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.
[ It is an easy command, but it stutters through his body all the same.
Phainon wants to resist and draw this out, to enjoy the pleasure a little more. It feels decadent in a way he can’t quite find the words for, so utterly under this man’s thumb that nothing else seems to matter, that nothing else holds any meaning. It feels dangerous, too, wanting so much, desiring so much, feeling the burn of pleasure inside him. His whole body feels slight, flame inside him desperate to come out, and if he doesn’t give in he’ll. break.
Worse than that. He’ll weep.
Shivering, fingers curling inside him, outside of him, around his cock and too deep, all he can do is moan. Cat has taken such good care of him, so careful at urging him forward, and Phainon wants this so deeply. He doesn’t even realise how his hands remain above his head, that he hasn’t moved to grab or grasp, just shudders as he sinks further and further down.
It feels like a trap, but it isn’t. It’s just sex. Nothing more than that.
When he comes, it’s with a quiet, low sound, dragged out of him before he sinks into the bed, lax and dirty from his own come staining him. His hips still rock all the same, wanting to be good, to take and take, greedily. What a strange beast he’s become. ]
[ And what a sight he makes slipping into the warm lure of sensation and bliss, of a pleasure that's all his; offered willingly, to be taken selfishly. The Cat had wondered what it might take to get him there when he'd first shown discomfort and resistance to the idea. What might it take to have him flourish like a rising phoenix under the burning gaze of the Cat's hungry adoration? Evidently just a partner determined enough to show it to him, one focused with the same selfish intensity on giving pleasure as he is in receiving it.
Pride spreads through him as a bead of sweat runs down the length of the Cat's spine, and with it comes the sure knowledge that he can't resist him much longer. Though it's tempting to let Phainon continue to fuck into his hand, to see how many times he can make him come if he simply never stops-- he's sure there'll be other times for such a thing. There'll be another opportunity when the Cat isn't so hungry for the body beneath him that he can take his time with more targeted accuracy; he's sure of it. Perhaps he can catch Phainon sometime when he's comfortable and familiar rather than electric and alive, when his mind is dulled by warm company and hands he knows will treat him well. Perhaps then he could have Phainon begging much quicker into his mouth, as his hand or his body works him over and over and over— ]
The things you make me think about... [ The Cat says, almost to himself again, eyes scanning the sight before him, the mess Phainon has made, mouth watering to clean it up but body focused on other, more pressing matters. ] You make me want to ravage you.
[ He slows his hand, then stops completely, drawing his dirty palm away so that he can click his fingers and disappear his clothing. It had been nice to be half-dressed and filthy in Phainon's lap, but his senses crave skin on skin. Then he uses the hand covered in the remnants of Phainon's release to slick his own cock, heavy and eager, before pressing it against his retracted fingers.
He thinks about giving Phainon time to come down from his afterglow, a moment to catch his breath, a second to adjust for the Cat to be inside him, but he simply cannot wait. His fingers retract, his cock pushes up, his body falls forward over Phainon so that his mouth can capture his in a kiss, drinking the first sound of being breached from him as he rocks forward and sinks into him. ]
[ It's hard to focus on what Cat is saying to him while he is still burning from the high of orgasm, the sharpness a pleasant taste in his mouth. Phainon thinks he can almost taste copper, as if he had been biting his lip as he lost himself to how good he feels. The way he has folded completely under Cat's touch should be embarrassing, but when it feels this good, it is hard to be ashamed. Later, in repose, he might question his sanity a little more, but for now?
There is only pleasure.
Mind fuzzy, he gazes at Cat, lax and content, body still alert. Something warm floods him, an understanding, perhaps. It does not have to be such a dangerous thing, to give into what he must for the sake of his wish. When it can feel like this, why shouldn't he allow himself it, why shouldn't he take it? It had felt the same with Mydeimos, but the weight of expectation and relationship there is something that he hadn't been prepared to probe too deeply over.
Lifting his gaze, he swallows, feeling overheated. ]
You could tell me them. [ It feels like a confession, somehow, whispered between them where no one else can hear. Phainon doesn't know Cat well, but he recognises that, in this, they can be genuine. It is sex, it is pleasure, and it does not need to be deeper than that, it does not need to be something that causes him the stress that it had, up to now. ] I'd like to hear them.
[ Even now, his hands haven't moved.
