[ The Cat makes some sound of relief at the confirmation, or perhaps it's because of the way Phainon kisses him and almost immediately pushes it hotter, scrubbing all thoughts of the last time he was here clean out of his mind, boxing all those stupid lingering feelings away to be a problem for another time, another day, another cat.
The Cat he is now feels unchained, delighted by the fact that he's got a warm body against him, under his paws, when he honestly thought he was looking forward to a night alone and maybe a few dirty texts to keep him company, if he was lucky. And though this fun little toy he's been batting around inside his mind since the evening of the ball certainly isn't ready to go out in the world and sext with any particularly staggering results, the arousal thrumming through the Cat from just his few messages is certainly nothing to sniff at. ]
Mmh— fuck— [ He'd been planning to say something in the moment between their kiss where he takes a breath, probably ask where the bedroom is or something similar, but the loss of Phainon's mouth on his makes his claws and teeth feel sharp, so he fast hooks a hand at the back of the other man's neck to keep him close as he repairs their kiss once more, teeth against his tongue, against his lips. His other hand finds the hem of whatever shirt he's wearing — fuck, he didn't even look at him beyond his face when he arrived, the man could literally be wearing anything — and wrestles beneath it, getting skin on skin with the urgency of a man who needs this in order to breathe. ]
[ Phainon had been dressed down, at least, a pair of sweatpants and a purple shirt that could rightly be called hideous decorating him, so it might be for the best that the Cat hasn’t looked at him properly. The touch of hands on his skin has him burning, golden scars on his chest under exploding fingertips, the muscles of a trained soldier and warrior clear as Cat explores. Even as he moves, trying to get them to his bedroom as swiftly as he can, he’s wriggling out the clothes.
Keeping hold of his shirt is easy, if only so he can avoid questions later.
He has to pause along the way to let himself sink into the kiss, to lift a hand to scratch through hair and scalp to hold his partner in place, to relearn the taste of his tongue. It’s heady and makes him fee delirious, warm and buzzing in his chest. Phainon wants, more than he has words for, idle texts enough to stir a soft desire that grows all the more intense and desperate the more they kiss. Everything else fades from his mind.
Groaning, he leans back, kissing Cat’s jaw gently, tasting his skin. ]
My room is this way. [ He wants to be pushed against a door, a bed, cushioned, to see and touch this man, to learn. He slides into the familiar role of desired man, of someone flush with want and need, prickling with sensation, unable to hide how it floods him and makes him feel messy and dirty. It’s not a bad feeling, at least, breathing out a harsh noise as he pushes his own door open.
Whatever Cat plans, he’ll take it and run, learn, learn how to take this new world in stride. ]
[ The Cat's desire is powerful and loud, more intense than he expected it to be before he'd arrived here, but with the taste of Phainon's mouth and the feeling of his flesh under his hands, the Cat is understandably drowning in the memory of their last time together, of the barely restrained need for more in both of them when they'd parted and the heat that had remained in his body even hours later. Indulging in it now feels like he's being rewarded for his patience, even though said patience barely lasted a day.
He doesn't even take the parting of their mouths as Phainon removes his shirt all that well, forcing him to relinquish his hand in his hair and encouraging a petulant, impatient little chirp from his chest around the purr that's starting to build. Luckily it's soothed almost instantly by the warm expanse of flesh available, fingers eagerly mapping the shape of him before his eyes can — the indent of his scars, the hills and troughs of his muscles. Since he's been in an apartment with a similar layout to this one, he can guess where Phainon is leading him, so starts to push him with eager little presses of his body against his, kisses meandering from his mouth to his jaw, his throat and back again.
The Cat drops his fur somewhere in the confines of Phainon's room, not totally conscious of the fact that Phainon is trying to be considerate of his roommate but instinctually aware that he probably shouldn't leave a trail of clothes lying around if only because it'll be a fucking pain to pick them up later. The Cat pushes Phainon to sit on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to catch his breath, but the look in his eyes is that of a panther in tall grass, eyes wide and focused, attention pinned to the way Phainon looks, diffused with flushed skin and eyes blown wide with want. ]
You look... [ He says, voice deep but quiet, sounding not entirely dissimilar from how someone might talk about some masterful sculpture, some great work of art. ] Gorgeous. [ He leans down, kissing him deeply, forcing his body into the space between his legs, hands cupping his cheeks. ]
There's no better sight than a man who wants something. [ Hands slide down onto his chest, claws against skin, harder than might be expected for all that reverence in his voice. He sounds like he's handling something precious, but his touch is harder than that, testing something he knows won't break. ] And no better feeling... than knowing you can give it to him.
[ There's something dangerously heady about the way that they give in to each other, still practically strangers as they pull at clothes and keep kissing, devouring each other and doing whatever they want. It is fit for purpose, of course, and Phainon can't deny that he appreciates being able to do something to make sure his wish is granted, but he's shocked by how easy it is. To give into the urge for something more, to allow himself to bubble and burn with want and desire, all without expectation?
It thrills him.
Stumbling back into his bed, Phainon lets himself settle, lifting his head to gaze at the man before him. There's a small part of him that wants to test the waters, to see what might happen if he attempts to take control, to wrestle it away from the Cat and take charge himself. He could grab him, shove him down, clamber onto his lap and let himself explore, hands along his body, searching for all the places that make the Cat desperate and wanton. It almost feels as if it would be too easy; he's confident in his ability to lift and move Cat if needed. He is strong enough.
He doesn't, though, eyes dark, lifting his head to press into the kiss, turning into the touch to his face, anchored and feeling good for it. When he speaks, his voice is soft and deep, cheeks bright gold with his pleasure, the way he gazes at the Cat a sure sign of how much he wants this. ]
What do you think I want today, Cat? [ His hand rises, curling in his hair, pulling him close again. ] What do you plan on teaching me, here in the privacy of my bedroom?
[ The purr already rumbling through him at the feeling of a responsive body so close and so eager to be touched and to touch in return pitches louder still as Phainon pushes fingers into his hair. He musses the dark curls when he drags him in, and the Cat has to put real focus into not turning his head into the touch and mewling as he comes close.
Phainon's words settle like warm honey across his senses, but he retains enough focus to think about his answer, casting his mind back to what Phainon had said over text, what he was like the first time they met, how he'd confessed to wanting to requite and how he'd been so very eager to please with it.
Logically, it would make sense to offer him the indulgence of that same desire now, having heard him ask for it with his own voice, but with this new angle of tutelage, the Cat feels a little more daring than simply giving in to that surface level need. With sharp claws that long to puncture, to dip into something that might take his mind off the thoughts swirling around in it, he wants something deeper, so he reaches down with one hand to palm between Phainon's legs, his other hand pressing in at the very center of his chest, pushing him until he's laying flat on his back. ]
I think you want whatever I can give to you. Whatever it is you'll take it, because you're starving for it.
[ His fingers tense at both points of contact on Phainon's body; one hand feeling the shape of his cock, the other raising to find one of his nipples, fingers squeezing the sensitive skin around it. ]
I want to spoil you. I want to make you selfish. If there's anyone that can lead by example with that kind of thing, it's a creature like me. Will you let me teach you to listen to your body so that it gets exactly what it wants?
