to the delight he felt right then, lying curled together with Kel in a dinky little houseboat, jerking the fair elf off for the first time.

Unsurprisingly, the paladin did not last long. A whimper curled from Kel's throat as he stiffened, wet spurts of seed slicking Ceer's fingers and smearing decadently along the length of his shaft. The darkcaster was quite frankly giddy--he was, after all, a man who loved to please.

Yet seemingly before his orgasm even finished wracking him, Kel pulled away from Ceer, shame clouding his gaze as he broke their kiss. Words fell from his lips, words Ceer honestly did not understand--"I'm sorry."

Confused, the brunet's hand fell still, awkward and slimy on the blond's twitching member. "Wh--Kel, why are you sorry?" When he gave no coherent answer, only fraught, stammered fragments, Ceer cut him off. "Darling, you have nothing to apologize for," he said gently, his smile a bit perplexed but still as warm and loving as ever.

Kel did not seem wholly comforted. "I... didn't last very long," he grumbled, finally. "You don't have to lie to me, I know /that/ much..."

"I will never lie to you," Ceer reassured, both protest and promise, scrunching his nose almost cutely as he rubbed the tip of it against Kel's. "/Especially/ when it comes to sex."

Out of instinct or habit or perhaps even /both/, the darkcaster raised his hand to his mouth, casually licking the paladin's cum from his fingers. Kel's expression shifted from ashamed to /horrified/. "What--why are you doing that?" he demanded, features coloring anew with shock and possibly a little reluctant gratification.

Ceer paused, sucking on a fingertip. "Because you taste good. Want a taste? No?" He grinned as the paladin shook his head, further mussing that beautiful golden hair. "More for me, then. And your time was /fine/. It was the same for me the first few times I fooled around with anybody," he admitted, sitting up a little and going after the buttons on Kel's shirt with his other hand.

"It was?" It pleased Ceer to see that this news seemed to reassure the blond a little.

"Yeah. It takes time. And," he paused for effect, peeling back the material of Kel's shirt and baring his chest--muscular but fairly smooth, in contrast to his own hairy self--for greedy inspection, "quick is better than lasting forever."

Somehow he managed to juggle tugging his tunic over his head at the same time he toed off his boots. His chest, forearms, and underarms were quite furry, the thick hair there a slightly darker brown than the splendid chestnut locks lazily bunned up upon his head. It had honestly been a worry for him that Kel might not /like/ such a hairy man as he was--but judging by the way the paladin stared at him every time his shirt came off, he had nothing to worry about there.

Comfortably undressed--and still rock hard beneath the confines of his own trousers--Ceer laid himself back down, snuggling up to Kel, who had at some point modestly hidden his length away beneath his underthings once again.

That was alright. Ceer was fairly certain he'd be welcome in the paladin's pants later, whenever the moment seemed right. He reached back behind him and found a knobbly, knitted throw, the perfect thing to pull over the both of them. "Thank you, by the way. For letting me do that."

"Shouldn't I be the one thanking you?"

"Mmno, you should be the one kissing me. And giving me more 'I love you's."

Kel laughed, a soft, polite little sound. "You aren't tired of hearing that yet?"

"I will /never/ get tired of hearing that. I love you, I love you, I love you..."

The gulls squabbled loudly outside, but the elves nestled within heard nothing--too wrapped up in their own murmurings, too absorbed in the hot press of eachother's flesh, the hungry searching of eachother's mouths.

#remiel writes #ceer and kel CEER AND KEL

grizzly timeshare

It was fucking cold.

'Real estate is the real treasure,' Mhoram had said. '/Land/. Structures. Property. It's a new era of hoarding.'

He was kicking himself now for having committed to that idea with such enthusiasm. He hadn't really been expecting to freeze his goddamn nuts off.

The house was a splendid cabin, squatting on a hill and surrounded by frost-rimed evergreens. The air was crisp, clean--Mhoram had purchased a strip of land in an untouched part of Grizzly Hills, a little piece of paradise tucked away from the rest of the world. It was rustic, out of the way... A perfect plot of land to add to his hoard.

It was possible to approach it by flight, but the skies were /cold/, unreliable. And what was the point in having magicians for friends if he didn't make use of them? He and Thessaly emerged through a generously granted portal, precisely pinpointed through maps and sheer innate skill--even the incline of the ground matched, so neither of them stumbled.