Phainon wants to reach out, to grasp, to hold on and not let go, but he doesn't. He watches Cat as he settles between his legs, as he presses inside him, taking and taking, and his moan is swallowed by the heat of their kiss. Fingers twitching, desperate to hold on and grab, all he can do is arch up, enjoying the burn of the stretch, the slight sting, the way it makes him feel as if he is being submerged. All his thoughts fade away, lost in pleasure and nothing else. ]
[ The sensation of sinking into a pliant body often eradicates thought from his mind in a similar way, but in the aftermath of Phainon's words, hushed and confessional, the Cat can't help the way his mind explodes into quick-fire thoughts considering a new perspective. Because the Cat has always been too intense and overwhelming for even those who claim to like that sort of thing, and while he hasn't learned to not be that way exactly, he has certainly come to hold himself back a little over the years. Coming off the back of having his heart broken very recently, he'd had no intention of risking the same burn of being too much again so soon, but...
But he'd encouraged Phainon to give in and feel, hadn't he? He'd shown him with firm and steadfast reassurance and tempting hands that he was in good company for it, that the Cat only wanted to see him wanting, and to watch him give in... Shouldn't the same be true in reverse? This is just sex; this is just something fun, there and then gone – but perhaps he can use his familiar intensity to his advantage, lean into it, and taste it even if only by mouthfuls, with a partner who is clearly so eager to know in return.
His cock gives a heavy, hungry throb, and the Cat pulls back from the kiss with a groan, a flash of his teeth in Phainon's lip, and a string of saliva connecting their mouths.
That slightly unfocused look in Phainon's eyes transforms his already beautiful face into something near angelic, and though the Cat knows full well it's down to the fact that Phainon is indulging – following his instructions and becoming soft and malleable under his paws – he finds himself completely rapt by the sight of it as he tries to concentrate on the feeling of his body. He lets himself adjust to Phainon's tightness, allowing the other man time to feel the way his cock makes his muscles stretch and to anticipate what it will feel like to be fucked by him before he gives it to him. ]
You've been such a good boy... I'll tell you anything you want to know. [ And he wants to. He wants to feed his desire; he wants to show it to Phainon, even if only the smallest amount of it that's palatable. He licks his lips, a smile growing, hands finding the soft flesh of Phainon's thighs and pinning him open, folding him, pressing him down. ] But first... [ His eyes flick up, and his smile turns knowing and smug. ] Put your arms around me. Hold on to me tight while I fuck you, and then we can see how long it takes me to lose all my words to how good you feel, hm?
[ The way that Phainon's mind feels fuzzy and utterly overwhelmed is new to him. He is accustomed to being honed and focussed, to the sharpness that comes with battle, the way that fighting distracts him from his innermost thoughts. This is completely different; rather than it being a harsh edge, it is like a warm blanket over his mind, his thoughts filtered out as pleasure bleeds in and leaves him wanting more. He has had good sex before (and likely will again), but surrendering has always been so difficult for him.
There's something about the way that Cat speaks to him, whispers to him, praises him that makes it easier to fall into the trap of letting go, of basking in the way that all the good feelings flood through him. His body feels warm, so hot that it might burn if he isn't careful, Coreflames in his chest brought back to life from sharing his body with another, and he doesn't have to bleed to do it. His fingers tingle from it, and he is breathless as their kiss breaks, his eyes dark as they turn to look at the man above him.
It's not as though he has given in completely, a pinprick of edge still there, under his skin. If threatened, Phainon could have a hand around his throat in a moment. He could prove to the Cat just how dangerous he can be, with his transformation burning under his skin and threatening to come through. He enjoys the feeling for now, licking his lips and chasing the taste of the kiss, wondering and wanting.
To be desired for who he is and not his mantle, his cause, his golden blood, is still a novelty.
Pressed, folded, moved, Phainon groans softly, feeling the slight stretch in his muscles, so novel and new. He can't remember the last time he was taken like this, mind searching through lifetimes as if he might be able to parse one, and he has to shove it aside before he loses his focus on the here and now. He is enjoying the feel of Cat's cock inside him, the warmth of his body around him, the timbre of his voice; all of it is good, and better than drawing nightmares back into his mind for no reason.
Nodding his head, he swallows. ]
Thank you. [ For the praise, he thinks, or for taking care of him, or for being good - Phainon isn't sure. His voice is a little hoarse, but his arms move, fingers flexing absently as they wrap around Cat and hold on, almost sinking into the new embrace. It's good; it all feels good. He's not even put off by the smugness, far to familiar with that particular trait to be offended. ]
[ The thanks comes, and it makes the Cat smile, perhaps his own kind of enjoyment for praise manifesting in getting confirmation that his instinct for knowing what people want and need is as finely tuned as ever, soothing some of the soreness his ego had experienced before his arrival in this strange new place. Phainon is like a man breathing anew after his restraints are unwound, belt unfastened, chains loosened... and though there's surely some part of him that he still holds back, it's a staggering sight to behold how beautiful he truly is when he lets go, even this much. Even more so to the Cat as the one who got him there.