[ Phainon can give into the kisses and the touches because he’s being led, guided to a destination with a careful hand. Kissing Cat is an easy, heady thing because there doesn’t need to be emotion attached to it, doesn’t need to worry about the guilt or grief that haunts his very being. He is not stuck thinking of death and destruction at his own hands - rather, the pleasured touch that comes from another, that makes his body feel alive.
It should all be easy, and in a way it is. He can stop his thoughts from devouring him and wrestle his pain to push it aside, to kiss and be kissed. Mindless, easy lust, as good and novel as a fight - and he had so loved fighting. He had told a dear friend it once, laughed at how Mydeimos had said fighting was a way of freeing himself of duty, however briefly. Sex could be the same, a liberation in its own way.
Leaning back, feeling decadent, he pauses to lick his lips and stare at Cat.
The request feels, oddly, like too much. The idea of being selfish and sating his own desires is simply impossible, and he doesn’t even know where he’d begin. It would steal his voice and make him look a fool for it, and that could be no worse a turn off in a situation like this. He could play around with the assumption of inexperience and get away with it, but that seems wrong too, somehow. There’s no good answer.
So, instead, he laughs, hoarse and caught in his throat. ]
I will gladly take whatever it is you give me. [ That, he can do. ] I told you that I’d like to learn. I’m starting to wonder if I’m entirely at your mercy.
[ That little pause is fascinating for the complete enigma it makes of this already somewhat difficult to pin down man. The Cat had thought him shy at first, but then he shows a hunger and need, like there's another consciousness in him only breaking the surface of the water when his want gets too large for his body to hold alone. The way he'd held the Cat's body with strong arms, the way he'd bitten him. And now, he's staring at him with a strange expression the Cat can't place, laughing like Cat just stuck a claw deep between his ribs. Fascinating. ]
When we were together in the ballroom, [ The Cat says, so quiet and so commonplace that it could be mistaken for casual if not for the way his fingers are pressing into fabric and skin, visualising the shape of him and the sight of his body in a way he couldn't do when he was pressed tight against him in his lap. ] You said you'd enjoy yourself more if you could touch me too.
[ He's played the moment around and around in his mind since it happened, so he can recall it with almost perfect clarity now. The way Phainon had leaned in close, whispered, laughed. His hand firms, squeezing as if in parting, before slipping inside his sweats to feel him closer. ]
Do you think you would've been unsatisfied if I hadn't let you?
[ Trying to be selfish, trying to grasp things on his own, still feels so impossible and so, so strange. Phainon had fought for so many years to be what people wanted, ordained by the stars himself, from a young age. He can remember, in his first lifetime, Cyrene drawing the Deliverer card and offering it as his future, and it had meant so little to him back then. Now, that mantle is absolutely everything, impossible to put down.
Even when no one knows who he is, Phainon struggles to ignore who he had been, in a world so remote from this one. The fact that his friends remember him now is nothing short of a miracle.
Nodding, he breathes out softly. ]
I did. I remember. [ His body reacts to the touch, yearning for more, unable to stop staring at this man. It's nice, to be able to just listen, to follow a lead and do what he needs to do. To slip into being commanded. ] I like to bring others pleasure. I don't think that's a surprise.
[ Shaking his head, he leans back a little, groaning softly. ]
I'd have been disappointed, but I don't doubt the satisfaction.
[ The Cat's eyes tighten. Such a careful answer, and the way he reacts to the touch makes the Cat think of starvation, of thirst, of a man knowing there's relief to be had and imagining it on his tongue before he's tasted it. Phainon bleeds desire into his surroundings; both the intensity of feeling and the desire to do well, to please, to bring others pleasure as he said... The Cat's mind spins, and it feels good. To think about this man and this man only, not anyone or anything else, just for now. A much needed reprieve. ]
And what if I took your hands now?
[ He asks without really asking, already imagining how this body might look straining against binds, muscle flexing under his paws. He shifts closer, angling his hand to grip firm at the tip of his cock beneath his underwear and pulling tight, as if to draw his attention. As if it's strayed anywhere other than him this entire time. ]
What if what I want is to drive you to beg for it? [ The hand on Phainon's chest wanders up, pressing fingers in against his clavicle and then up, along his thrumming pulse. ] I want to pull you apart, till you cant think a single thought other than how badly you want me to let you come.
[ There's no hiding the way that Phainon wants, but it isn't as simple as desire. His yearning is deeper, down to his bones, in his very blood, staining his skin with gold when bitten or wounded. He wants to be good enough to earn his wish, wants to be able to prove himself in whatever mould he is being shoved into. This is a choice, at least, just as becoming the Deliverer had been, one that he hopes has a far better outcome than nightmares he had been through in the past. ]
You know that I would let you.
[ Phainon swallows.
A part of him yearns for it. To give up all his control, to switch off his mind, to not let himself overthink and push himself too hard. His eyes gaze at Cat, unflinching, wanton and filthy as he twitches, trying to keep himself still. Once again, he feels like prey caught in the hands of a predator, not sure if he should be grounding himself or running away.
He knows what his body wants, and that makes it easier. ]
[ The smile that flashes onto the Cat's face is wild and sharp, the faintest trace of sharpness in the straight line of his teeth visible beneath his scarred lip as he drags his lower one through his bite. That helpless submission lit ablaze by such a challenge makes him feel untethered. He wants to bite at that sweet mouth, make him gasp, strike a hand against his thigh and then dig in with his claws.
Instead, he leans over Phainon's body, hand slipping up to cup his throat in warm fingers and a warmer palm as he brings their mouths together in a deep kiss, not bothering to waste time not licking into his mouth and scraping his tongue along his canines, sucking at his tongue, groaning around it. His other hand retracts completely, coming to meet the air of the room around them, tingling faintly and clearly missing the warmth of Phainon's arousal, but the Cat can't let Phainon's bravado go untested. He squeezes faintly at his throat, giving him a chaste kiss before supplying him with his instructions. ]
Strip for me. I want to look at you.
[ I want, I want, I want. But he's already told Phainon what a greedy King he can be. ]
[ The kiss is heady, delicious, and Phainon sinks into it as easily and securely as he does a good fight, working through the motions, accepting his desire and his want. He can feel the want ripple through him and leave his skin feeling oversensitive, making his breathing come harder, making everything hit so much harder. He likes the Cat King, he likes the ease of their interactions, the burning need and want that needs nothing else to it.
There is no Deliverer, no Reaver, nothing but Phainon here, and Cat wants that. Wants what Phainon can give him.
Biting into the kiss, he groans softly, chasing the other man's mouth as he leans away, wanting more. The pressure around his throat shouldn't be as alluring as it is, but Phainon is beginning to recognise the things that he enjoys the most do not always make the most sense to him. Not anymore.
Already without a real shirt, already hard, all Phainon can do is nod, wiggling back to push his sweatpants down and away. There are boxers underneath, pale blue and comfortable, and his cock is already straining them. ]
[ As he leans back to watch Phainon undress, part of the Cat feels alive with the threat of his defiance seeing the other man still covered by fabric, but another part of him is inspired by some wicked rambling thought that he's helpless now to not see through. He somehow tears his eyes away from the eager reach of Phainon's cock tenting his boxers, dragging his gaze up his body so slow it might as well leave scorch marks in its wake. He rests golden focus on the other man's face, and exhales a slow, shuddering breath. ]
The way you look, Phainon... [ He groans, quiet, his purr like far away thunder. ] I don't know how I'll resist not eating you alive.
