[The warm, balmy climate of the island—and its expansive territory of greenery—is at odds with everything he's ever known. As soon as Cain steps off the train at the station, his attention is consumed by the strange otherworld of Primavera, an almost trance-like fascination leading him through exploratory hours just staring at things: a pale, pink-petaled tree in full bloom, shedding over dark stone steps; bright azure waterfalls flowing into near-translucent springs; grass and moss and vines a shade of verdant green that nearly hurts his eyes in its intensity. The frigid, dusty plains of his home can't begin to compare to the vivid kaleidoscope of colors that live in this place. It doesn't even compare to the grainy vids of Earth he used to spend so much time playing and replaying in the fantasy of one day being able to visit.
Eventually, Cain wanders into the avenues of Yaranak, owlish wide eyes taking in the site of open marketplaces. He's somewhat unsettled by the honeycomb pattern of the stonework, reminded too readily of Colteron architecture, but the overall style and atmosphere is different enough to take him away from that thought. Not to mention the scents. A sweet fragrance is in the air, carried on a tepid breeze. He's wrestled out of his jacket and tied it around the waist. Now clad only in a sleeveless red shirt, he heads down the street sampling everything offered out to him.
It's a lot. By the time Cain finishes grazing, he's pretty buzzed and light-headed from several cups of mead and sticks of honey, shoulders slack as black eyes scan the crowd with relaxed curiosity.
And then he sees them. Pointed above the heads of several natives, twitching in the next wind—soft, fluffy, furred ears.
His heart rate quickens, a flutter up in his throat. He takes off at a half-sprint down the street, shouldering roughly through the crowd in pursuit. Eyes on the prize.]
Hey, you! Hold it! [Simultaneously excited and a little tipsy, Cain thinks nothing of pointing rudely at the man(???) he finds in front of him.] What the hell is on your head?
[ the city of yaranak is a lot to take in after six steps off the train at the station.
there are a plethora of colours — floral aesthetics mixing together with the futuristic vibe of this world, and it makes for a polychromatic experience that's incredibly difficult to look away from. it's hard to tell what he should focus on first when they're all vying for his attention, no matter where he goes. not that it matters too much, because in the end, just like cain, he'll have tried out every free sample there is.
normally, he wouldn't bother checking out everything this place has to offer, more interested in going places that'll help him map out what's dangerous or not, but he is trying to forget about what happened to him on the way here —
someone's voice manages to stop his thought right there and then. a voice calls out to him, his ears perking up and swiveling towards the direction it came from. it's not long before he realizes that someone is quickly approaching him. gut instincts tell him to run away, but all he does is take one step back. ]
... What do you mean? I'm not wearing anything on my head.
[ can't this person see he isn't wearing a hat? not even his hood?
those furry ears continue to twitch, as if taunting the other man. ]
[The line of his gaze doesn't waver, hooked on pointed cat ears with an intensity not soon to ease. By their movement, they can't be fake—or if they are, it's a work of engineering he's never seen before. In this world anything feels possible… but the threat of crushing disappointment keeps Cain hoping.]
Uh, no. Nope. You definitely got something on your head. Are you serious right now?
[Emboldened by the sweet intoxication of mead and honey, he doesn't stifle the impulse to reach out, itching to get both sets of fingers on fluffy triangle ears. He's never wanted anything more in his life. Truly. This is it. He's already fantasizing about how soft they must be, whether they'll fold easily under his touch or remain rigid, whether they'll tickle and twitch to be freed, whether they'll elicit any sounds from their owner. All possibilities are thrilling to imagine after he's spent so long looking at Earth creatures but never seeing them in the flesh. Uh, fur. He's just gotta…reach—]
[ it doesn't take long for six to realize what exactly this person is looking at, lilac eyes widening. once it dawns on him, his ears point all the way up—just as alert and alarmed as their owner. he's taking a step back, followed by another, and then another, determined to remain out of reach because like hell he's allowing some rando touching him after what happened on the train. ]
Do you ask everyone you see if you can touch their ears?
[ incredulous. then again, maybe he shouldn't really be surprised given the nature of where he got whisked away. it'll be a different story if this is someone he knew but this man looks like he isn't someone who would stop at one touch.
his ears have suffered enough today... ]
I'll have to pass, thank you.
[ time to make a quick exit. he'll sidestep the guy if he has to. ]
[Like a dog with a rabbit in its teeth, the denial is fuel for pursuit, fast steps taking him forward for every inch of distance he loses in the retreat. Maybe in a more sober state he'd have some self-control not to be so unleashed; then again, maybe not. He's never seen a cat before. Those have to be cat ears, or the ears of some other animal equally as fluffy and twitchy—he's stared at too many vids to believe otherwise.]
No, yours are different.
[Anything for this dream come true. As Cain is sidestepped, he swiftly turns in their weird dance, attempting to catch the stranger by one slender shoulder as a hand again makes a greedy swipe for an ear.]
Come on— [grabby grabby,] —just real quick, promise—I haven't even seen one yet and I've been here for days!
[He doesn't clarify what he means. Determination lit like a fire, Cain doesn't care that he's corralling the other man back toward the obstacle of a building wall. It's not totally deliberate.]
Edited (oops i have bad reading comprehension) 2021-04-14 18:05 (UTC)
[ as it is, his options for escape are quickly dwindling. this is a situation that shouldn't really surprise him anymore given how many others he's met before who have never seen an erune in their lives but somehow it always manages to catch him off guard. it's not long before his shoulder is grabbed and he is valiantly attempting to dodge every swipe the guy makes at his ears.
it's a funny sight to behold if you happen to be passing by, because while the stranger is determined to touch his ears, six is all the more determined to not let him. not that it lasts—as soon as his back hits the wall, he freezes up, wonders why he hasn't decked the guy just yet, but he just got here and would rather avoid getting in trouble with the peacekeepers of this place for the time being, thank you.
he reaches for the hand trying to touch his ears, wanting to still its motions. ]
You haven't seen one what, exactly?
[ depending on the answer, he may or may not tighten his grip. enough for it to start hurting if he doesn't like what he hears. ]
[His wrist is easily caught, captured by fingers in a punishing grasp. The pressure causes Cain to bare his teeth almost reflexively; it isn't painful, not immediately, but the threat is a low promise. Violence is like a siren's call—it only makes him want to win more.]
A cat. What the hell do you think? Cats have those pointy, fluffy, cute ears…
[Hesitation trails his voice off. Dark eyes narrow, more with realization than anything else, slow brain working at the puzzle of why a man would have a cat's ears on his head. Maybe… modifications? Magic? The bizarre nature of this world suggests anything. His fingers slacken, but he's still crowding Six back without sign of defeat.]
[ his voice is completely deadpanned. it's almost as if he couldn't believe what he just heard, but then again, this isn't exactly the first time he'd been seen as such. he falls silent as he regards the one before him with narrowed eyes. is he lying? should he believe it when he says he's never seen a cat before? and then quietly, in the back of his mind: what kind of rock did this guy crawl out from, if that was the case?
those treacherous ears of his flicker once again, taunting the other man now that they're within reach. six looks as though he is considering what his next move should be: does he shove the guy away now that he's been backed up against a wall, or does he let things play out since it's so harmless?
he sighs again, but then his grip on the man's wrist slackens until he finally lets him go. ]
Of course they're real. I was born with them and have lived with them my entire life.
[Cain's eyes automatically snap to the twitching ears, frown drawn tight and petulant, almost a pout—like he's really capable of demonstrating more than sneers and scowls. If he was aware of the reaction, he'd try to tamp it down, not wanting to slip up in his normal show of masculinity and composure; as it is, the allure of soft cat-ears serves as a powerful distraction.]
So you're... a cat. [His dumb, rocks-filled brain is trying to do this mental calculation.] Or... uh, one of your parents is? 'Cause you still look like a guy. Mostly.
[Is that biologically possible? Then again, after all he's seen here, maybe his own imagination is limited. Wrist released, Cain rubs it briefly before—of course—trying to reach up again. He can't resist the siren's call.]