When he feels arms wrap around him, he grins and flicks his tongue out to lick affectionately at Phainon's mouth before he starts to move. He hadn't stretched him out quite enough to set any impressive pace right away, but he also doesn't have enough restraint left in him to hold back like he normally might. But this isn't a romantic, slow fuck. This is hunger and need, sating an ache inside both of them, something meant to sate rather than feed.
The Cat's body is stronger than it looks, more coordinated than a human's typically is, and his hips fuck deep and hard as he swings them back and forth, back and forth, pushing Phainon deeper into the sheets with every thrust, pressing himself closer and closer to the body beneath him that feels so hot he might start to singe the blankets. He's so tight, the slide so smooth, the drag of him so perfect... ]
You make me— want to see how many times I can make you come. [ The Cat says, suddenly and loudly, interrupting his hitching breath but not the loud purr that's practically deafening now, rumbling through his chest even as he speaks. He presses his forehead to Phainon's, watching his eyes, listening to his breath catching, his claws kneading ten little pinpricks into the meat of Phainon's thighs where he holds him open. ] Lock something tight around you to draw it out... get you quivering and begging for it, before I let you free, and then take you there so many times and so intensely that you come dry.
[ It had taken Phainon a little bit of time to realise that the purr coming from Cat was actually what he thought it was; he had spent enough time with Cipher in some of his cycles to recognise the catlike features, and all it does is make him feel warmer. There's a gentle pleasure in the knowledge that he had inspired that in someone who was as cat as he was man, and it delights him to think that he might draw more of those soft, low noises out of him simply by doing this.
Bent as he is, Phainon feels completely overwhelmed, swallowed whole by the pleasure of being taken, of giving himself over. His hands dig into the other man's body, his head leaning up to chase his mouth, shivering from the way that it burns through him and makes him want more. If he isn't careful, he's going to lose control of himself, falling into a trap of power and energy that he can't swallow back, and that's the last thing he wants. There are some secrets that he wants to keep, to push the parts of himself that are less Phainon and more Khaslana aside.
He wants to focus on this.
Nodding his head, he rolls his hips, doing his best to work with Cat and bask. Lidded eyes stare up at the other man, enjoying the obvious delight on his face, the way that he looks, the sound of his breathing. There is an ache, but it's no worse than a spar, just different - new, and exciting. Phainon doesn't mind the lack of preparation when it is just enough, enjoys the bite of pain, feels as if he has earned that, somehow. That he is worthy of the pain as much as the pleasure.
Swallowing, he nods his head, nails digging into Cat as he holds on, taking and taking and taking. ] I... I don't know how many times I can...? [ Which is likely only going to make him want to test it more, he's sure. ] But I don't want you to stop. I want to feel it, all of it. [ All of Cat's pleasure, and knowing he played a part in it, had a hand in it. He wants that all, greedily. ]
[ The bite of nails is good, really fucking good, and it makes the Cat think of the way it had felt to have Phainon's teeth in his flesh after he'd told him to do it and how it had felt to press his fingers into that bruise a little later on, enjoying it before it vanished as though it were never there in the first place. It hadn't felt like a claim or a mark, rather a culmination of pent-up desire given an outlet, but this? This scratch of contact without the demand for it, just Phainon's body clawing something back for himself, unable to resist, a physical display of how good it feels, how much he needs it... Taking it, just as he takes every push of the Cat's hips.
The Cat wants him to dig in more, to bite him again, to bite him in return, on the back of his neck or the meat of his thighs, and pin him down prone under the flash of pain... He growls, trying to sift through those primal feelings lured from him by Phainon's need. He licks his mouth again, like an animal soothing a cub, before he kisses him with a groan that sounds as though he's coming up for air, teeth dragging against his lips. ]
We'll find out. [ He gasps, struggling to keep his eyes open as pleasure threatens to make a machine of him, libido climbing dangerously high and fast. ] Oh fuck, Phainon. I'll get you right up against your limit, and then see how much more you can take before you break. I'll give you everything. Everything.