[ And then he leans in once more, but instead of kissing the other man's mouth, his lips make contact with his throat, a patch of soft skin between his own fingers, which fast move to tip Phainon's head upwards so he can kiss more of his neck, his jaw, beneath his ear, along his collar bones. He stops with his chin on his sternum, watching his skin flush beneath his contact, almost mesmerised by it. Almost. ]
I want you to put your hands above your head and keep them there. If you don't, I have magic that can restrain you. I'm not above putting a puppy in a collar if I need to, but I want to at least give you an opportunity to be good first.
[ Phainon is accustomed to being watched, to having eyes on him. He is used to his attempts to be a hero, to do all that he can to carry a mantle and be strong enough, to have eyes turn to him in adoration and celebration. This feels different, the drag of Cat's gaze enough to make him feel as if he is walking through lava, wading through the hottest of bathing rooms or sliding into an inferno. It feels dangerous.
It is, perhaps, especially with the way he purrs, the way he stares, as true to his name in action as he is in sound. It's almost funny, Phainon thinks, how he seems to be collecting cats into his closest of companions.
Tilting his head, he bares his neck, tattoo a soft, light sun against his skin. He enjoys the thrill of it, a mouth against him, the threat or promise of a bite. He wants more, an allure he simply cannot deny, even as he tries to maintain a pace to his breathing, to try and be as unaffected as possible. ]
Collaring me feels like it's becoming habit.
[ So he says, with a choker around his neck as close to a collar already.
Shifting back on the bed, he wiggles into position, lifting his arms up and baring his entire body in a flex. Strong arms, tight chest littered with scars, skin flushed a warm gold; Phainon knows he looks a picture. At least he can keep himself together for a little longer, resist the urge to sink in and completely lose himself. ]
Mmm. You must look good in one. I doubt it's out of any effort to keep you obedient.
[ The Cat doesn't call him needy, greedy, eager in words, but the way his smile curls says it all for him. His eyes flicker over Phainon's choker, over the tattoo on his neck, over the place he'd held his fingers moments before. It's maddening to want so much all at once, and he does his best to remind himself this surely won't be the last time he and Phainon fall into bed, but... but that doesn't make it any easier to resist him. Especially not as he stretches back like that, as the line of muscle running down from his biceps to his shoulders and chest tightens into a delicious line the Cat wants to feel with his tongue. ]
No-one's made a habit of cuffing you, then? I guess no-one's been so self-sacrificing as to take that pleasure away from themselves, hm....
[ He hisses a breath in through his teeth and bites back his own lip again, studying the sight before him like a starving man might study a banquet, trying to pick where it might be best to start when he simply wants it all. He leans in, prowling closer so that his body hovers over Phainon's, tongue touching his sternum first and then moving down. He isn't slow, but his pace is measured, teeth and lips and tongue catching at his skin, lapping his rough tongue across a scar here or a patch of firm flesh there, biting at the edge of a muscle, nibbling at the softer areas. He trails his tongue, wet and hungry, across Phainon's nipple before leaving a bruising half bite half kiss just beneath it.
All the while his hands reach down, seeking out the soft patch of flesh leading down to the waistband of Phainon's boxers. But he doesn't reach inside, not quite yet. Instead, claws drag across the fabric and over the twitching shape of the other man's cock, but continue down to his thighs rather than stopping, leaving hot pink lines in their wake as they press down to mark him. ]
It was a stylistic choice. Lady Aglaea was quite intent in my fashion choices.
[ But Cat isn't wrong. Phainon is good at following orders; he goes where directed, and does what he can to take the load away from others. He had tried to walk the path of Strife time and time again to save Mydeimos from the pain of it, and he had failed to overcome his own grief and regrets. Trying to work through that need to please and his own desires in this world is a slippery slope, but he is getting there, slowly but surely.
Now, completely at Cat's mercy, he feels as if his heart is going to race out of his chest and burn away. Phainon has to try and keep still, to be obedient and take more of what Cat is giving him, even if he feels a little at odds about it. His desire to return pleasure, to make sure that the person with him is equally taken care of, feels rebellious; he has to do what he is told, but being the utter centre of someone's focus is a strange and uncertain thing.
He's not sure how to handle it at all.
Breathless, he shakes his head, eyes flickering closed. ]
I'm learning more about myself here than I had imagined I would.
[ Which is not a yes or a no, but it's probably enough.
It's hard to keep himself still, hard to stay settled under the weight of Cat's touch and his gaze, but he is doing everything within his power. His thighs feel like they're shaking, a gentle shiver rolling through him as he breathes out, eyes closing as he tries to calm his racing heart. ]
I should hope so. I think you'll learn a lot about other people on the way down that path, too.
[ Phainon is clearly the self-sacrificing type himself, and though the Cat can't even begin to describe how much he enjoys the intensity and the dedication of his need to please, it only makes the Cat that much more curious to see what he'll do when that familiar position is taken away. He wonders if it's because he's afraid he'll like it too much, or if perhaps he's just not used to the spotlight being entirely on him. Is he wondering why the Cat would want this? Is he floundering, despite the fact that this is merely his own manner turned back to face him?
So many questions and so much curiosity burns in the Cat and threatens to distract him from the task at hand, but as Phainon's thighs quiver under his paws, he finds he can't think of anything else but driving more subtle reactions out of him just like that one. ]
Your hands feel good. You're a studious and giving lover. And you're really, really fucking hot, which only helps. [ The Cat says, mouth hot and sharp against Phainon's skin before he gives his chest another bite to match the lingering mark on the other side; nipping him, sucking hard, pulling back so the flesh drags between his teeth, hoping to bruise. ] But you drive me just as crazy laying here wanting my dick as you do touching it.
[ The Cat presses his own thighs together, just so he can feel the weight of his cock pressed between them, humming a pleased sound as his own eyes flicker closed for one blissful moment. He's just as hard as he would be if he were sitting on the edge of the bed with Phainon between his knees.
He moves his hand back up then, getting it inside Phainon's boxers in a swift and well-practiced movement, wrapping sharp claws around the familiar shape of him and starting to pull in even strokes, as he dips his head once more to trail his tongue in a long lap of friction down the very centre of the other man's chest. ]
I’ve always been interested in learning as much as I can about others.
[ It comes out a little breathless.
Phainon the lover of history, who enjoyed artefacts and stories and whatever existed in the past. It wars with Phainon the Deliverer, the man who fights with blood and teeth to save his world, who sacrifices all that he has time and time again in the vain hope the next time will be different. It feels as if there are too many pieces of himself inside and not enough methods to share them, to get it all out. He’s barely a man, running hot with coreflames burning him from the inside out.
Cat keeps teasing him, and his fingers flex where he holds them above his own head.
He wants more. Not just to touch, too tactile for his own good, but to feel as if he’s taking part. It feels wrong to be so utterly under the mercy of someone else, no matter how good each bite and swipe of tongue is. He can picture the soft bruises that’ll litter his skin, how he might touch them later and remember. He thinks if he tries to call Cat and moan down the line at him, blissful, he’d be welcome, and that too is a strange little thought to nest in his mind.
The hand on his cock has his hips jerking up, moaning softly. ]
I’m sure you say this to all the person you sleep with.
[ Not that Phainon doesn’t think of himself as handsome. He knows he is. He’s aware from how people treat him and he’s looked in a mirror - looked at himself enough times from a distance in his own memories that he’s not able to ignore it. It’s just nice to tease a little, not able to move his hands or touch with all the need bubbling inside him. He yearns, always has, and he has to fight against it.