[ those ears remain as the tantalizing prize, gone completely pin-straight now that the guy's hand is reaching out for them again. they settle soon enough, dipping low against equally soft, downy hair. he might as well just let this happen since it doesn't look like the curiousity will ever be satiatd if he denies it.
that's why he stays still, back still up against the wall.
the one lilac eye that's exposed, however, narrows by the tiniest fraction. ]
I'm not a cat. [ he knows it won't make much of a difference to people who don't know, but. ] I am an Erune.
[He's sounding the words out, attempting to shape them with the same familiarity, despite how foreign it sounds. Not a cat, but some other creature with similar characteristics? Maybe it has something to do with ancestry? Cain finds his head bobbing, unconsciously, eyes wide with an almost childlike fascination.]
Yeah, was one of them a cat? Is it a cross-species thing? Never heard of anything like that, even back on Earth.
[Taking advantage of that stillness without a shade of regret or shame, he crowds closer to Six, both hands landing on triangular ears. Calloused fingertips are surprisingly gentle, passing across the pointed tips before closing over in a caress, stroking velvety warm fur, his expression only brightening with awe.]
[ the gentleness of those fingers don't really help. if anything, it makes heat rush up to colour his cheeks much faster than it usually would. his ears tremble under the curious touch, always so sensitive despite all his attempts to still their movements. he can only hope the guy isn't looking too closely at his face. ]
... Of course they are. Were you expecting them to be hard?
[ who has ever heard of ears like that? he scoffs quietly, mostly as another attempt to keep his own voice steady. ]
Both of my parents were Erunes, just like I am. We all look like this — but I suppose you can find variation in the kinds of ears you see.
[ a hand moves up to place itself on the man's chest, ready to push him away at any moment. not right now, at least. not yet. ]
[What was he expecting? It's a good point, but one Cain discards with little more than a pinched frown, all of his attention narrowed onto soft cat ears. He doesn't immediately notice the effect his touch has on Six, although as soon as that hand plants itself at the center of his chest, black eyes drag down, half-curious.
Seeing the stain of red cheeks, Cain smirks—but he doesn't say anything. Fingers aren't soon to loosen, thumbs tracing to the velvety fold of those ears as though emboldened by the reactive twitching, rubbing from base to tip with new purpose.]
Guess it's like a totally different species. [Not unbelievable, considering all of the strange shit he's seen so far.] Weird.
Anyway, it's 'cause we didn't really have any animals, back where I'm from. I mean, they existed, just not… on our planet. They're all on Earth, so I only ever saw cats in grainy vids. Never touched one.
[Admission lowly murmured, Cain shoves forward a bit, as if to taunt that hand that hasn't actually begun shoving him back. Give him an inch; he'll definitely try to take a mile.]
[ there are no attempts to hide how badly this is affecting him: his ears have all but practically melted thanks to what this man is doing to them, no longer able to keep themselves upright, soft and pliant. he's never been more thankful to have the wall behind him too because even though it keeps him locked in place, it offers stability when his knees are beginning to feel a tiny bit like jello. ]
Then... that will continue to be the truth. I'm not a cat.
[ is it just him or are the two of them absurdly much closer than before? he doesn't need anyone to tell him where things might be headed so he does try to create space between them again, pushing the other back by keeping his hand planted firmly on his chest. ]
Regardless, your curiousity is satiated. I'll be on my way.
[ it's time to make an exit, stage left. nevermind the look on his face that's practically begging for this to keep going. ]
[The level of luxury offered by the Hanara and Saagyu bathhouse proprietors is as new to him as the rich, floral nature covering the islands, an almost heavenly height of excess he's imagined only accessible to the privileged Earth-born elite. It doesn't feel natural when he accepts the invitation to a massage at the spa. Cain is reluctant, almost skittish in the face of strangers touching him in any professional context, overwhelmed finally by competitive overtures committed at the behest of Solare natives—and so he's convinced to give into the weird, unfamiliar indulgence of pampering.
It feels good, there's no question on that. Tired muscles thaw beneath warm, skillful hands, knots of stress worked loose by each fingertip pressure-point applied across his back, legs, shoulders. When it ends, he feels loose and pliant in a way only the brink of exhaustion from exercise (or sex) has ever taken him. Eventually transitioning to one of the personal, indoor baths on the premises, Cain comes to find himself submerged in warm water with an open bottle of native honeyed mead set aside, lounging with arms spread across the rim of the tub. The view opens one whole wall in a sprawl of naked greenery as Primavera begins dimming to night, last threads of daylight left in burnt, coppery strips over paneled wood and paved stone. The silence is uncanny; he realizes he's hunting for that omniscient hum of machinery in spaceflight, its presence as permanent as his doomed sentence.
At some point, becoming slurred and probably drunk, Cain's thoughts inevitably turn to Abel.
It's unfair for him to be enjoying this while Abel is out there—stranded, captured, possibly dead. It's unfair for him to feel anything about it, really. He doesn't know if he'll ever see his navigator again. Whether he should, even if he could. Yet his mind commits to the betrayal anyway, unraveling memory as sore muscles fully relax in the heated pool, water a fragrant perfume of petals scattered across its mirrored surface. He remembers all of it. That slack, sweet mouth half-formed around a whimper, the dark cast of eyes—from flawed genetic mods so unlike the other flawless navigators—over a slender shoulder, the willing bend of a lean spine, the eager hips sloped upward and so easily bruised, the spread of ass cheeks under his gloved thumbs.
Before Cain is even aware of the decision of movement, one hand slides down a flat abdomen to take the base of his thickening dick in a tight, brutal circle, falling prey to the sudden throb of arousal in his system.
The door behind him clicks open. With a frustrated noise, Cain's head rolls on a shoulder; he doesn't relinquish the hold on his own cock even as he stares, eyes lazily slitted, at the intruder.]
[ a hypocrite to the core, Guanshan is exactly the type of person to despise the rich for their indulgences while simultaneously craving them with eyes as green as the emerald notching his ribs. there's a sick secrecy to it, such an open defiance of his core values that it has to be hidden, coveted, infrequent. and hey, when all else fails, there's always the fallback on Sumarlok's tried and true: Gembonds Ride/Stay/Eat/Drink Free! ]
[ and who could blame him? the salt scrub where they clean crevices he's usually only had tongues in has his skin feeling like a goddamn newborn baby's, transported back into the body of a hormone-fueled teenager where he can't stop touching himself. draped in a robe that's barely cinched at the waist, the neckline opened wide around his décolletage to drape off of shoulders and air out ruddy, freckled clavicles. his steps smack with fluffy slippers, and his eyes are bleary with a calm bliss as he shuffles into the room the staff designated for him. ]
Oh.
[ a shuffle of silk and he turns, giving the doorknob a good jiggling. ]
Locked.
[ which he announces like it's neither a shocker nor a big deal, his voice steady — unusually smooth, though Cain wouldn't know the difference. hey, what's better than enjoying his spa day? enjoying his spa day when the edibles hit. no reason to let a little hiccup like this ruin his day, the now very active logical part of his brain supplies now that his hot temper has been effectively silenced — and so he shuffles across the room and toes his slippers off, shrugging his way out of the robe and leaving it draping over a piece of furniture. ]
[ one long leg, then another, he doesn't have any reason to glance Cain's way to see what he's doing — if he's a threat, if he's a prospect, neither much matter. not compared to sinking into the hot water with a satisfied sigh, lowering down all the way to that very sharp jaw. ]
Sorry for the intrusion. [ mildly. not sorry enough to give this up, lol. ]
[The flare of petty irritation is quick to dim, snuffed out by loose limbs and soothed nerves and a tilt of mysterious inebriation, lassitude melting his body under the glassy surface of water. It doesn't bother him to share the space; in some light, privacy to his own inner thoughts is an unwanted minefield now. Eyes track Guanshan's progress around the outer edge of the tub, irises paled in relaxation to cool grey, gaze picking out freckles and slight definition of muscle in the flex of movement as he sheds the robe like silky snakeskin, sliding in one long leg at a time.