[ He's not even entirely sure what he's saying anymore, just letting his mouth move because if he stops speaking he'll start biting, and he's already fucking Phainon hard enough that their bodies have scooted along the sheets, the crown of Phainon's head against the headboard now, creating an even more delicious impression that there's nowhere else he can go under the Cat's efforts, that the only option for him is this: to lie back and take. ]
[ Cat makes it all sound so easy. We'll find out, he says, he'll give Phainon everything, and it makes him yearn for more. Being offered so much is a gift in of itself, making him burn with want and desire, something impossible to swallow down or ignore. Phainon is entirely at his mercy, but doesn't that feel like a good thing? Doesn't it feel like a relief, after all the cursed things he has carried, the weights that have lied heavily upon his shoulders?
Destiny was not in his favour. He was not made to see the Dawn, to live, to thrive, to find love nor joy. Yet here, under Cat's hands, it all falls away. He does not have to be the Hero, the Deliverer, the Worldbearer; he does not have to be a hero, lost to the wind and shattered, carrying the hopes of a universe. He does not have to be anything more than himself, even if the bitterness of his journey hangs heavy around his neck. Cat knows none of it: he knows only Phainon, the farmer's boy from a long forgotten village.
Phainon leans into the kisses, chases the taste of Cat's mouth, and burns under his touch. He reaches for more, greedy with it, and basks; the urge to lean in, to sink his teeth into flesh, to make some kind of mark to prove that this is real overtakes him, and he shivers with it. His own pleasure remains secondary, no matter how good this feels. He wants to leave something to show that he was here, and enjoyed this also, that he is not just a recipient of what Cat is able to give him.
Perhaps that is odd of him, or betrays his nature, but it burns all the same.
Gripping at the man above him, Phainon leans up, desperate and filled with need, callous with it, almost, as he bites at his mouth and kisses him harder, arms and legs tight around him, refusing to let go. Refusing to submit to his own pleasure for the sake of others. When he speaks, the words feel like babble, foolish and awkward as he hisses, a strange lump in his throat making him hoarse. He needs, he wants, and it burns, his flesh hotter from Coreflames roaring to life. ]
Take it... Take all that I have. I want to feel it all.
[ That tighter grip is what splinters the Cat's already weak hold on the part of him that lies starving deep at the very core of him. Honestly, he isn't sure he ever had a hold on it to begin with — because isn't it that part of him that had him seeking Phainon out from his contact list in the first place? — but as he feels Phainon's limbs lock around him, keeping him right where he is so that all he can do is fuck and groan and bite and breathe, he feels less like a machine and more like a cog, like a dam broken and a river swelling at the banks. He feels himself give way with a sensation almost like relief, breathing in Phainon's words and his breath and the scent of their bodies pushed together like it's some sweet ichor to break him down and remake him with sharper claws.
He might have been pushing Phainon to surrender to feeling, but in doing so he's gotten himself very close to chasing something he hasn't felt in a very long time. Power in his own body over a partner pinned prone, yes, but a reciprocal power from the one beneath him too: the knowledge that all it would take is one single pull in the right direction to have him toppling; playing with fire, dancing paws delicately along the tightrope of danger. Wickedly enticing for a Cat, and dreadfully dangerous for one as greedy as he is.
Later on, he might even wonder how it could be that a face as sweet as Phainon's, one so easy to please and earnest, could be made sharp and hungry as the mouth that kisses him now, but he honestly hasn't a thought left in his head to consider anything that isn't doing as Phainon begs of him, taking everything from him and letting him have everything of the Cat's in return. He wants to feel him with his hands; he wants to press him down further into the bed; he wants to get him against a wall or the floor or lift him into his arms and let gravity do the hard work. He wants to taste his skin, his sweat, his tears, his fingers. He wants to see if his blood tastes different when he comes.
Growling a sound that is half helpless sob and half hungry purr, the Cat tenses his claws, feeling slick blood under his hands, smearing it over Phainon's impossibly warm skin as he moves his arms up, catching under Phainon's knees, pressing him even more viscerally in half. The Cat's chest keeps him in place while his hips move, fucking him at a punishing pace, hands stretching up to bracket his face, red-tipped claws against his skin, palms able to feel every beat of his heart as if it's crying out just for him. ]
Cl-s— [ He can't even form the word to give him warning, so addicted to the feeling of teeth against his mouth that he doesn't want to pull away, and only a moment after he's said it, he's coming hard, buried deep inside of the other man. It threatens to shake him apart, but he doesn't stop. ]
[ Anchored and held, Phainon feels himself sinking into pleasure.
He likes the stretch of his body, the way that he feels pushed into taking and taking; his body has always been a vessel, always been a holder for whatever wish and desires his peers had offered. The fire inside of him is Destruction, and he has never had a hand destined for sweetness, for warmth, for love. Phainon is Khaos, is the flame of a new world, and under Cat's touch he burns as bright as the sun itself, golden blood rushing through him and setting him alight.