[ Phainon and the Cat both. The Cat's curiosity has always felt like a living thing inside of him, always at the forefront of his mind and ever eager to be fed. And, somehow, it's always felt selfish despite the fact that it often manifests in wanting to know as much about a person as possible. The entire reason he crawled into Phainon's lap in the first place was out of curiosity to know more about him, to see what made him tick, what would make him come, as much as it was a desire to get off himself. Perhaps it would have been more selfish to push Phainon's hands under his skirt and let him have at it or drive him to his knees with a foot on his shoulder to keep him in place... but then he wouldn't be where he is now, knowing that Phainon wants more than anything to touch him and kiss him and feel the way his body reacts to his hands. Left shivering with the desire to do it but not the permission, restrained by nothing except his steadfast desire to do as he's told. ]
Aww, don't be like that. [ He smirks, clearly not taking Phainon's little tease seriously but enjoying the pantomime of it either way. His thumb rubs over Phainon's cockhead in a way that might almost be soothing if the pressure weren't so exact that it borders on too much. ] I'll have you know this is a tailored experience. Entirely unique to you and you only. I wouldn't use a script on you like that. Not on you.
[ Not on this man who whimpers so very sweetly for him. ]
Besides, [ The Cat says, as his mouth gets far enough down Phainon's body that it comes to meet where his hand is wrapped around Phainon's arousal. ] All the other people I fuck don't need their minds quietened nearly as much as you do, puppy.
[ He drags his tongue across the soft skin just below his navel, eyes pitched upwards and shining with eager intensity, never straying from Phainon's face, relying solely on instinct and periphery to move. His fucking mouth is watering being this close to his cock, his heat, and it leaves his sharp teeth feeling even sharper behind his lips. So he doesn't last long testing his own resistance; sooner rather than later he's swiping his tongue up Phainon's length as his hand moves down, tasting him with a shuddering groan. Phainon asked if he'd let him have it, and maybe he will, but Phainon needs to learn how to accept what's given to him first. ]
[ A part of him thinks he ought to rebel at how much Cat is reading him, as if he has dipped into his very psyche and pulled out the threads of his shivering mindset to keep for himself. His mind is a constant storm of thought and emotion, thousands upon millions of lifetimes of memories burning down on him and making him feel stuck. It's hard to find a means to shove it aside, to focus on the here and now, especially when some of those most dear to him are right there.
Phainon still considers himself utterly unworthy of it, and feeling the hands of someone who wants nothing more than to bring him pleasure and make him feel good does nothing to ease that burden. His fingers flex above his head, Phainon breathing out softly as he tilts his gaze up to look at Cat, to try and watch him and keep his wits together. It's hard, when all instinct inside of him is begging for him to give, to Deliver.
His thighs still twitch at each touch, and he worries his lip before he manages a smile. ]
You're making quite the assumption about my mind.
[ Not that it's a wrong assumption. His mind is a rollercoaster of thought and emotion, and it's a struggle to keep himself down, settled, quiet. He rebels against everything good, and his heart is thudding in his chest as he watches Cat touch him, tease him, give him so much. Breathless, his head tilts back as he moans softly, doing everything he can to keep himself anchored. ]
Am I? [ He purrs, lips a soft purse against the very tip of Phainon's cock as he watches him tip his head back, throat stretching beautifully, muscles tightening. He looks good enough to eat like this, and the Cat has only so much as licked him. Fuck. If he carries on like this, even the Cat's resolve might start to quake. ] Then prove me wrong.
[ He exhibits all the signs of one whose worth is tied to the effect he has on others, his usefulness, his ability to please the people around him... but if the Cat has him mistaken, then let Phainon lie back and be smug and enjoy having a King debase himself by being a tool for him.
Rather than giving Phainon a chance to prove it, however, the Cat merely huffs out an amused little breath and then applies his roughened tongue to that sensitive head again, lapping short but targeted feline licks across the slit, the ridge, the shaft, as his fingers start to move again, a slow rhythm in time with each lap of his tongue. His name sounds good in Phainon's voice, and Phainon's body looks good quivering with need beneath him. His cock is warm and eager against his tongue, and the Cat wants more of it. He could ask, of course, but he wonders if Phainon will give it readily without being prompted. He'd said, after all, the first time they'd met that he wasn't one for stealth. So in a place where it's just the two of them, with little stopping him from being loud, the Cat wonders... will he? ]
That's it, [ he prompts between a lascivious lick, tilting his chin down ever so slightly, but not so much that he sacrifices his view of Phainon's face, and never letting him enter his mouth more than a brief kiss of open lips. ] Now tell me what it feels like. Forget everything that isn't my mouth and my paws, and tell me.
There's some kind of irony to it, maybe; that the way he could prove Cat wrong is to grab him and flip him, to take control himself, to lower his hands and disobey, but he doesn't want to. There's something alluring about this, and he does feel that odd sensation of wanting to please, of wanting to do what is asked of him. It feels natural, and as he adjusts to being in this world and using his body as a tool for sex rather than war, it feels easier to let other people tell him what to do.
It doesn't help matters that Cat's mouth feels so good, a flick of the tongue over the head of his cock, the length, things that Phainon is familiar with from doing to others. He's had hands on him, he's had a mouth, but he prefers to be offering rather than taking, finding a joyful delight in being on his knees for those that he cares for. To see their pleasure pleases him... And it dawns on him, however briefly, that Cat might well have a point about what he's saying.
Trying to keep himself steady, to not thrust or grind up, to keep himself still, he squeezes his eyes tight and groans softly. ]
It feels good. [ His voice is low, and hoarse, edged with his pleasure. ] Warm? I want more.
[ He wants to tell Phainon he'll get what he's given, or ask him what he means by more, to spell it out in no uncertain terms, to beg for it and see if the King will acquiesce... but there's something about the way Phainon's voice has dipped, the way he still looks like he's about to shudder out of his skin, uncertain whether he wants to cling close or push away, like a man on the brink of overstimulation, that steals the Cat's words from him. At least for the moment.
His mouth pauses, the flat of his tongue paused on his cockhead as though he's reluctant to break contact, until he finally moves like a man whose dam of resistance has broken. ]
Fuck, Phainon... The way you look... The way you sound... [ He uses his free hand to tug Phainon's boxers down and off, surprised he's managed to keep him in them this long. It's not a complete surrender, not totally giving in, but the Cat is helpless to admit he's that much closer to letting the full body throb of his own arousal take the wheel, as he uses a touch of magic to transform his claws shorter and fingers mysteriously slick. ]
I know what you want, and I'll give it to you. But I need you to understand this before I do. [ His first two fingers push between Phainon's cheeks, finding his hole easily, circling it with insistent fingers full of the intention to do what the Cat is promising and give him what he wants. ] Hearing you say my name and moan for me has made me so hard that I could rut against the bed a few times and come. Do you hear me? You haven't touched me, and I could come gasping your name.
[ His other hand resumes its slide up and down Phainon's arousal, but his pace is a little tighter now, shifting in that figure eight that had inspired such wonderful reactions from Phainon at the ball. ] I wanted to pull you apart slowly and let you come down my throat, but you're driving me crazy. [ He sits up, shoulders curved like an animal might curl protectively around their meal, growling and hissing at any other who'd dare to get close, as his wandering fingers slide smoothly inside the other man. His voice is fucking trembling now. ] I can practically feel you holding back, but I'm telling you to stop. Fuck up into my hand. Let me make you come, and then I'll give you what you want.