Singled intensity isn't lost despite the warm, syrupy pleasure of indulgence. If anything the distraction of another body at arm's reach sidelines the darker corners of rumination, but he notices that his own arousal doesn't bank. That fact is so normal Cain thinks little of it. There's nothing overly unusual about the situation, and though the weight of his gaze is lazy, still it lingers even after Guanshan is submerged, memorizing all of the features obfuscated to him by water—lean crux of thighs, sharp hip bones, scarred teethmarks opposite the green flash of a gem, unknown symbols carved further below (what are those?), metallic glitter of piercings. He's not surprised to feel a throb of attraction, pronounced by a foggy and effusive external factor of alcohol and something else, unconscious and fragrant.
Cain takes his hand off his dick and reaches for the bottle of open mead behind him. Then he wades the distance, lifted enough to reveal the fresh-healed, pinkly webbed scarring of a gunshot in his abdomen, and offers the bottle.]
You tried this stuff yet? It's pretty good. They keep giving it out free.
[ the body broader and shorter ripples the smooth surface of the bath as he crosses with boon in hand, and Guanshan cracks open one slanted eye, skin feeling taut with all that heat. it lands on a barreled chest by incident, drifts lower with intention; boys from the streets always hone in on the fresh wounds first. just in case. then up to a shock of neon blue and the unfortunately attractive darkness that sounds it. ]
[ palpable tension he knows. magnetism — even (or perhaps especially) nude, he's a curiosity most would rather gawk at from a distance. he does like that Cain draws in. finally, a lazy glance at the mead... and in not so many words, he already thinks to play a game. fuck with the guy a little. he seems charismatic and up for a little fun, but just how much? ]
It's forbidden. [ lies don't come naturally and he isn't smart enough to keep a difficult charade up for too long, but he's also seen enough of temples and their hypocrisy (recently) and the strange, dark, ugly things humans do to each other (always) to play out a tale. ]
I belong to a noble in Solare. [ a possible explanation for the tattoo, or the piercings, or maybe even the almost ritualistic scarring that breaks open patternless freckles. ] Nothin' "impure" can enter my body. You wouldn't wanna make me break my vows, now wouldja?
[ and when his eyes meet Cain's, it's almost as if he's done it incredibly purposeful: made himself something to be stolen. forbidden fruit. ]
[Brows wrinkle, then one climbs, hitched in reaction to that simple, single statement: It's forbidden. Little else might hook him so immediately, drawn as though toward the sticky trap of flypaper that knowledge creates for someone like him. Wonder and question both swim in somewhere, but it feels less important, possessed more of interest than suspicion by the tale. He doesn't know the first thing about nobles in Solare; so maybe they keep little pets, pretty gold-eyed boys close at hand for material ornamentation and the satisfying of baser desires. Sounds just like the shit they'd do back on Earth.
Cain buys it, easy.
Wading inches closer, sinking until the tub water licks up defined obliques, his smile is broad and sharkish, dark. A hand extends harmlessly out—with the boldness of caressing a caged animal, he thumbs the glinting green gem embedded in Guanshan's ribs. His other arm brings the mead to his own lips, pulling a generous swallow off the bottle and leaving the rim shiny and wet from his mouth. Then he holds it out and under that sharp chin.]
I won't tell if you don't, [soft and low, devil-whispering.] C'mon.
[Like he cares about someone else's vows. If anything, it offers more fuel to break them, to soil and ruin some noble's prized possession with own two filthy hands.]
[ a flinch of razored muscles is all that touch brings. it's strange, how he can feel it, as if on his skin and yet echoed through each facet of the sharp jewel's refracture until it nestles into his own muscle. teasing and temptation are not things Guanshan holds up well against. ]
[ russet-tipped eyelashes go low. considering, maybe. apologizing, perhaps. compartmentalizing. people's minds do all sorts of things when they go against their own morality; he would know better than most. when he looks back, it's almost doe-eyed and beguiling, but not so much as his mouth parting open, willing and pliant, for that first big gulp. it may as well be his legs spreading open for all the invitation it holds. ]
[ delicate guiding fingers at Cain's elbow help — but he lets it be a clumsy, messy, raw thing, his lips parted around the glass and his adams apple bobbing with the drink, but not in any time or hurry that saves amber from running down his chin, his swallowing throat, the freckled and unmarred expanse of his ever-rosying chest. nor do his eyes leave Cain's, dark and charcoaled-in, just like a devilish memory that sometimes comes to warm his bedside. ]
[ when he's relinquished, he chases the flavor with his tongue to openly showing his appreciation, the breath and pulse of the lamb quickened in the presence of the wolf. ]
Shouldn't touch me, either.
[ there's no denying that light little tone — it's coy. ]
[Eyes fall to that long, pale throat like a snap of teeth, admiring tracks of honey-colored liquid, gleaming pulsepoint beneath the knot of cartilage and freckled skin made slick on its way down. The open parting of Guanshan’s lips briefly reveal that dark interior behind teeth, wet and red as lips latch onto the bottle’s rim with benign obedience—and every thirsty swallow a jump of elastic in that working throat. Cain wants to put his hand around it. He barely suppresses the urge, muscles tightly corded by impatience, focus of a dark gaze dropping to the pretty green blink of that embedded gem.
Lucky for him, he thinks. Some divination of fate has placed this gift directly into his greedy palms. Cain takes the bottle back, savoring the brush of contact at his elbow before he reaches around and plants the mead over the tub’s rim, onto slats of wood. He does this while bringing himself into closer proximity, water lapping at sides, almost grazing contact.]
Guess we’re already breaking rules. [The small offer of drink is the gateway drug before he asks for a little more, and a little more.] What’s another? Your secret’s mine, promise.
[Unbarred now, no hesitation prevents one strong, knuckled-scarred hand from coming up to cradle that sharp and angular jaw. He uses the hold to turn Guanshan’s head toward him, eyes aligned, mouths millimeters apart to share breath in the almost-kiss. The other hand sinks south to caress his flank, thumb purposefully rubbing across that sharp little gem like he’s fingering a bruise, or some more intimate spot. Synchrony doesn’t even occur to him in the moment.]
Fuck, you’re too pretty for some asshole to get you all to themselves.
[ with the volume of everything turned up, it's so much more. Cain drawing closer brings the body heat of a black sun, his touch like the smooth slither of a snake's belly, eyes as bright and hot as the searchlights in hell. the forbidden promise of trust between besmircher and besmirched is another drug, another drink to him; he can taste honey-mead breath on his mouth and pivots forward with the urge to taste it more only to grapple with the ropes at the last moment. ]
[ the brush is brief, velvety, just a graze on the fullest points of both their lips. Guanshan shivers with the tension the way a hung body jerks, exhales harshly as the yearning twists just a little tighter. he won't let himself have it yet, isn't finished relishing in the suspense — will they, won't they? more importantly, "will he or will I?" when giving in and not giving in both mean victory and reward, playing the long game only elongates the fun. ]
[ because for as long as this lasts, he already belongs to the man encircling him. the (unabashed, uncontrolled, unconsidered) quiet burn of synchrony has writ as much. it projects a single note: desire. this, all as he lowers his eyes and wishes for this body so close against him. ]
Mm'supposed to be quiet... no matter what happens.
[ spindly fingers emerge from beneath the water, dripping points pattering softly back into the bath, and then onto Cain's skin, and then the water connects them as he oh so gently pets his way up his breathing sternum. an excuse to be completely unbidden... among the promises that need to be kept. he's never heard himself called "pretty" (it almost makes him laugh), but he does know most of the honeypots he'd fall into traps for — and it's not especially difficult to stoke a hotblooded man's imagination. ]
But I don't think anyone will hear us here, d'you?
[It happens in a snap: one moment Cain is asleep in the bed of his temporary home on Primavera, the next he is awake, jolted by cold water washing up around his ankles at odds with the temperate island weather. Time has lost meaning in the gap of memory—he doesn't know how he's gotten here, yet looking down his body, horror begins to seed itself in his gut nonetheless. Vines have sprouted out of his skin, snaking down arms and wrists to hang from his fingers where they've bloomed with unfamiliar blue flowers. A half-choked snarl hinges in his throat. In thoughtless desperation, he rips at the plants to try and uproot where they've burrowed into his flesh, then stops with a hissed noise of pain, blood leaking from the fresh tears down both forearms.