Burning, and burning, he still reaches for more, still makes the demand for more, more, desperate to be filled, to be contained. He seeks out the heat of this moment to ease the wildfire of his heart, and he yearns for what Cat can give him to soften the blow of his hands. Each kiss floods him with new life, ambrosia to the hurt and torn edges of him, and he sinks deeper and deeper into it. All that Cat expects is his pleasure, all that he wants is Phainon's release, the relief of it, and nothing else. There need be no else.
So he does not think of more.
Instead, Phainon moans for him, turning his head to lean into any touch he can take, any kiss he might steal, body aching and sore but flush with pleasure. The growls, the sound, the sweet relief makes him ache and hurt, and Phainon groans as he seeks, pressing their mouths together again, messy and sharp as he runs his tongue along teeth, wants to feel the ache there, too. He offers himself up like a boon to a benevolent God, and he can feel his own pleasure flood through him, flush and hot.
Cat comes, buried deep, and Phainon jerks, his hips straining as he rocks, trying to give himself what he needs. He's sensitive from orgasm already, one enough to leave him hazy and flushed, but he wants another. It had been promised to him, and he wants it, shuddering as he gasps the Cat's name, as he grips, rolling his hips and chasing it.
[ His orgasm hits his body like a cattle rod to the base of his spine, making him tense and flex his muscles, making his teeth and claws feel longer and sharper, but where a typical reaction to a feeling such as this might make a body jerk back and go still, the Cat only seems to curve himself tighter over and around Phainon's body. It's almost as if in doing so the Cat believes he could draw the moment out, keep himself at the moment of orgasm right before the fall, keep his libido where it sits at the moment, unsure whether or not he's about to come again, and keep Phainon right there with him.
Only doing so would mean Phainon never got to experience that weightlessness, the tip over the edge as the Cat's body pushes into him again, again, again-- and though his feral, selfish mind considers it for one ghost of a moment, the tenderness he feels for those wide shining eyes and soft smiling mouth and the hands that grip so tightly to him as he shivers with sensitive need wins out. That, and the way Phainon gasps his name and then begs so very sweetly. But then he's sure that no creature could resist a siren call like that.
He can feel the muscles in Phainon's thighs flexing beneath him, the give of his body pulling and reluctant to let go every time the Cat slides out; so his thrusts become less of a back and forth and more of a needy grind, a push in and then further in, deep and intense and unrelenting in giving Phainon what he wants, needs, deserves. He flexes his claws, turning Phainon's head, mouth slick with saliva or blood or both as he drags it away, down his jaw, to the soft skin above his choker, beneath his jaw, where he growls one final huff of breath, one final command— ]
Come for me.
[ —and bites, hard, into one delicate point of his tattoo. ]
[ There’s something heady about feeling the other man come for him, knowing that it was his body and his words that do it. Phainon feels as if he’s addicted to it, sinking into the sensation like sliding into one of the hot baths of his own world; it feels utterly blissful. It’s so totally overwhelming that he can’t think of anything else for a moment, utterly blissed.
He doesn’t even need to come again, would be more than happy to have Cat settle over him and press close, to cover him with his weight. The urge to be completely consumed is still there, and Phainon is almost gasping with it, flush, eyes damp with his desperation, his overwhelming feelings.
Giving up control, shutting his mind off… It was good.
Contentment disappears as soon as the bite to his neck comes. It’s a sharp edge, something that makes him shudder as he flickers his eyes open, the pleasure swarming him and making him echo a sharp, desperate sound. It runs through his body like lightning, and he groans, body arching and pushing towards Cat as he gives him.
The orgasm is too good, leaving him suffering in the aftershocks, leaving him collapsing into the bed with a sound that feels more like a wound than pleasure. His eyes are damp and hazy as he looks at Cat, flushed and overwhelmed. ]
[ The Cat's mind is full of affectionate little nothings as he lets the flesh in his mouth loose, lapping over the teeth marks with a careful tongue, like a beast offering an apology for simply doing what beasts were made to do. Phainon is so good, so obedient, so warm and so full underneath him. He isn't sure if those are just things he thinks or things he says aloud, but either way the constant stream doesn't stop.
The sensation of Phainon doing as he was told and letting a second orgasm wash over him makes the Cat want to do it to him again, but the ache in his hips and the trembling of his hands make it more than clear that this time was more intense than he'd expected, and though he can fantasise with fascinating intricacies about being an impermeable force built only to drive his partner apart, his appetite for selfish indulgence is simply too powerful to make it true. Perhaps the next time they fall into bed together, where the Cat can anticipate his reaction and keep more of a handle on himself, then he could drive them both a little further. More and more each time they meet. Yes, he likes the sound of that.