[ Being under scrutiny is not unfamiliar, and Phainon knows how to act when the world is watching. He had stood and accepted the mantle of Heir, with his golden blood, so many times that the novelty of it might well have worn thin if his memories hadn't lapsed. To be the beacon to which people look, the mantle on which people hang their hopes - all of that is natural and familiar. But to burn under the warm gaze of someone who longs for something more personal is new enough that it unsettles him, something sharp in his gut.
The Cat can see it, can let his fingers slide through the pages of Phainon's mind, undoing him. He might not be able to parse the truth of it, the reasoning, the thoughts that linger in the back of his mind or the path that brings him there, but he knows it still. It should frustrate him, but with the burn of pleasure inside him and the relief of letting go, all he can feel is something softer and more content. This is why he is here, after all; this is his new purpose, his new resolve.
What he wants hangs in the balance between them, undeniable and impossible to ignore. Phainon likes to feel of use, to be wanted, to be claimed by something greater than himself, to find a future in it - and this is an easy thing to give. Let his heart bleed, and his eyes grow soft, with how easily he surrenders himself to the Cat's touch.
The last time he had bedded anyone like this, it had been quiet, as if afraid to break the soft peace between them, few words exchanged. Cat speaks without pause, no shame or hesitation, and Phainon is left wanting under his touch, left wishing for more as his body feels alive. He burns too hot, coreflames heavy inside of him, more alive due to the arousal and need than he is with his powers muted, and he can feel the way his golden blood rises to the surface. He is at this man's mercy, and he cannot find fault with it; he seeks his partner's pleasure, desperately.
Should it not be the same in return?
Knowing that the Cat is so pleased with him has him flushed, a prickle of tears in his eyes, and he swallows, trying to find the bare strength to reply, to let his tongue be less heavy with a well-deserved response. ]
You - I only -
[ There are no words, and there cannot be, when his heart feels too big for his chest and his cock so hard he might snap.
Instead, he does as asked, letting his hips roll and chase the pleasure, to give in. He wants to be fucked, he finds, to feel himself stretch, to be filled and taken. He wants the relief of it, to give over to someone else and not think, to erase the too heavy thoughts in his mind. It feels agonising to let his mind wander, so he simply doesn't; he slides into this moment with a breathless sound, cock twitching as he chases the high of it, teetering on an edge that he can't come back from. ]
[ It isn't like he sees the realisation dawn on Phainon exactly, but he certainly feels something shift in the air. Like the wind humming with the warning of a storm, the ground shaking with the threat of oncoming feet, the warmth of sunlight on closed eyes. And then to see him try to speak, tears sparkling in the corners of his pretty eyes, as his body follows the Cat King's guidance and starts to move, starts to chase pleasure just like the Cat King wanted him to right from the start... it's a stunning sight to behold. The Cat's purr gets as loud as a roar in his ears, his hand moving faster on Phainon's cock to get him there sooner — not impatient, but eager to see him feel his own pleasure as a singularity, excited to push him past the point of orgasm and then into real overstimulation, to get his reward for being so obedient in the form of the Cat truly, finally using him for his own pleasure.
He may well be a romantic, but he's not quite romantic enough to believe this has made any great strides in Phainon's approach to taking a partner with equal give and take in mind to bed, although it certainly will give him something to think about in the future. Perhaps the Cat can be a reminder. Perhaps the Cat can find his way between his legs and under his bedsheets again, time after time, to drive it home, to make a lasting impact in the shape of his paws and teeth, to make a mark-- ]
Phainon— [ He groans, fingers inside him questing deep, spearing and stretching and curving eagerly, certain he won't have any capability to get him worked open once Phainon does as he's told and so doing everything he can to not lose himself now in the sight of him bucking up into his hand and driving down onto his fingers. His own cock is straining between his legs, his very gums prickling with the desire to find the flesh of Phainon's throat and return the bite he gifted the Cat at the ball, right on the join between neck and shoulder. ] I want you to come. Come for me.
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The Cat he is now feels unchained, delighted by the fact that he's got a warm body against him, under his paws, when he honestly thought he was looking forward to a night alone and maybe a few dirty texts to keep him company, if he was lucky. And though this fun little toy he's been batting around inside his mind since the evening of the ball certainly isn't ready to go out in the world and sext with any particularly staggering results, the arousal thrumming through the Cat from just his few messages is certainly nothing to sniff at. ]
Mmh— fuck— [ He'd been planning to say something in the moment between their kiss where he takes a breath, probably ask where the bedroom is or something similar, but the loss of Phainon's mouth on his makes his claws and teeth feel sharp, so he fast hooks a hand at the back of the other man's neck to keep him close as he repairs their kiss once more, teeth against his tongue, against his lips. His other hand finds the hem of whatever shirt he's wearing — fuck, he didn't even look at him beyond his face when he arrived, the man could literally be wearing anything — and wrestles beneath it, getting skin on skin with the urgency of a man who needs this in order to breathe. ]
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Keeping hold of his shirt is easy, if only so he can avoid questions later.
He has to pause along the way to let himself sink into the kiss, to lift a hand to scratch through hair and scalp to hold his partner in place, to relearn the taste of his tongue. It’s heady and makes him fee delirious, warm and buzzing in his chest. Phainon wants, more than he has words for, idle texts enough to stir a soft desire that grows all the more intense and desperate the more they kiss. Everything else fades from his mind.
Groaning, he leans back, kissing Cat’s jaw gently, tasting his skin. ]
My room is this way. [ He wants to be pushed against a door, a bed, cushioned, to see and touch this man, to learn. He slides into the familiar role of desired man, of someone flush with want and need, prickling with sensation, unable to hide how it floods him and makes him feel messy and dirty. It’s not a bad feeling, at least, breathing out a harsh noise as he pushes his own door open.
Whatever Cat plans, he’ll take it and run, learn, learn how to take this new world in stride. ]
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He doesn't even take the parting of their mouths as Phainon removes his shirt all that well, forcing him to relinquish his hand in his hair and encouraging a petulant, impatient little chirp from his chest around the purr that's starting to build. Luckily it's soothed almost instantly by the warm expanse of flesh available, fingers eagerly mapping the shape of him before his eyes can — the indent of his scars, the hills and troughs of his muscles. Since he's been in an apartment with a similar layout to this one, he can guess where Phainon is leading him, so starts to push him with eager little presses of his body against his, kisses meandering from his mouth to his jaw, his throat and back again.
The Cat drops his fur somewhere in the confines of Phainon's room, not totally conscious of the fact that Phainon is trying to be considerate of his roommate but instinctually aware that he probably shouldn't leave a trail of clothes lying around if only because it'll be a fucking pain to pick them up later. The Cat pushes Phainon to sit on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to catch his breath, but the look in his eyes is that of a panther in tall grass, eyes wide and focused, attention pinned to the way Phainon looks, diffused with flushed skin and eyes blown wide with want. ]
You look... [ He says, voice deep but quiet, sounding not entirely dissimilar from how someone might talk about some masterful sculpture, some great work of art. ] Gorgeous. [ He leans down, kissing him deeply, forcing his body into the space between his legs, hands cupping his cheeks. ]
There's no better sight than a man who wants something. [ Hands slide down onto his chest, claws against skin, harder than might be expected for all that reverence in his voice. He sounds like he's handling something precious, but his touch is harder than that, testing something he knows won't break. ] And no better feeling... than knowing you can give it to him.
