Yearning
[Continued from here.]
@the-economics-of-death:
Talon’s hands were soft as they cupped Varus’ face. Gazing up at him for a brief moment - even now, he could not dare to maintain it for very long; it was simply much too tiring, much too terrifying - he smiled gently. His lips were soft when he leant in to press a gentle kiss to Varus’ own. A chaste, barely-there kiss that he could not help but draw out as long as he could, even as he pulled away, and something like regret or wanting made its home in his stomach.
He could not help but hope only to be as gentle as he could; to only give him the softest of kisses and touches until he yearned. It was a feeling born not only from Varus’ own kindness - something which Talon treasured. Something which he held close to his heart, as if it could blow away with the slightest wind - but also from the wanting that grew from it.
Talon remembered all too well that time they had met. That time he had taken him for yet another prospective client, looking for a night’s worth of entertainment. Perhaps he had been too forward. Perhaps Varus somehow knew all the ways he had been broken over the years; knew all the ways he had grown to become undesirable to even the most desperate of people.
But now was not the time for such thoughts.
Gently, he pushed Varus back against the wall and straddled him with practiced finesse. Talon tilted his head and leant forward soon after, pressing soft kisses and gently nibbling along Varus’ neck, his hands roaming tenderly down his sides all the while. He allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes, of relaxing into the motions, of dreaming perhaps that Varus would not push him away.
Because, soft as it was, he yearned.
It began as a simple kiss–similar to others before, so Varus in his typical way thought nothing of it and simply allowed it to be. Unlike the ones before however, it wasn’t over as quickly as it was given. It lingered, if only seconds longer than its predecessors and a different force drove it. The contrast was startling compared to the hesitant kisses he was accustomed to. Talon was much surer than he had been any other time before–or perhaps Varus was reading things wrong.
Contact broke and Varus drew a slightly unsteady breath as he eyed the assassin cautiously, searching for signs that he himself had done something wrong. Had he unwittingly flipped the metaphorical switch that took Talon to a mode of needing to submit in ways Varus didn’t wish to take advantage of? Was this what he truly wanted?
Lips parted to ask but his voice caught in the back of his throat, pulse rising as Talon took an initiative move that stunned the archer to absolute silence. No resistance was given from the sheer shock. The weight on his hips was all too familiar, though it was a different body and a lifetime ago. Lips and teeth on his neck, sensations long forgotten in years of loneliness and isolation. Varus breathed but gave no objection. Eyes fluttered shut, brows furrowing in indecision while Talon showered attentions that he had not shared since his wife’s passing
The heat was still there, more or less dormant, though this was quickly changing as lips and teeth worked his neck and fingers skimmed over his skin. It wasn’t as if he didn’t care for the man but gods was he terrified that Talon was acting out in the molded need of subservience rather than his own want.
Corrupted fingers hesitantly found themselves upon Talon’s hips, one hand resting there and other rising to gently tangle fingers in the assassin’s hair. Perhaps it wouldn’t go further than this, surely the other had no desire for his twisted body–how could he? How could anyone? Varus held no certainty that it even worked as it was meant to.
Varus did not push Talon away but instead kept him close, small but noticeable shivers spilling down his frame.