It mightn't have seemed like such a big deal but the dragon had taken some pretty impressively mangled, misaligned portals in his day.

The broad, swarthy man toted his and Thess's bags with him up the knotty wooden steps in a hurry to get inside and out of the biting, chilly wind, noting the firm, unyielding nature of the construction. The whole deck was hard, rough wood, weathered by time but still as sturdy as the day it was built. No sagging porches for this dragon, no sir.

"Isn't it magnificent?" Mhoram asked, beaming and patting a railing as though it, personally, had done a very good job. Thess merely snorted, but that was par for the course with him--the weedy little half-elf rarely responded to anything with open enthusiasm.

Mhoram withdrew the heavy key from his jacket pocket and unlocked the door, ushering the auburn-haired young man inside. Most of the cabin's original furnishings had come included with the house; there were ancient, moth-eaten tapestries on the walls, threadbare, faded rugs on the floor. A few trunks belonging to the dragon had already arrived, shoved through similar portals--both treasures and basic necessities, for Mhoram preferred to live comfortably, wherever he was.

He set their bags down by the door, to be unpacked later. A dozen elk heads watched them with beady glass eyes, antlers dripping with cobwebs. The bright daylight that filtered through the bare windows lessened the effect, but at night that was bound to get creepy.

There was an overall smell of neglect in the place. Not the wet, rotted, disused scent of a derelict, but the faint stuffy fug of a good house sealed for too long and not allowed to air out. Mhoram fucked about with a window for a few moments before discovering the secret to its latch, and immediately after discovering that the shutters were, in fact, functional. "Oh, nice. If there's a storm we don't have to worry about trees blowing in or whatever," he announced keenly, grinning at the sheer ingenuity of the shutter as he flapped it.

Thessaly remained unamused. The young man was actually pouting, seated upon a chest and frowning so severely his face might well have cracked.

Mhoram knew the half-elf well enough to know that most of the time, there was simply no reason for this. The lad grumped. It was just something he did, something that was not the dragon's fault, nor his own. It just /was/, and there was naught to be done for it--besides subtly offer distraction.

He finished opening the windows to let the house air out for a bit and then approached the little curly-haired slip of a thing, arms open. Thess fixed him with a dubious, 'don't touch me' stare and started easing himself back before he even realised what he was doing, but Mhoram was too swift--in the blink of an eye the dragon had the half-elf wrapped in a tight embrace, squishing the air from his lungs and pulling him up off his feet.

"PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW." For a tiny thing, Thess's voice /filled/ the cabin, leaking into every room and out the open windows. "PUT ME THE FUCK DOWN YOU GREAT GREASY FUCK, RIGHT NOW," he demanded, thrashing mightily.

Mhoram laughed, a great jolly booming sound, and swung Thess around and around. "Nope! Not until you jump on the new house excitement hype train."

"I don't give a fuck about your house, it's just a house. And it's in the middle of frozen-fuck nowhere. What kind of idiot buys a house in the middle of nowhere?" the pale, porcelain-skinned boy asked, wrinkling his nose.

"/This/ kind of idiot," Mhoram countered, squishing his cheek against Thess's though it put him within dangerous range of the lad's sharp, bitey little teeth. "It's in the /middle of nowhere/. You know what there's usually none of, in the middle of nowhere? Can you guess?"

"Food vendors?" Thess countered, querulous as ever.

"/People/. How much do you like people?"

"NOT AT ALL--" He broke off, narrowing his eyes as he understood the dragon's implication. "Oh."

"Oh indeed, my little cinnamon roll."

"Fuck you, I'm not food. And /put me down/." The half-elf kept frowning even after the dragon placed him delicately back down on his booted feet. Both of them were dressed for the climate, at least--Mhoram had fought tooth and nail to bundle his tiny companion up in suitably insulating layers, tooth and nail.

The kitchen seemed like the most logical place to begin unloading stuff, so that was where the dragon started, and eventually Thessaly joined him. Together they put away bundles and bags and bunches of supplies of the lasting sort, enough to last them through several visits without spoiling. The dragon hung up the bundles of dried flowers he'd carefully packed in paper, trying to add a little homey warmth to the place. A different kind of warmth than that of a fire, which he entrusted Thess to start in the hearth.