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It thrills him.
Stumbling back into his bed, Phainon lets himself settle, lifting his head to gaze at the man before him. There's a small part of him that wants to test the waters, to see what might happen if he attempts to take control, to wrestle it away from the Cat and take charge himself. He could grab him, shove him down, clamber onto his lap and let himself explore, hands along his body, searching for all the places that make the Cat desperate and wanton. It almost feels as if it would be too easy; he's confident in his ability to lift and move Cat if needed. He is strong enough.
He doesn't, though, eyes dark, lifting his head to press into the kiss, turning into the touch to his face, anchored and feeling good for it. When he speaks, his voice is soft and deep, cheeks bright gold with his pleasure, the way he gazes at the Cat a sure sign of how much he wants this. ]
What do you think I want today, Cat? [ His hand rises, curling in his hair, pulling him close again. ] What do you plan on teaching me, here in the privacy of my bedroom?
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Phainon's words settle like warm honey across his senses, but he retains enough focus to think about his answer, casting his mind back to what Phainon had said over text, what he was like the first time they met, how he'd confessed to wanting to requite and how he'd been so very eager to please with it.
Logically, it would make sense to offer him the indulgence of that same desire now, having heard him ask for it with his own voice, but with this new angle of tutelage, the Cat feels a little more daring than simply giving in to that surface level need. With sharp claws that long to puncture, to dip into something that might take his mind off the thoughts swirling around in it, he wants something deeper, so he reaches down with one hand to palm between Phainon's legs, his other hand pressing in at the very center of his chest, pushing him until he's laying flat on his back. ]
I think you want whatever I can give to you. Whatever it is you'll take it, because you're starving for it.
[ His fingers tense at both points of contact on Phainon's body; one hand feeling the shape of his cock, the other raising to find one of his nipples, fingers squeezing the sensitive skin around it. ]
I want to spoil you. I want to make you selfish. If there's anyone that can lead by example with that kind of thing, it's a creature like me. Will you let me teach you to listen to your body so that it gets exactly what it wants?
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It should all be easy, and in a way it is. He can stop his thoughts from devouring him and wrestle his pain to push it aside, to kiss and be kissed. Mindless, easy lust, as good and novel as a fight - and he had so loved fighting. He had told a dear friend it once, laughed at how Mydeimos had said fighting was a way of freeing himself of duty, however briefly. Sex could be the same, a liberation in its own way.
Leaning back, feeling decadent, he pauses to lick his lips and stare at Cat.
The request feels, oddly, like too much. The idea of being selfish and sating his own desires is simply impossible, and he doesn’t even know where he’d begin. It would steal his voice and make him look a fool for it, and that could be no worse a turn off in a situation like this. He could play around with the assumption of inexperience and get away with it, but that seems wrong too, somehow. There’s no good answer.
So, instead, he laughs, hoarse and caught in his throat. ]
I will gladly take whatever it is you give me. [ That, he can do. ] I told you that I’d like to learn. I’m starting to wonder if I’m entirely at your mercy.
[ Flirt, and play. It makes it easier. ]
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When we were together in the ballroom, [ The Cat says, so quiet and so commonplace that it could be mistaken for casual if not for the way his fingers are pressing into fabric and skin, visualising the shape of him and the sight of his body in a way he couldn't do when he was pressed tight against him in his lap. ] You said you'd enjoy yourself more if you could touch me too.
[ He's played the moment around and around in his mind since it happened, so he can recall it with almost perfect clarity now. The way Phainon had leaned in close, whispered, laughed. His hand firms, squeezing as if in parting, before slipping inside his sweats to feel him closer. ]
Do you think you would've been unsatisfied if I hadn't let you?
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Even when no one knows who he is, Phainon struggles to ignore who he had been, in a world so remote from this one. The fact that his friends remember him now is nothing short of a miracle.
Nodding, he breathes out softly. ]
I did. I remember. [ His body reacts to the touch, yearning for more, unable to stop staring at this man. It's nice, to be able to just listen, to follow a lead and do what he needs to do. To slip into being commanded. ] I like to bring others pleasure. I don't think that's a surprise.
[ Shaking his head, he leans back a little, groaning softly. ]
I'd have been disappointed, but I don't doubt the satisfaction.
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And what if I took your hands now?
[ He asks without really asking, already imagining how this body might look straining against binds, muscle flexing under his paws. He shifts closer, angling his hand to grip firm at the tip of his cock beneath his underwear and pulling tight, as if to draw his attention. As if it's strayed anywhere other than him this entire time. ]
What if what I want is to drive you to beg for it? [ The hand on Phainon's chest wanders up, pressing fingers in against his clavicle and then up, along his thrumming pulse. ] I want to pull you apart, till you cant think a single thought other than how badly you want me to let you come.
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You know that I would let you.
[ Phainon swallows.
A part of him yearns for it. To give up all his control, to switch off his mind, to not let himself overthink and push himself too hard. His eyes gaze at Cat, unflinching, wanton and filthy as he twitches, trying to keep himself still. Once again, he feels like prey caught in the hands of a predator, not sure if he should be grounding himself or running away.
He knows what his body wants, and that makes it easier. ]
You'll have to work hard to get me to beg, Cat.
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Instead, he leans over Phainon's body, hand slipping up to cup his throat in warm fingers and a warmer palm as he brings their mouths together in a deep kiss, not bothering to waste time not licking into his mouth and scraping his tongue along his canines, sucking at his tongue, groaning around it. His other hand retracts completely, coming to meet the air of the room around them, tingling faintly and clearly missing the warmth of Phainon's arousal, but the Cat can't let Phainon's bravado go untested. He squeezes faintly at his throat, giving him a chaste kiss before supplying him with his instructions. ]
Strip for me. I want to look at you.
[ I want, I want, I want. But he's already told Phainon what a greedy King he can be. ]
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There is no Deliverer, no Reaver, nothing but Phainon here, and Cat wants that. Wants what Phainon can give him.
Biting into the kiss, he groans softly, chasing the other man's mouth as he leans away, wanting more. The pressure around his throat shouldn't be as alluring as it is, but Phainon is beginning to recognise the things that he enjoys the most do not always make the most sense to him. Not anymore.
Already without a real shirt, already hard, all Phainon can do is nod, wiggling back to push his sweatpants down and away. There are boxers underneath, pale blue and comfortable, and his cock is already straining them. ]
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The way you look, Phainon... [ He groans, quiet, his purr like far away thunder. ] I don't know how I'll resist not eating you alive.
[ And then he leans in once more, but instead of kissing the other man's mouth, his lips make contact with his throat, a patch of soft skin between his own fingers, which fast move to tip Phainon's head upwards so he can kiss more of his neck, his jaw, beneath his ear, along his collar bones. He stops with his chin on his sternum, watching his skin flush beneath his contact, almost mesmerised by it. Almost. ]
I want you to put your hands above your head and keep them there. If you don't, I have magic that can restrain you. I'm not above putting a puppy in a collar if I need to, but I want to at least give you an opportunity to be good first.
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It is, perhaps, especially with the way he purrs, the way he stares, as true to his name in action as he is in sound. It's almost funny, Phainon thinks, how he seems to be collecting cats into his closest of companions.