Within seconds of creating this gory mess, Cain freezes completely, head lifting like an alert dog toward some unseen sound. He can hear it in his head—soft, distant and melodious, luring him back into a blank and mindless stupor.
Bare feet move automatically to take him forward. Deeper, lake water rising up around calves, then knees, then thighs, its chill biting nerves numb to the sensation. Several meters away, a dark shape flashes beneath the surface in a ripple of liquid movement. Cain doesn't even seem to notice it. Only once he wades chin-deep into the lake does survival instinct kick its alarm, ringing a violent bell through his awareness—just in time for his head to go under as water floods his mouth and down his throat in helpless first swallows before he closes his jaw.
He's never seen this much water in one place before. It hadn't existed in the colonies. Couldn't, given the natural environment. Of course he can't swim. It isn't as though he or the Alliance military could have predicted he'd be in this scenario. Why would he ever need to learn?
Eventually these pointless thoughts stop occurring to him. All there is, is the need to breathe. Breathe. He can't. He inhales another swallow of water, and sinks like a bag of lead.]
[ ko would’ve been taken beneath the lake’s surface too, had he not taken his gun, and, without the inhibition of fear to paralize him into expanding hesitation, put it to his head and pulled the trigger. vines and grey matter were left spewed on the floor of his bathroom, and half of that mess ended up staying when he saw the others out the window of his studio’s workplace as he twisted a red soaked cloth dry. they’re following . . . something. one, two, maybe more. shouting out the window doesn’t get the attention of their hive minds. so, he follows. he doesn’t know to where and hopes that by the time he’s out the door, he doesn’t lose them. managing to catch one, a young man plagued by these bitch weeds, ko ends up wheezing once he manages to the edge of the lake cain has walked himself into— exhausted by the takeaway of manna to reset, but still forcing his hands to clap at his knees and shout out. ]
Hey . . . Hey!
[ his heart leaps when he sees bubbles, when he sees that the other doesn’t come up, neither does he seem to make an effort to swim beyond splashes and— no one does that unless—
ko hardly wastes time in removing his clothes, even his shoes, genuine concern ravaging his heart into action to jump into the water with a shattering splash and pull the other man back up. he just had to find him . . . having not noticed he could breathe down here, ko still holds his breath as he navigates beneath the water and how goddamn dark it is, even with his eyes open. something pulls him anyway, a change in flow and the sound of gargling.
he promised himself he’d be there for anyone who was in need after the first time he died alone and lacked the company to find him, and take him to a hospital— he wouldn’t let the same happen with this guy, much less by drowning. even that, ko knew what it was like to inhale water until you asphyxiated with the burning from the inside. it’s that level of determination that finally gets him to brush into something at the bottom of this damned thing.
another race his heart is put into in an instant. water weeds, or the person? he hasn’t needed to inhale, and feels around for a limb, or a shoulder, or head, in that same spot, uplifting dirt into rising clouds as he did. come on, he was running out— ]
[After that, survival overrides all other reason, to a point where the hands on him lead to an animal scrambling that hinders more than it helps. Underwater, he latches onto the slippery body of someone else, grasp finding shoulders to cling to with bloodless terror. The water is dark with disturbed silt; he can't see anything.
It isn't the first time he's faced his own death. In some sense, he had faced it every day with the Alliance, each time he buckled himself into the starfighter and put his hands on the controls. But that always felt like an even gamble: he could fight his way to victory so long as he was skilled enough. He had a chance. It was that razor's edge he appreciated most, splintering hot and vital through every nerve and bone, because it taught him to value how hard it was to keep himself alive against all odds.
This isn't a fair match. It's simply drowning, dying, lungs filling with water to replace all of the air that was there before.
Cain clings to the other body like a child, arms wrapped around broad shoulders and legs intertwined, desperate not to be alone as he drags his would-be savior down with him.]
[ oh, damn it— how was he supposed to say “calm down” down here? as relieved as ko was to finally feel something human latch back onto his underwater probing, overwhelming ease began to twist into a grand panic. he’s trying to swim back up regardless, free some of his limbs from the vice gripe, just enough to get them both closer to ascending.
but it takes a horrid amount of effort to feel like he moved an inch out of place, and that if he did. ko’s chest burned for air, and he could only blow bubbles out in protest. if he died down here, would he come back with enough air to bring them up—? by the time he desperately thought that (which was a stupid idea, he’d just keep drowning until he hardened into a crystal), ko was frightened to the brim when his brain forced him to inhale—
he was waiting for the same painful ache amongst this agonizing splashing around, but what he gets is clean oxygen. he doesn’t inhale water, but the particles of air within it much like a fish. how, is asking the wrong person. being simple-minded has its perks. for one, even amidst the surprise and frenzy, he thinks, stupidly:
[ we all know he meant CPR, which is the worst idea someone could think of doing to a conscious drowning person, but. unfortunately (or, fortunately), ko never got to doing first aid in school.
this might be the worst kiss to start off, too, in cain’s distress. here’s some dude he can’t even see right, feeling for his shoulders, his head, and once he’s got a good grip on his from both sides, ko seals the other’s lips tight, tries to blow in to no avail because there was actually nothing to blow. his chest, where his gem is embedded wants to shine and only trickles with fissures of light giving cain an emotional outreach to openly take just as quickly as he’d grapple for him earlier. something does happen, and how wouldn’t properly be explained beyond the realization that when he’d breathe again, it wasn’t water killing him.
it would pull what he’d inhaled out of him like a sponge, replaced with comfort, soundness, and freshness just like the air over the lake’s surface. ]
[It doesn't even initially register as a kiss. More than anything, it feels like survival, a tease of air after choking seconds without, the burn in his lungs at an unbearable point as unconsciousness begins to prickle black in the corners of his awareness. This is the last chance. Cain latches onto it automatically, fingertips gouging into broad shoulders in a bruising grasp as their mouths seal together and he inhales, even if there's nothing to swallow. It doesn't matter; soon, the brutal cage of breathlessness eases around his lungs and he begins to breathe again, filtering particles through thick lake water. That blue gem is an eerie glow in the murky darkness, but it causes his eyes to blink open in bewilderment and focus on the boy he's desperately clinging to.
Who… the fuck?
Even as Cain's head goes back like a horse trying to shake off some persistent itch, relief washes clear-headedness back in. He's not dying. He's not going to die. His mouth opens in a burst of bubbles to impulsively try to speak, voice a low warbling vibration that forms no intelligible words.
Then, in the corner of his eye, he sees a dark shape streaking toward them. Cain's foot comes out to kick it on the head(?) reflexively—a slow, inarticulate movement but enough to stun the creature and send it lashing off in a different direction. One of his arms waves wildly after, the other still wrapped around the boy's shoulders, legs kicking uselessly, still not knowing how to use his body to swim. He tries to mouth words through more bubbles:
[ ko was nearly beaming with relief to the point that his teeth were so close to exposing in the warm glow in using manna— a crooked smile that doesn't last when water sloshes around their ears with movement. a fish? the dude just kicked it, and the accelerated beat of his heart had made ko forget the stinging around his shoulders when the vice grip clamped around it.
he could barely make out what it was, but it wasn't in their interest to stick around long enough to find out. its what ko hoped for when he nodded curtly secured his hand around the other's to emphasize keep his grip on him before using all his limbs: forward, thrusting back, and kicking to cut through the water in the way and move. not only does he swim, ko manipulates the flow of water in his favor, with each flag and swipe of his arms, or kick of his legs.
that makes for quite the fast swimmer, but so was the beast lurking just at the corner of murkiness in their eyes. by the time its gained the same bursting momentum, it's already upon them with a whack—
one that ko tries his best to evade with flexibility at best, but always, go damn always making sure he's the shield in between. ]
[He sees the smile through the murky water, squinting with incomprehension, but all of that slides away as he's pulled forward by that unnaturally powerful momentum. Cain didn't even know somebody could swim so well; he wants to ask about it, but he doesn't have the mental wherewithal after what he had just endured, let alone the ability to speak underwater.