He draws back to meet Phainon's gaze, enjoying that flush under his skin, the shine in his eyes. He can't help but kiss him, because he doesn't think there's any creature in this world or the next that could resist kissing him when he looks like that. And when he pulls back, he's smiling. ]
[ It’s a sweet relief edged with a hint of pain, overstimulation and sensitivity making him bubble and ache deep inside of him. The way that he feels anchored into the moment, fingers floundering before he keeps them wrapped around the Cat, holding himself close and leaning, leaning. It feels greedy, wanting so much, needing as much as he does, breath coming hard as he hits the harsh wall of coming down.
The kiss brings him back, restores the sensation of feeling in his body. The rush of heat that had flared through him and made his body too hot, Coreflames burning, has settled, and Phainon can relax. His limbs go slack as he pushes into the kiss, into the taste of Cat, the edge of fangs against his tongue and the soft noise that comes with it.
Lax, pliant, he blinks up at him.
Mind forgetting words, he laughs softly instead, turning to borrow his face into the Cat’s neck, idle kisses against his skin, worshipful and thankful. It’s nice, to feel so soft, so relaxed, so at peace after the stress of everything else. Phainon forgets who he is. ]
[ The Cat is already well aware that he likes Phainon. Despite knowing very little about him besides what he gleaned from him in their short conversation before they got handsy at the ball, and what little he's got from him over text and between kisses tonight, he's very cognisant of the fact that Phainon's company pleases him, and that while he's curious to know more about him, he'd probably be just as content to curl up at his side and purr, allowing himself to be pet until he fell into deep, restful sleep. But, the Cat knows better than to show his hand this early on, to allow those softer parts of himself to show between his ribs.
The way Phainon laughs makes him feel soft and affectionate, and he allows himself a little nuzzle of the hair falling over one of Phainon's ears before he draws back, starting to shift his body enough that he can allow Phainon's body to unfold beneath him, to stave off any muscle aches that might spoil his afterglow. And to pull out of him. Never mind how reluctant he is to do either. ]
You'd be surprised how much cats and dogs have in common. [ Their loyalty, their devotion, their hunger, their greed, their desire for safety and friendship. They might show it in different ways, but they are traits both animals share. He smirks, and allows himself another helpless kiss, as though he can't quite get enough. ] But you didn't hear that from me.
[ All of this ends up being very sweet, very soft, and it makes his cautiousness about what to do now they’re doing a little easier to manage. Phainon doesn’t really know how to handle the moments after having sex with someone who isn’t the obvious, and adapting has been difficult to process. It feels better to just follow Cat’s lead, to do whatever he does and play it easy.
The soft kisses and smiles soften him, and Phainon leans into the kiss, stroking his fingers over the other man’s hair gently. When he draws out, Phainon twitches a little, sensitive and sour at suddenly being empty, and he sinks further into the bed. What he’d like to do, he thinks, is draw the Cat into his arms and cuddle him, enjoy a little more physical touch before they separate, but he’s not sure how to ask for it or if the other man wants it.
So, instead, he does the easy thing. He kisses him ever so gently, and smiles against his mouth. ]
[ The Cat likes to pretend he's heartless enough that he'd leave someone straight after the deed is done, but he's been on the other side of that and knows how disappointing it can feel to a body that craves closeness.
It's easy, for him at least, to pick up on when his partner has no interest in lingering in the comedown, and Phainon could easily make his stance abundantly clear by reaching for his shirt or for something to clean himself up with... but he doesn't. Instead, he reaches for the Cat, and that rush of affection grows stronger, to the point that he's glad for the little gentle kiss because it saves him from smiling stupidly and getting caught in it. ]
Mmm. A promise and a secret. You're spoiling me. [ He says, deciding to indulge for just a moment longer by settling himself beside Phainon and running an appreciative hand up and down the side of his body, ribs to waist to hip and back up again, as he gives him sporadic, idle kisses, and simply enjoys being close to him. ] Thanks for indulging me tonight. I had fun.
[ He'll make his excuses and leave before the sensation of messy sex becomes uncomfortable so that they can sort themselves out in privacy, but he at least needs to keep the kisses up to use his power. A convenient excuse. ]
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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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Phainon wants to resist and draw this out, to enjoy the pleasure a little more. It feels decadent in a way he can’t quite find the words for, so utterly under this man’s thumb that nothing else seems to matter, that nothing else holds any meaning. It feels dangerous, too, wanting so much, desiring so much, feeling the burn of pleasure inside him. His whole body feels slight, flame inside him desperate to come out, and if he doesn’t give in he’ll. break.