Tilting his head, he bares his neck, tattoo a soft, light sun against his skin. He enjoys the thrill of it, a mouth against him, the threat or promise of a bite. He wants more, an allure he simply cannot deny, even as he tries to maintain a pace to his breathing, to try and be as unaffected as possible. ]
Collaring me feels like it's becoming habit.
[ So he says, with a choker around his neck as close to a collar already.
Shifting back on the bed, he wiggles into position, lifting his arms up and baring his entire body in a flex. Strong arms, tight chest littered with scars, skin flushed a warm gold; Phainon knows he looks a picture. At least he can keep himself together for a little longer, resist the urge to sink in and completely lose himself. ]
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[ The Cat doesn't call him needy, greedy, eager in words, but the way his smile curls says it all for him. His eyes flicker over Phainon's choker, over the tattoo on his neck, over the place he'd held his fingers moments before. It's maddening to want so much all at once, and he does his best to remind himself this surely won't be the last time he and Phainon fall into bed, but... but that doesn't make it any easier to resist him. Especially not as he stretches back like that, as the line of muscle running down from his biceps to his shoulders and chest tightens into a delicious line the Cat wants to feel with his tongue. ]
No-one's made a habit of cuffing you, then? I guess no-one's been so self-sacrificing as to take that pleasure away from themselves, hm....
[ He hisses a breath in through his teeth and bites back his own lip again, studying the sight before him like a starving man might study a banquet, trying to pick where it might be best to start when he simply wants it all. He leans in, prowling closer so that his body hovers over Phainon's, tongue touching his sternum first and then moving down. He isn't slow, but his pace is measured, teeth and lips and tongue catching at his skin, lapping his rough tongue across a scar here or a patch of firm flesh there, biting at the edge of a muscle, nibbling at the softer areas. He trails his tongue, wet and hungry, across Phainon's nipple before leaving a bruising half bite half kiss just beneath it.
All the while his hands reach down, seeking out the soft patch of flesh leading down to the waistband of Phainon's boxers. But he doesn't reach inside, not quite yet. Instead, claws drag across the fabric and over the twitching shape of the other man's cock, but continue down to his thighs rather than stopping, leaving hot pink lines in their wake as they press down to mark him. ]
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[ But Cat isn't wrong. Phainon is good at following orders; he goes where directed, and does what he can to take the load away from others. He had tried to walk the path of Strife time and time again to save Mydeimos from the pain of it, and he had failed to overcome his own grief and regrets. Trying to work through that need to please and his own desires in this world is a slippery slope, but he is getting there, slowly but surely.
Now, completely at Cat's mercy, he feels as if his heart is going to race out of his chest and burn away. Phainon has to try and keep still, to be obedient and take more of what Cat is giving him, even if he feels a little at odds about it. His desire to return pleasure, to make sure that the person with him is equally taken care of, feels rebellious; he has to do what he is told, but being the utter centre of someone's focus is a strange and uncertain thing.
He's not sure how to handle it at all.
Breathless, he shakes his head, eyes flickering closed. ]
I'm learning more about myself here than I had imagined I would.
[ Which is not a yes or a no, but it's probably enough.
It's hard to keep himself still, hard to stay settled under the weight of Cat's touch and his gaze, but he is doing everything within his power. His thighs feel like they're shaking, a gentle shiver rolling through him as he breathes out, eyes closing as he tries to calm his racing heart. ]
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[ Phainon is clearly the self-sacrificing type himself, and though the Cat can't even begin to describe how much he enjoys the intensity and the dedication of his need to please, it only makes the Cat that much more curious to see what he'll do when that familiar position is taken away. He wonders if it's because he's afraid he'll like it too much, or if perhaps he's just not used to the spotlight being entirely on him. Is he wondering why the Cat would want this? Is he floundering, despite the fact that this is merely his own manner turned back to face him?
So many questions and so much curiosity burns in the Cat and threatens to distract him from the task at hand, but as Phainon's thighs quiver under his paws, he finds he can't think of anything else but driving more subtle reactions out of him just like that one. ]
Your hands feel good. You're a studious and giving lover. And you're really, really fucking hot, which only helps. [ The Cat says, mouth hot and sharp against Phainon's skin before he gives his chest another bite to match the lingering mark on the other side; nipping him, sucking hard, pulling back so the flesh drags between his teeth, hoping to bruise. ] But you drive me just as crazy laying here wanting my dick as you do touching it.
[ The Cat presses his own thighs together, just so he can feel the weight of his cock pressed between them, humming a pleased sound as his own eyes flicker closed for one blissful moment. He's just as hard as he would be if he were sitting on the edge of the bed with Phainon between his knees.
He moves his hand back up then, getting it inside Phainon's boxers in a swift and well-practiced movement, wrapping sharp claws around the familiar shape of him and starting to pull in even strokes, as he dips his head once more to trail his tongue in a long lap of friction down the very centre of the other man's chest. ]
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[ It comes out a little breathless.
Phainon the lover of history, who enjoyed artefacts and stories and whatever existed in the past. It wars with Phainon the Deliverer, the man who fights with blood and teeth to save his world, who sacrifices all that he has time and time again in the vain hope the next time will be different. It feels as if there are too many pieces of himself inside and not enough methods to share them, to get it all out. He’s barely a man, running hot with coreflames burning him from the inside out.
Cat keeps teasing him, and his fingers flex where he holds them above his own head.
He wants more. Not just to touch, too tactile for his own good, but to feel as if he’s taking part. It feels wrong to be so utterly under the mercy of someone else, no matter how good each bite and swipe of tongue is. He can picture the soft bruises that’ll litter his skin, how he might touch them later and remember. He thinks if he tries to call Cat and moan down the line at him, blissful, he’d be welcome, and that too is a strange little thought to nest in his mind.
The hand on his cock has his hips jerking up, moaning softly. ]
I’m sure you say this to all the person you sleep with.
[ Not that Phainon doesn’t think of himself as handsome. He knows he is. He’s aware from how people treat him and he’s looked in a mirror - looked at himself enough times from a distance in his own memories that he’s not able to ignore it. It’s just nice to tease a little, not able to move his hands or touch with all the need bubbling inside him. He yearns, always has, and he has to fight against it.
It makes him whimper. ]
Are you going to let me have it this time?
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Aww, don't be like that. [ He smirks, clearly not taking Phainon's little tease seriously but enjoying the pantomime of it either way. His thumb rubs over Phainon's cockhead in a way that might almost be soothing if the pressure weren't so exact that it borders on too much. ] I'll have you know this is a tailored experience. Entirely unique to you and you only. I wouldn't use a script on you like that. Not on you.
[ Not on this man who whimpers so very sweetly for him. ]
Besides, [ The Cat says, as his mouth gets far enough down Phainon's body that it comes to meet where his hand is wrapped around Phainon's arousal. ] All the other people I fuck don't need their minds quietened nearly as much as you do, puppy.