Mhoram lugged several chests of riches off into various rooms, seemingly intent upon distributing his wealth evenly. Any would-be thief would have to explore the entire cabin to clean the place out fully, and it was a fairly large cabin--not /quite/ a hall, but close.

The mattress on the bedframe was a glorified sack stuffed with feathers, laid across a skein of taut, knotted rope to hold the thing up. It was in good enough condition--no cloud of dust mites rose when Mhoram slapped it, and there were no strange smells nor stains--that the dragon was content to spread roughly half a dozen blankets across it, then pile pillows atop.

The two of them were a flurry of activity, unpacking and unloading, and eventually the cabin's stuffiness abated enough for the windows to be closed and locked once again. Mhoram had even brought drapes, the thoughtful sod.

It was in the process of hanging these drapes however that Mhoram noticed that Thessaly's hands had stopped moving in the process of tacking on thin strips of cloth to hold the heavy damask back from layered sheer over the windows when they required natural light. The half-elf stood completely still, eyes fixed on some object off in the distance, his breaths coming in tense, shallow pants.

Mhoram laughed. He was like a sighthound watching a rabbit. "What in the world are you looking at?" he asked, setting down his curtain rod and hammer with a soft thump and heading over to the window where Thess stood.

Thess said nothing and merely continued staring, bony little hands pressed against the glass, breath fogging the panes.

After a few moments of searching, Mhoram understood the halfsy's stricken silence--there was a bear.

Off near the edge of the woodline, a bear rooted through some bushes, likely looking for something to eat. It was a shaggy black beast with a long snout and narrowly placed eyes, winter-thin and wildly unkempt.

Without really registering how /silly/ his actions were, Mhoram scooted over to the door--and locked it.

Thessaly /noticed/ the buttery-smooth speed with which the dragon /scurried/ over to the door and sputtered, caught between berating Mhoram and laughing at him. "D'you--what the fuck, it's a bear. How the fuck is locking the door gonna help? Do you really think that furry piece of shit's gonna come up, jiggle the handle, 'oh no it's locked! no tasty campers for me today', and wander off? You fucking pansy. I'm gonna kill it."

"/No/ you are not. We're going to ignore that thing until it goes away." Mhoram didn't mind being laughed at, but better safe than sorry was his motto. And he wasn't about to tolerate any recklessness from his young half-elf companion. Absolutely not.

"If it comes any closer I am!" Thess argued, scowl deepening. "Gonna kill it and skin it. Wear it like a cloak, lay on it like a rug."

"It looks like it has mange, that sounds like an awful idea."

"I'll wash it!"

"That's not how you care for fur."

The half-elf scoffed loudly, a groan gargling from the back of his throat. "What are you now, some kind of furry?"

"/Furrier/. And no, but fur counts as treasure, so I know things--shit it's coming this way."

Thess made a dash for the door, but Mhoram effectively blocked him from it with his bulk. "Let me out!"

"No. Do you have a deathwish? I'm not letting you out to fight a hungry bear."

For a moment, it seemed as though the curly-haired halfsy was going to haul back and hit him. Mhoram locked eyes with the little green-eyed chit and held his gaze for a brief span of moments until that impending blow abated.

The dragon could tolerate being yelled at, sworn at, even insulted--but physical violence from a loved one was verboten. As was physical violence /to/ a loved one.

Finally, /resentfully/, Thess averted his gaze. Sullen, he jabbed, "If you trusted me you'd let me out."

And Mhoram was having /none/ of it. "You are three ounces of whoopass, but that is a /bear/. You don't fuck with hungry bears. You don't fuck with any /kind/ of bears unless they're druids. Then you ask for piggyback rides if you're sure they won't turn into a deer and gore you." The big dark-skinned elf waved a hand. "I've had everything I just described happen at various points in time. Forget about the bear. Let's just pretend we're not home."

"We're not home. This isn't home." The lad was just being argumentative for the sake of it, but the dragon did not begrudge him.

"If you really like it here, it can be home. Sometimes. Hell, this could be your place. I could deed it over to you. And you, because you just looove my fajitas, and my kisses, and my big dick, will let me store my stuff here."

"YOU ARE SO GROSS." Even a deaf bear could have heard that. Mhoram simply laughed as Thess stormed away, fuming with impotent rage that wasn't really rage at all.

#remiel writes #mhoram/hysii #thessaly #ah yes let's give this dragon a bunch of terry crews affectation #and also a bucketful of memes