Unprepared for the next assault, he makes a choked gurgling sound of shock and protest as the other boy gets between them, making himself the most immediate target. Sound is far away and muffled—still, he can almost hear the sound of flesh tearing, something dark clouding the water from a source he can't see, everything confused and turned around as soon as the chaos of movement happens. Unthinking and acting only on instinct, he kicks another leg out in the direction of that black shape beneath them, feeling the sole of his foot to come into contact with something firm and slippery.
They're free again, and this time Cain is also desperately trying to kick his way to the surface while clinging to his savior. As soon as heads break through lake water, he's gasping to breathe normally, hair pasted across his eyes.]
What—the fuck— [half-choking, lungs an after-burn even now that he isn't drowning,] who… are you…
[ ko spits the water that clings to his lips out in hasty exhales when they burst to the top, finally able to wade through the thinning surface and can collect his feet on the lake's eventual shore (it takes some kicks, though). even if their clothes were drenched and heavy, he made sure to keep fucking walking, or better yet, run, until the water went from their necks to their chests to their shins. splashes pounce to the mud and grass, and once ko's knees can finally hit earth, he lets the other go from his piggy-back hold and rolls sideways onto the forest ground.
it's only now apparent that the torn fabric sticking to his stomach bleed with a deep black color that webbed and dripped like paint. in the light, it'd be red, having yet to feel the full impact of pain while adrenaline took the wheel of sensation. ]
Ko, hell, [ if he's heaving, it's because of the workout, and not because of the air, he had plenty, for one. man, the dude— the dude had the thing (helpful; he means the sickness). to help the sputtering from cain, ko claps his hand against his back. ] you okay?
[As soon as Cain lands on solid ground, he twists away, rolling across dirt until he's hunched over his own knees in a curl. His whole body is shaking. Feverish chills cut through him in waves, sick with the illness that has plagued him, nausea roiling in his gut. With a heave, he empties the contents of his stomach--just sour, clear bile and lake water, last meal he's had already several hours ago. The vines are still embedded in his flesh, but they appear to be wilted from the struggle if not completely gone.
His head aches. He can't seem to think clearly. The last few minutes of pure adrenaline and survival have briefly washed out whatever had hold of him, but he can feel it beginning to creep back in, like a dark shroud. Coughing violently, he can't yet respond to the boy next to him.]
Shit… something's… wrong…
[Cain manages an animalistic snarl before a rush of power courses through him, driven by his overactive gem, fists punching the ground in bursts of fire to leave scorched marks behind. In pained warning:]
[ the acrid fumes of vomit is easy enough to ignore with a lift of his head in the opposite direction, cradling his side and tipping his weight to and extending arm to stand. of course, ko intends to trek towards his new friend (yes, he thinks so already!) and offer some help in getting up himself, or at the very least with intention to place his hand on his back.
he startles backward from the flash of light more than the warning, but immediately brings both his heads up in harmless gesture; one shines clean with the wetness from the lake, the other is dirtied red. ]
S'alright, Hey! I'm the water one, [ he needs to focus and tries to with a purse of his lips, flitting his tongue over them and squeezing his eyes shut just a little harder. his manna, on the other hand, was beginning to wane, but he manage the rise of the droplets from their drenched bodies into the air for a straining few seconds— before they pelt the earth at once, like momentary rain. ] see? Water sizzles fire.
[ that's one way to put it, but he feel confident enough to approach and reassures it. ]
[Even after the whirlwind of the past few weeks on Primavera, Cain hasn't found that he's adjusted to the sheer magnitude of greenery and colorful flora present in Sumarlok—on Noctium at large—displaced from the everyday-grey of military life in space, and before that, the barren cold of New Volga. It doesn't make him less homesick. If anything, his bizarre and alien surroundings serve to further drive in the nail of truth: that he is alone, far away from his own universe and everyone within it, and he is not likely to get back soon. Maybe that realization should be freeing. Cain can only endure a persistent sense of dread, looking back on his most recent actions and how they've paved the way toward an even worse reality.
He's never going home.
At some point, wandering familiar avenues around the transit station from the islands following his return, Cain notices a rich, musky, floral scent as the tepid breeze picks up. He sniffs the air a few times, head turning to catch sight of a few of the Hanara gems en route to Primavera. Then they're gone. It's such an unremarkable encounter that, an hour later, he doesn't make any connection between their presence and the sudden onset of physical symptoms he begins to experience.
Dizzy and lightheaded, his eyes are drawn to a vivid path through a nearby garden, altered vision warping pale blue flecks into what resembles a flowing stream of light. He is immediately enraptured. Night has set in, tinting sky a deep blue shade bleeding blacker as time wears on, so that his own dark silhouette slips easily into shadow up the trail. Only the rhythmic pattern of bootheels will be heard.
When Cain reaches the end, he is confronted with a wide and shallow canal shaded by tall, leaning trees, its glassy surface like an oil slick in the dark. The area is deserted. Four moons above, each in separate phases of waxing and waning, cast strange, stilted shadows that confuse his sense of awareness as he approaches the bank. He feels his heart leap into the tight knot of his throat, hammering hard and frantic at the last memory that confronts him—water closing cold and airless above his head, sucking him down into its endless depth, filling lungs.
Emboldened, Cain splashes forward and into the canal with a snarl:] Hey, fuck you, water! You're not gonna fucking kill me!
[Except his balance is wrong, or something is off, because he immediately loses his footing and crashes onto hands and knees with a gasping shout of panic. The water is so shallow it barely levels with broad shoulders, yet Cain thrashes in blind terror despite that, screaming his head off like an idiot.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
𝚊𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝
@wray
Eventually, Cain wanders into the avenues of Yaranak, owlish wide eyes taking in the site of open marketplaces. He's somewhat unsettled by the honeycomb pattern of the stonework, reminded too readily of Colteron architecture, but the overall style and atmosphere is different enough to take him away from that thought. Not to mention the scents. A sweet fragrance is in the air, carried on a tepid breeze. He's wrestled out of his jacket and tied it around the waist. Now clad only in a sleeveless red shirt, he heads down the street sampling everything offered out to him.
It's a lot. By the time Cain finishes grazing, he's pretty buzzed and light-headed from several cups of mead and sticks of honey, shoulders slack as black eyes scan the crowd with relaxed curiosity.
And then he sees them. Pointed above the heads of several natives, twitching in the next wind—soft, fluffy, furred ears.
His heart rate quickens, a flutter up in his throat. He takes off at a half-sprint down the street, shouldering roughly through the crowd in pursuit. Eyes on the prize.]
Hey, you! Hold it! [Simultaneously excited and a little tipsy, Cain thinks nothing of pointing rudely at the man(???) he finds in front of him.] What the hell is on your head?
[WHAT ARE THOOOOOSE]
no subject
there are a plethora of colours — floral aesthetics mixing together with the futuristic vibe of this world, and it makes for a polychromatic experience that's incredibly difficult to look away from. it's hard to tell what he should focus on first when they're all vying for his attention, no matter where he goes. not that it matters too much, because in the end, just like cain, he'll have tried out every free sample there is.
normally, he wouldn't bother checking out everything this place has to offer, more interested in going places that'll help him map out what's dangerous or not, but he is trying to forget about what happened to him on the way here —
someone's voice manages to stop his thought right there and then. a voice calls out to him, his ears perking up and swiveling towards the direction it came from. it's not long before he realizes that someone is quickly approaching him. gut instincts tell him to run away, but all he does is take one step back. ]
... What do you mean? I'm not wearing anything on my head.
[ can't this person see he isn't wearing a hat? not even his hood?
those furry ears continue to twitch, as if taunting the other man. ]
Unless you meant to ask someone else.
no subject
Uh, no. Nope. You definitely got something on your head. Are you serious right now?