[ He drags his tongue across the soft skin just below his navel, eyes pitched upwards and shining with eager intensity, never straying from Phainon's face, relying solely on instinct and periphery to move. His fucking mouth is watering being this close to his cock, his heat, and it leaves his sharp teeth feeling even sharper behind his lips. So he doesn't last long testing his own resistance; sooner rather than later he's swiping his tongue up Phainon's length as his hand moves down, tasting him with a shuddering groan. Phainon asked if he'd let him have it, and maybe he will, but Phainon needs to learn how to accept what's given to him first. ]
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Phainon still considers himself utterly unworthy of it, and feeling the hands of someone who wants nothing more than to bring him pleasure and make him feel good does nothing to ease that burden. His fingers flex above his head, Phainon breathing out softly as he tilts his gaze up to look at Cat, to try and watch him and keep his wits together. It's hard, when all instinct inside of him is begging for him to give, to Deliver.
His thighs still twitch at each touch, and he worries his lip before he manages a smile. ]
You're making quite the assumption about my mind.
[ Not that it's a wrong assumption. His mind is a rollercoaster of thought and emotion, and it's a struggle to keep himself down, settled, quiet. He rebels against everything good, and his heart is thudding in his chest as he watches Cat touch him, tease him, give him so much. Breathless, his head tilts back as he moans softly, doing everything he can to keep himself anchored. ]
Ah, Cat... Fuck.
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[ He exhibits all the signs of one whose worth is tied to the effect he has on others, his usefulness, his ability to please the people around him... but if the Cat has him mistaken, then let Phainon lie back and be smug and enjoy having a King debase himself by being a tool for him.
Rather than giving Phainon a chance to prove it, however, the Cat merely huffs out an amused little breath and then applies his roughened tongue to that sensitive head again, lapping short but targeted feline licks across the slit, the ridge, the shaft, as his fingers start to move again, a slow rhythm in time with each lap of his tongue. His name sounds good in Phainon's voice, and Phainon's body looks good quivering with need beneath him. His cock is warm and eager against his tongue, and the Cat wants more of it. He could ask, of course, but he wonders if Phainon will give it readily without being prompted. He'd said, after all, the first time they'd met that he wasn't one for stealth. So in a place where it's just the two of them, with little stopping him from being loud, the Cat wonders... will he? ]
That's it, [ he prompts between a lascivious lick, tilting his chin down ever so slightly, but not so much that he sacrifices his view of Phainon's face, and never letting him enter his mouth more than a brief kiss of open lips. ] Now tell me what it feels like. Forget everything that isn't my mouth and my paws, and tell me.
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There's some kind of irony to it, maybe; that the way he could prove Cat wrong is to grab him and flip him, to take control himself, to lower his hands and disobey, but he doesn't want to. There's something alluring about this, and he does feel that odd sensation of wanting to please, of wanting to do what is asked of him. It feels natural, and as he adjusts to being in this world and using his body as a tool for sex rather than war, it feels easier to let other people tell him what to do.
It doesn't help matters that Cat's mouth feels so good, a flick of the tongue over the head of his cock, the length, things that Phainon is familiar with from doing to others. He's had hands on him, he's had a mouth, but he prefers to be offering rather than taking, finding a joyful delight in being on his knees for those that he cares for. To see their pleasure pleases him... And it dawns on him, however briefly, that Cat might well have a point about what he's saying.
Trying to keep himself steady, to not thrust or grind up, to keep himself still, he squeezes his eyes tight and groans softly. ]
It feels good. [ His voice is low, and hoarse, edged with his pleasure. ] Warm? I want more.
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His mouth pauses, the flat of his tongue paused on his cockhead as though he's reluctant to break contact, until he finally moves like a man whose dam of resistance has broken. ]
Fuck, Phainon... The way you look... The way you sound... [ He uses his free hand to tug Phainon's boxers down and off, surprised he's managed to keep him in them this long. It's not a complete surrender, not totally giving in, but the Cat is helpless to admit he's that much closer to letting the full body throb of his own arousal take the wheel, as he uses a touch of magic to transform his claws shorter and fingers mysteriously slick. ]
I know what you want, and I'll give it to you. But I need you to understand this before I do. [ His first two fingers push between Phainon's cheeks, finding his hole easily, circling it with insistent fingers full of the intention to do what the Cat is promising and give him what he wants. ] Hearing you say my name and moan for me has made me so hard that I could rut against the bed a few times and come. Do you hear me? You haven't touched me, and I could come gasping your name.
[ His other hand resumes its slide up and down Phainon's arousal, but his pace is a little tighter now, shifting in that figure eight that had inspired such wonderful reactions from Phainon at the ball. ] I wanted to pull you apart slowly and let you come down my throat, but you're driving me crazy. [ He sits up, shoulders curved like an animal might curl protectively around their meal, growling and hissing at any other who'd dare to get close, as his wandering fingers slide smoothly inside the other man. His voice is fucking trembling now. ] I can practically feel you holding back, but I'm telling you to stop. Fuck up into my hand. Let me make you come, and then I'll give you what you want.
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The Cat can see it, can let his fingers slide through the pages of Phainon's mind, undoing him. He might not be able to parse the truth of it, the reasoning, the thoughts that linger in the back of his mind or the path that brings him there, but he knows it still. It should frustrate him, but with the burn of pleasure inside him and the relief of letting go, all he can feel is something softer and more content. This is why he is here, after all; this is his new purpose, his new resolve.
What he wants hangs in the balance between them, undeniable and impossible to ignore. Phainon likes to feel of use, to be wanted, to be claimed by something greater than himself, to find a future in it - and this is an easy thing to give. Let his heart bleed, and his eyes grow soft, with how easily he surrenders himself to the Cat's touch.
The last time he had bedded anyone like this, it had been quiet, as if afraid to break the soft peace between them, few words exchanged. Cat speaks without pause, no shame or hesitation, and Phainon is left wanting under his touch, left wishing for more as his body feels alive. He burns too hot, coreflames heavy inside of him, more alive due to the arousal and need than he is with his powers muted, and he can feel the way his golden blood rises to the surface. He is at this man's mercy, and he cannot find fault with it; he seeks his partner's pleasure, desperately.
Should it not be the same in return?
Knowing that the Cat is so pleased with him has him flushed, a prickle of tears in his eyes, and he swallows, trying to find the bare strength to reply, to let his tongue be less heavy with a well-deserved response. ]
You - I only -
[ There are no words, and there cannot be, when his heart feels too big for his chest and his cock so hard he might snap.
Instead, he does as asked, letting his hips roll and chase the pleasure, to give in. He wants to be fucked, he finds, to feel himself stretch, to be filled and taken. He wants the relief of it, to give over to someone else and not think, to erase the too heavy thoughts in his mind. It feels agonising to let his mind wander, so he simply doesn't; he slides into this moment with a breathless sound, cock twitching as he chases the high of it, teetering on an edge that he can't come back from. ]
- whatever you wish. I will do it.
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He may well be a romantic, but he's not quite romantic enough to believe this has made any great strides in Phainon's approach to taking a partner with equal give and take in mind to bed, although it certainly will give him something to think about in the future. Perhaps the Cat can be a reminder. Perhaps the Cat can find his way between his legs and under his bedsheets again, time after time, to drive it home, to make a lasting impact in the shape of his paws and teeth, to make a mark-- ]
Phainon— [ He groans, fingers inside him questing deep, spearing and stretching and curving eagerly, certain he won't have any capability to get him worked open once Phainon does as he's told and so doing everything he can to not lose himself now in the sight of him bucking up into his hand and driving down onto his fingers. His own cock is straining between his legs, his very gums prickling with the desire to find the flesh of Phainon's throat and return the bite he gifted the Cat at the ball, right on the join between neck and shoulder. ] I want you to come. Come for me.
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