Worse than that. He’ll weep.
Shivering, fingers curling inside him, outside of him, around his cock and too deep, all he can do is moan. Cat has taken such good care of him, so careful at urging him forward, and Phainon wants this so deeply. He doesn’t even realise how his hands remain above his head, that he hasn’t moved to grab or grasp, just shudders as he sinks further and further down.
It feels like a trap, but it isn’t. It’s just sex. Nothing more than that.
When he comes, it’s with a quiet, low sound, dragged out of him before he sinks into the bed, lax and dirty from his own come staining him. His hips still rock all the same, wanting to be good, to take and take, greedily. What a strange beast he’s become. ]
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Pride spreads through him as a bead of sweat runs down the length of the Cat's spine, and with it comes the sure knowledge that he can't resist him much longer. Though it's tempting to let Phainon continue to fuck into his hand, to see how many times he can make him come if he simply never stops-- he's sure there'll be other times for such a thing. There'll be another opportunity when the Cat isn't so hungry for the body beneath him that he can take his time with more targeted accuracy; he's sure of it. Perhaps he can catch Phainon sometime when he's comfortable and familiar rather than electric and alive, when his mind is dulled by warm company and hands he knows will treat him well. Perhaps then he could have Phainon begging much quicker into his mouth, as his hand or his body works him over and over and over— ]
The things you make me think about... [ The Cat says, almost to himself again, eyes scanning the sight before him, the mess Phainon has made, mouth watering to clean it up but body focused on other, more pressing matters. ] You make me want to ravage you.
[ He slows his hand, then stops completely, drawing his dirty palm away so that he can click his fingers and disappear his clothing. It had been nice to be half-dressed and filthy in Phainon's lap, but his senses crave skin on skin. Then he uses the hand covered in the remnants of Phainon's release to slick his own cock, heavy and eager, before pressing it against his retracted fingers.
He thinks about giving Phainon time to come down from his afterglow, a moment to catch his breath, a second to adjust for the Cat to be inside him, but he simply cannot wait. His fingers retract, his cock pushes up, his body falls forward over Phainon so that his mouth can capture his in a kiss, drinking the first sound of being breached from him as he rocks forward and sinks into him. ]
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There is only pleasure.
Mind fuzzy, he gazes at Cat, lax and content, body still alert. Something warm floods him, an understanding, perhaps. It does not have to be such a dangerous thing, to give into what he must for the sake of his wish. When it can feel like this, why shouldn't he allow himself it, why shouldn't he take it? It had felt the same with Mydeimos, but the weight of expectation and relationship there is something that he hadn't been prepared to probe too deeply over.
Lifting his gaze, he swallows, feeling overheated. ]
You could tell me them. [ It feels like a confession, somehow, whispered between them where no one else can hear. Phainon doesn't know Cat well, but he recognises that, in this, they can be genuine. It is sex, it is pleasure, and it does not need to be deeper than that, it does not need to be something that causes him the stress that it had, up to now. ] I'd like to hear them.
[ Even now, his hands haven't moved.
Phainon wants to reach out, to grasp, to hold on and not let go, but he doesn't. He watches Cat as he settles between his legs, as he presses inside him, taking and taking, and his moan is swallowed by the heat of their kiss. Fingers twitching, desperate to hold on and grab, all he can do is arch up, enjoying the burn of the stretch, the slight sting, the way it makes him feel as if he is being submerged. All his thoughts fade away, lost in pleasure and nothing else. ]
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But he'd encouraged Phainon to give in and feel, hadn't he? He'd shown him with firm and steadfast reassurance and tempting hands that he was in good company for it, that the Cat only wanted to see him wanting, and to watch him give in... Shouldn't the same be true in reverse? This is just sex; this is just something fun, there and then gone – but perhaps he can use his familiar intensity to his advantage, lean into it, and taste it even if only by mouthfuls, with a partner who is clearly so eager to know in return.
His cock gives a heavy, hungry throb, and the Cat pulls back from the kiss with a groan, a flash of his teeth in Phainon's lip, and a string of saliva connecting their mouths.