[Emboldened by the sweet intoxication of mead and honey, he doesn't stifle the impulse to reach out, itching to get both sets of fingers on fluffy triangle ears. He's never wanted anything more in his life. Truly. This is it. He's already fantasizing about how soft they must be, whether they'll fold easily under his touch or remain rigid, whether they'll tickle and twitch to be freed, whether they'll elicit any sounds from their owner. All possibilities are thrilling to imagine after he's spent so long looking at Earth creatures but never seeing them in the flesh. Uh, fur. He's just gotta…reach—]
Lemme touch them. C'mon.
no subject
Do you ask everyone you see if you can touch their ears?
[ incredulous. then again, maybe he shouldn't really be surprised given the nature of where he got whisked away. it'll be a different story if this is someone he knew but this man looks like he isn't someone who would stop at one touch.
his ears have suffered enough today... ]
I'll have to pass, thank you.
[ time to make a quick exit. he'll sidestep the guy if he has to. ]
no subject
No, yours are different.
[Anything for this dream come true. As Cain is sidestepped, he swiftly turns in their weird dance, attempting to catch the stranger by one slender shoulder as a hand again makes a greedy swipe for an ear.]
Come on— [grabby grabby,] —just real quick, promise—I haven't even seen one yet and I've been here for days!
[He doesn't clarify what he means. Determination lit like a fire, Cain doesn't care that he's corralling the other man back toward the obstacle of a building wall. It's not totally deliberate.]
no subject
it's a funny sight to behold if you happen to be passing by, because while the stranger is determined to touch his ears, six is all the more determined to not let him. not that it lasts—as soon as his back hits the wall, he freezes up, wonders why he hasn't decked the guy just yet, but he just got here and would rather avoid getting in trouble with the peacekeepers of this place for the time being, thank you.
he reaches for the hand trying to touch his ears, wanting to still its motions. ]
You haven't seen one what, exactly?
[ depending on the answer, he may or may not tighten his grip. enough for it to start hurting if he doesn't like what he hears. ]
no subject
A cat. What the hell do you think? Cats have those pointy, fluffy, cute ears…
[Hesitation trails his voice off. Dark eyes narrow, more with realization than anything else, slow brain working at the puzzle of why a man would have a cat's ears on his head. Maybe… modifications? Magic? The bizarre nature of this world suggests anything. His fingers slacken, but he's still crowding Six back without sign of defeat.]
… Are they real?
no subject
[ his voice is completely deadpanned. it's almost as if he couldn't believe what he just heard, but then again, this isn't exactly the first time he'd been seen as such. he falls silent as he regards the one before him with narrowed eyes. is he lying? should he believe it when he says he's never seen a cat before? and then quietly, in the back of his mind: what kind of rock did this guy crawl out from, if that was the case?
those treacherous ears of his flicker once again, taunting the other man now that they're within reach. six looks as though he is considering what his next move should be: does he shove the guy away now that he's been backed up against a wall, or does he let things play out since it's so harmless?
he sighs again, but then his grip on the man's wrist slackens until he finally lets him go. ]
Of course they're real. I was born with them and have lived with them my entire life.
no subject
So you're... a cat. [His dumb, rocks-filled brain is trying to do this mental calculation.] Or... uh, one of your parents is? 'Cause you still look like a guy. Mostly.
[Is that biologically possible? Then again, after all he's seen here, maybe his own imagination is limited. Wrist released, Cain rubs it briefly before—of course—trying to reach up again. He can't resist the siren's call.]
What are they like?
no subject
that's why he stays still, back still up against the wall.
the one lilac eye that's exposed, however, narrows by the tiniest fraction. ]
I'm not a cat. [ he knows it won't make much of a difference to people who don't know, but. ] I am an Erune.
[ as for that last question... ]
Are you asking what my parents are like?
no subject
[He's sounding the words out, attempting to shape them with the same familiarity, despite how foreign it sounds. Not a cat, but some other creature with similar characteristics? Maybe it has something to do with ancestry? Cain finds his head bobbing, unconsciously, eyes wide with an almost childlike fascination.]
Yeah, was one of them a cat? Is it a cross-species thing? Never heard of anything like that, even back on Earth.
[Taking advantage of that stillness without a shade of regret or shame, he crowds closer to Six, both hands landing on triangular ears. Calloused fingertips are surprisingly gentle, passing across the pointed tips before closing over in a caress, stroking velvety warm fur, his expression only brightening with awe.]
Holy shit. They're so soft.
[Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?]
no subject
... Of course they are. Were you expecting them to be hard?
[ who has ever heard of ears like that? he scoffs quietly, mostly as another attempt to keep his own voice steady. ]
Both of my parents were Erunes, just like I am. We all look like this — but I suppose you can find variation in the kinds of ears you see.
[ a hand moves up to place itself on the man's chest, ready to push him away at any moment. not right now, at least. not yet. ]
Why are you so fascinated by this?
no subject
Seeing the stain of red cheeks, Cain smirks—but he doesn't say anything. Fingers aren't soon to loosen, thumbs tracing to the velvety fold of those ears as though emboldened by the reactive twitching, rubbing from base to tip with new purpose.]
Guess it's like a totally different species. [Not unbelievable, considering all of the strange shit he's seen so far.] Weird.
Anyway, it's 'cause we didn't really have any animals, back where I'm from. I mean, they existed, just not… on our planet. They're all on Earth, so I only ever saw cats in grainy vids. Never touched one.
[Admission lowly murmured, Cain shoves forward a bit, as if to taunt that hand that hasn't actually begun shoving him back. Give him an inch; he'll definitely try to take a mile.]
no subject
Then... that will continue to be the truth. I'm not a cat.
[ is it just him or are the two of them absurdly much closer than before? he doesn't need anyone to tell him where things might be headed so he does try to create space between them again, pushing the other back by keeping his hand planted firmly on his chest. ]
Regardless, your curiousity is satiated. I'll be on my way.
[ it's time to make an exit, stage left. nevermind the look on his face that's practically begging for this to keep going. ]
@pushpin (nsfw)
It feels good, there's no question on that. Tired muscles thaw beneath warm, skillful hands, knots of stress worked loose by each fingertip pressure-point applied across his back, legs, shoulders. When it ends, he feels loose and pliant in a way only the brink of exhaustion from exercise (or sex) has ever taken him. Eventually transitioning to one of the personal, indoor baths on the premises, Cain comes to find himself submerged in warm water with an open bottle of native honeyed mead set aside, lounging with arms spread across the rim of the tub. The view opens one whole wall in a sprawl of naked greenery as Primavera begins dimming to night, last threads of daylight left in burnt, coppery strips over paneled wood and paved stone. The silence is uncanny; he realizes he's hunting for that omniscient hum of machinery in spaceflight, its presence as permanent as his doomed sentence.
At some point, becoming slurred and probably drunk, Cain's thoughts inevitably turn to Abel.
It's unfair for him to be enjoying this while Abel is out there—stranded, captured, possibly dead. It's unfair for him to feel anything about it, really. He doesn't know if he'll ever see his navigator again. Whether he should, even if he could. Yet his mind commits to the betrayal anyway, unraveling memory as sore muscles fully relax in the heated pool, water a fragrant perfume of petals scattered across its mirrored surface. He remembers all of it. That slack, sweet mouth half-formed around a whimper, the dark cast of eyes—from flawed genetic mods so unlike the other flawless navigators—over a slender shoulder, the willing bend of a lean spine, the eager hips sloped upward and so easily bruised, the spread of ass cheeks under his gloved thumbs.
Before Cain is even aware of the decision of movement, one hand slides down a flat abdomen to take the base of his thickening dick in a tight, brutal circle, falling prey to the sudden throb of arousal in his system.
The door behind him clicks open. With a frustrated noise, Cain's head rolls on a shoulder; he doesn't relinquish the hold on his own cock even as he stares, eyes lazily slitted, at the intruder.]
I thought these were private.
no subject
[ and who could blame him? the salt scrub where they clean crevices he's usually only had tongues in has his skin feeling like a goddamn newborn baby's, transported back into the body of a hormone-fueled teenager where he can't stop touching himself. draped in a robe that's barely cinched at the waist, the neckline opened wide around his décolletage to drape off of shoulders and air out ruddy, freckled clavicles. his steps smack with fluffy slippers, and his eyes are bleary with a calm bliss as he shuffles into the room the staff designated for him. ]
Oh.
[ a shuffle of silk and he turns, giving the doorknob a good jiggling. ]
Locked.
[ which he announces like it's neither a shocker nor a big deal, his voice steady — unusually smooth, though Cain wouldn't know the difference. hey, what's better than enjoying his spa day? enjoying his spa day when the edibles hit. no reason to let a little hiccup like this ruin his day, the now very active logical part of his brain supplies now that his hot temper has been effectively silenced — and so he shuffles across the room and toes his slippers off, shrugging his way out of the robe and leaving it draping over a piece of furniture. ]
[ one long leg, then another, he doesn't have any reason to glance Cain's way to see what he's doing — if he's a threat, if he's a prospect, neither much matter. not compared to sinking into the hot water with a satisfied sigh, lowering down all the way to that very sharp jaw. ]
Sorry for the intrusion. [ mildly. not sorry enough to give this up, lol. ]
no subject
Singled intensity isn't lost despite the warm, syrupy pleasure of indulgence. If anything the distraction of another body at arm's reach sidelines the darker corners of rumination, but he notices that his own arousal doesn't bank. That fact is so normal Cain thinks little of it. There's nothing overly unusual about the situation, and though the weight of his gaze is lazy, still it lingers even after Guanshan is submerged, memorizing all of the features obfuscated to him by water—lean crux of thighs, sharp hip bones, scarred teethmarks opposite the green flash of a gem, unknown symbols carved further below (what are those?), metallic glitter of piercings. He's not surprised to feel a throb of attraction, pronounced by a foggy and effusive external factor of alcohol and something else, unconscious and fragrant.
Cain takes his hand off his dick and reaches for the bottle of open mead behind him. Then he wades the distance, lifted enough to reveal the fresh-healed, pinkly webbed scarring of a gunshot in his abdomen, and offers the bottle.]
You tried this stuff yet? It's pretty good. They keep giving it out free.
no subject
[ palpable tension he knows. magnetism — even (or perhaps especially) nude, he's a curiosity most would rather gawk at from a distance. he does like that Cain draws in. finally, a lazy glance at the mead... and in not so many words, he already thinks to play a game. fuck with the guy a little. he seems charismatic and up for a little fun, but just how much? ]
It's forbidden. [ lies don't come naturally and he isn't smart enough to keep a difficult charade up for too long, but he's also seen enough of temples and their hypocrisy (recently) and the strange, dark, ugly things humans do to each other (always) to play out a tale. ]
I belong to a noble in Solare. [ a possible explanation for the tattoo, or the piercings, or maybe even the almost ritualistic scarring that breaks open patternless freckles. ] Nothin' "impure" can enter my body. You wouldn't wanna make me break my vows, now wouldja?
[ and when his eyes meet Cain's, it's almost as if he's done it incredibly purposeful: made himself something to be stolen. forbidden fruit. ]
no subject
Cain buys it, easy.
Wading inches closer, sinking until the tub water licks up defined obliques, his smile is broad and sharkish, dark. A hand extends harmlessly out—with the boldness of caressing a caged animal, he thumbs the glinting green gem embedded in Guanshan's ribs. His other arm brings the mead to his own lips, pulling a generous swallow off the bottle and leaving the rim shiny and wet from his mouth. Then he holds it out and under that sharp chin.]
I won't tell if you don't, [soft and low, devil-whispering.] C'mon.
[Like he cares about someone else's vows. If anything, it offers more fuel to break them, to soil and ruin some noble's prized possession with own two filthy hands.]
no subject
[ russet-tipped eyelashes go low. considering, maybe. apologizing, perhaps. compartmentalizing. people's minds do all sorts of things when they go against their own morality; he would know better than most. when he looks back, it's almost doe-eyed and beguiling, but not so much as his mouth parting open, willing and pliant, for that first big gulp. it may as well be his legs spreading open for all the invitation it holds. ]
[ delicate guiding fingers at Cain's elbow help — but he lets it be a clumsy, messy, raw thing, his lips parted around the glass and his adams apple bobbing with the drink, but not in any time or hurry that saves amber from running down his chin, his swallowing throat, the freckled and unmarred expanse of his ever-rosying chest. nor do his eyes leave Cain's, dark and charcoaled-in, just like a devilish memory that sometimes comes to warm his bedside. ]
[ when he's relinquished, he chases the flavor with his tongue to openly showing his appreciation, the breath and pulse of the lamb quickened in the presence of the wolf. ]
Shouldn't touch me, either.
[ there's no denying that light little tone — it's coy. ]
no subject
Lucky for him, he thinks. Some divination of fate has placed this gift directly into his greedy palms. Cain takes the bottle back, savoring the brush of contact at his elbow before he reaches around and plants the mead over the tub’s rim, onto slats of wood. He does this while bringing himself into closer proximity, water lapping at sides, almost grazing contact.]
Guess we’re already breaking rules. [The small offer of drink is the gateway drug before he asks for a little more, and a little more.] What’s another? Your secret’s mine, promise.
[Unbarred now, no hesitation prevents one strong, knuckled-scarred hand from coming up to cradle that sharp and angular jaw. He uses the hold to turn Guanshan’s head toward him, eyes aligned, mouths millimeters apart to share breath in the almost-kiss. The other hand sinks south to caress his flank, thumb purposefully rubbing across that sharp little gem like he’s fingering a bruise, or some more intimate spot. Synchrony doesn’t even occur to him in the moment.]
Fuck, you’re too pretty for some asshole to get you all to themselves.
no subject
[ the brush is brief, velvety, just a graze on the fullest points of both their lips. Guanshan shivers with the tension the way a hung body jerks, exhales harshly as the yearning twists just a little tighter. he won't let himself have it yet, isn't finished relishing in the suspense — will they, won't they? more importantly, "will he or will I?" when giving in and not giving in both mean victory and reward, playing the long game only elongates the fun. ]
[ because for as long as this lasts, he already belongs to the man encircling him. the (unabashed, uncontrolled, unconsidered) quiet burn of synchrony has writ as much. it projects a single note: desire. this, all as he lowers his eyes and wishes for this body so close against him. ]
Mm'supposed to be quiet... no matter what happens.
[ spindly fingers emerge from beneath the water, dripping points pattering softly back into the bath, and then onto Cain's skin, and then the water connects them as he oh so gently pets his way up his breathing sternum. an excuse to be completely unbidden... among the promises that need to be kept. he's never heard himself called "pretty" (it almost makes him laugh), but he does know most of the honeypots he'd fall into traps for — and it's not especially difficult to stoke a hotblooded man's imagination. ]
But I don't think anyone will hear us here, d'you?
@dumber (cw body horror, drowning)
Within seconds of creating this gory mess, Cain freezes completely, head lifting like an alert dog toward some unseen sound. He can hear it in his head—soft, distant and melodious, luring him back into a blank and mindless stupor.
Bare feet move automatically to take him forward. Deeper, lake water rising up around calves, then knees, then thighs, its chill biting nerves numb to the sensation. Several meters away, a dark shape flashes beneath the surface in a ripple of liquid movement. Cain doesn't even seem to notice it. Only once he wades chin-deep into the lake does survival instinct kick its alarm, ringing a violent bell through his awareness—just in time for his head to go under as water floods his mouth and down his throat in helpless first swallows before he closes his jaw.
He's never seen this much water in one place before. It hadn't existed in the colonies. Couldn't, given the natural environment. Of course he can't swim. It isn't as though he or the Alliance military could have predicted he'd be in this scenario. Why would he ever need to learn?
Eventually these pointless thoughts stop occurring to him. All there is, is the need to breathe. Breathe. He can't. He inhales another swallow of water, and sinks like a bag of lead.]
cw mentions of self harm + suicide
Hey . . . Hey!
[ his heart leaps when he sees bubbles, when he sees that the other doesn’t come up, neither does he seem to make an effort to swim beyond splashes and— no one does that unless—
ko hardly wastes time in removing his clothes, even his shoes, genuine concern ravaging his heart into action to jump into the water with a shattering splash and pull the other man back up. he just had to find him . . . having not noticed he could breathe down here, ko still holds his breath as he navigates beneath the water and how goddamn dark it is, even with his eyes open. something pulls him anyway, a change in flow and the sound of gargling.
he promised himself he’d be there for anyone who was in need after the first time he died alone and lacked the company to find him, and take him to a hospital— he wouldn’t let the same happen with this guy, much less by drowning. even that, ko knew what it was like to inhale water until you asphyxiated with the burning from the inside. it’s that level of determination that finally gets him to brush into something at the bottom of this damned thing.
another race his heart is put into in an instant. water weeds, or the person? he hasn’t needed to inhale, and feels around for a limb, or a shoulder, or head, in that same spot, uplifting dirt into rising clouds as he did. come on, he was running out— ]
no subject
It isn't the first time he's faced his own death. In some sense, he had faced it every day with the Alliance, each time he buckled himself into the starfighter and put his hands on the controls. But that always felt like an even gamble: he could fight his way to victory so long as he was skilled enough. He had a chance. It was that razor's edge he appreciated most, splintering hot and vital through every nerve and bone, because it taught him to value how hard it was to keep himself alive against all odds.
This isn't a fair match. It's simply drowning, dying, lungs filling with water to replace all of the air that was there before.
Cain clings to the other body like a child, arms wrapped around broad shoulders and legs intertwined, desperate not to be alone as he drags his would-be savior down with him.]
(1/2)
but it takes a horrid amount of effort to feel like he moved an inch out of place, and that if he did. ko’s chest burned for air, and he could only blow bubbles out in protest. if he died down here, would he come back with enough air to bring them up—? by the time he desperately thought that (which was a stupid idea, he’d just keep drowning until he hardened into a crystal), ko was frightened to the brim when his brain forced him to inhale—
he was waiting for the same painful ache amongst this agonizing splashing around, but what he gets is clean oxygen. he doesn’t inhale water, but the particles of air within it much like a fish. how, is asking the wrong person. being simple-minded has its perks. for one, even amidst the surprise and frenzy, he thinks, stupidly:
”i can do CNN!” ]
(2/2)
this might be the worst kiss to start off, too, in cain’s distress. here’s some dude he can’t even see right, feeling for his shoulders, his head, and once he’s got a good grip on his from both sides, ko seals the other’s lips tight, tries to blow in to no avail because there was actually nothing to blow. his chest, where his gem is embedded wants to shine and only trickles with fissures of light giving cain an emotional outreach to openly take just as quickly as he’d grapple for him earlier. something does happen, and how wouldn’t properly be explained beyond the realization that when he’d breathe again, it wasn’t water killing him.
it would pull what he’d inhaled out of him like a sponge, replaced with comfort, soundness, and freshness just like the air over the lake’s surface. ]
no subject
Who… the fuck?
Even as Cain's head goes back like a horse trying to shake off some persistent itch, relief washes clear-headedness back in. He's not dying. He's not going to die. His mouth opens in a burst of bubbles to impulsively try to speak, voice a low warbling vibration that forms no intelligible words.
Then, in the corner of his eye, he sees a dark shape streaking toward them. Cain's foot comes out to kick it on the head(?) reflexively—a slow, inarticulate movement but enough to stun the creature and send it lashing off in a different direction. One of his arms waves wildly after, the other still wrapped around the boy's shoulders, legs kicking uselessly, still not knowing how to use his body to swim. He tries to mouth words through more bubbles:
Fucking go!]
no subject
he could barely make out what it was, but it wasn't in their interest to stick around long enough to find out. its what ko hoped for when he nodded curtly secured his hand around the other's to emphasize keep his grip on him before using all his limbs: forward, thrusting back, and kicking to cut through the water in the way and move. not only does he swim, ko manipulates the flow of water in his favor, with each flag and swipe of his arms, or kick of his legs.
that makes for quite the fast swimmer, but so was the beast lurking just at the corner of murkiness in their eyes. by the time its gained the same bursting momentum, it's already upon them with a whack—
one that ko tries his best to evade with flexibility at best, but always, go damn always making sure he's the shield in between. ]
no subject
Unprepared for the next assault, he makes a choked gurgling sound of shock and protest as the other boy gets between them, making himself the most immediate target. Sound is far away and muffled—still, he can almost hear the sound of flesh tearing, something dark clouding the water from a source he can't see, everything confused and turned around as soon as the chaos of movement happens. Unthinking and acting only on instinct, he kicks another leg out in the direction of that black shape beneath them, feeling the sole of his foot to come into contact with something firm and slippery.
They're free again, and this time Cain is also desperately trying to kick his way to the surface while clinging to his savior. As soon as heads break through lake water, he's gasping to breathe normally, hair pasted across his eyes.]
What—the fuck— [half-choking, lungs an after-burn even now that he isn't drowning,] who… are you…
no subject
it's only now apparent that the torn fabric sticking to his stomach bleed with a deep black color that webbed and dripped like paint. in the light, it'd be red, having yet to feel the full impact of pain while adrenaline took the wheel of sensation. ]
Ko, hell, [ if he's heaving, it's because of the workout, and not because of the air, he had plenty, for one. man, the dude— the dude had the thing (helpful; he means the sickness). to help the sputtering from cain, ko claps his hand against his back. ] you okay?
no subject
His head aches. He can't seem to think clearly. The last few minutes of pure adrenaline and survival have briefly washed out whatever had hold of him, but he can feel it beginning to creep back in, like a dark shroud. Coughing violently, he can't yet respond to the boy next to him.]
Shit… something's… wrong…
[Cain manages an animalistic snarl before a rush of power courses through him, driven by his overactive gem, fists punching the ground in bursts of fire to leave scorched marks behind. In pained warning:]
Get the fuck away from me!
no subject
he startles backward from the flash of light more than the warning, but immediately brings both his heads up in harmless gesture; one shines clean with the wetness from the lake, the other is dirtied red. ]
S'alright, Hey! I'm the water one, [ he needs to focus and tries to with a purse of his lips, flitting his tongue over them and squeezing his eyes shut just a little harder. his manna, on the other hand, was beginning to wane, but he manage the rise of the droplets from their drenched bodies into the air for a straining few seconds— before they pelt the earth at once, like momentary rain. ] see? Water sizzles fire.
[ that's one way to put it, but he feel confident enough to approach and reassures it. ]
𝚊𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝚝𝚍𝚖
@wickedly
He's never going home.
At some point, wandering familiar avenues around the transit station from the islands following his return, Cain notices a rich, musky, floral scent as the tepid breeze picks up. He sniffs the air a few times, head turning to catch sight of a few of the Hanara gems en route to Primavera. Then they're gone. It's such an unremarkable encounter that, an hour later, he doesn't make any connection between their presence and the sudden onset of physical symptoms he begins to experience.
Dizzy and lightheaded, his eyes are drawn to a vivid path through a nearby garden, altered vision warping pale blue flecks into what resembles a flowing stream of light. He is immediately enraptured. Night has set in, tinting sky a deep blue shade bleeding blacker as time wears on, so that his own dark silhouette slips easily into shadow up the trail. Only the rhythmic pattern of bootheels will be heard.
When Cain reaches the end, he is confronted with a wide and shallow canal shaded by tall, leaning trees, its glassy surface like an oil slick in the dark. The area is deserted. Four moons above, each in separate phases of waxing and waning, cast strange, stilted shadows that confuse his sense of awareness as he approaches the bank. He feels his heart leap into the tight knot of his throat, hammering hard and frantic at the last memory that confronts him—water closing cold and airless above his head, sucking him down into its endless depth, filling lungs.
Emboldened, Cain splashes forward and into the canal with a snarl:] Hey, fuck you, water! You're not gonna fucking kill me!
[Except his balance is wrong, or something is off, because he immediately loses his footing and crashes onto hands and knees with a gasping shout of panic. The water is so shallow it barely levels with broad shoulders, yet Cain thrashes in blind terror despite that, screaming his head off like an idiot.]