That slightly unfocused look in Phainon's eyes transforms his already beautiful face into something near angelic, and though the Cat knows full well it's down to the fact that Phainon is indulging – following his instructions and becoming soft and malleable under his paws – he finds himself completely rapt by the sight of it as he tries to concentrate on the feeling of his body. He lets himself adjust to Phainon's tightness, allowing the other man time to feel the way his cock makes his muscles stretch and to anticipate what it will feel like to be fucked by him before he gives it to him. ]
You've been such a good boy... I'll tell you anything you want to know. [ And he wants to. He wants to feed his desire; he wants to show it to Phainon, even if only the smallest amount of it that's palatable. He licks his lips, a smile growing, hands finding the soft flesh of Phainon's thighs and pinning him open, folding him, pressing him down. ] But first... [ His eyes flick up, and his smile turns knowing and smug. ] Put your arms around me. Hold on to me tight while I fuck you, and then we can see how long it takes me to lose all my words to how good you feel, hm?
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There's something about the way that Cat speaks to him, whispers to him, praises him that makes it easier to fall into the trap of letting go, of basking in the way that all the good feelings flood through him. His body feels warm, so hot that it might burn if he isn't careful, Coreflames in his chest brought back to life from sharing his body with another, and he doesn't have to bleed to do it. His fingers tingle from it, and he is breathless as their kiss breaks, his eyes dark as they turn to look at the man above him.
It's not as though he has given in completely, a pinprick of edge still there, under his skin. If threatened, Phainon could have a hand around his throat in a moment. He could prove to the Cat just how dangerous he can be, with his transformation burning under his skin and threatening to come through. He enjoys the feeling for now, licking his lips and chasing the taste of the kiss, wondering and wanting.
To be desired for who he is and not his mantle, his cause, his golden blood, is still a novelty.
Pressed, folded, moved, Phainon groans softly, feeling the slight stretch in his muscles, so novel and new. He can't remember the last time he was taken like this, mind searching through lifetimes as if he might be able to parse one, and he has to shove it aside before he loses his focus on the here and now. He is enjoying the feel of Cat's cock inside him, the warmth of his body around him, the timbre of his voice; all of it is good, and better than drawing nightmares back into his mind for no reason.
Nodding his head, he swallows. ]
Thank you. [ For the praise, he thinks, or for taking care of him, or for being good - Phainon isn't sure. His voice is a little hoarse, but his arms move, fingers flexing absently as they wrap around Cat and hold on, almost sinking into the new embrace. It's good; it all feels good. He's not even put off by the smugness, far to familiar with that particular trait to be offended. ]
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When he feels arms wrap around him, he grins and flicks his tongue out to lick affectionately at Phainon's mouth before he starts to move. He hadn't stretched him out quite enough to set any impressive pace right away, but he also doesn't have enough restraint left in him to hold back like he normally might. But this isn't a romantic, slow fuck. This is hunger and need, sating an ache inside both of them, something meant to sate rather than feed.
The Cat's body is stronger than it looks, more coordinated than a human's typically is, and his hips fuck deep and hard as he swings them back and forth, back and forth, pushing Phainon deeper into the sheets with every thrust, pressing himself closer and closer to the body beneath him that feels so hot he might start to singe the blankets. He's so tight, the slide so smooth, the drag of him so perfect... ]
You make me— want to see how many times I can make you come. [ The Cat says, suddenly and loudly, interrupting his hitching breath but not the loud purr that's practically deafening now, rumbling through his chest even as he speaks. He presses his forehead to Phainon's, watching his eyes, listening to his breath catching, his claws kneading ten little pinpricks into the meat of Phainon's thighs where he holds him open. ] Lock something tight around you to draw it out... get you quivering and begging for it, before I let you free, and then take you there so many times and so intensely that you come dry.
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Bent as he is, Phainon feels completely overwhelmed, swallowed whole by the pleasure of being taken, of giving himself over. His hands dig into the other man's body, his head leaning up to chase his mouth, shivering from the way that it burns through him and makes him want more. If he isn't careful, he's going to lose control of himself, falling into a trap of power and energy that he can't swallow back, and that's the last thing he wants. There are some secrets that he wants to keep, to push the parts of himself that are less Phainon and more Khaslana aside.
He wants to focus on this.
Nodding his head, he rolls his hips, doing his best to work with Cat and bask. Lidded eyes stare up at the other man, enjoying the obvious delight on his face, the way that he looks, the sound of his breathing. There is an ache, but it's no worse than a spar, just different - new, and exciting. Phainon doesn't mind the lack of preparation when it is just enough, enjoys the bite of pain, feels as if he has earned that, somehow. That he is worthy of the pain as much as the pleasure.
Swallowing, he nods his head, nails digging into Cat as he holds on, taking and taking and taking. ] I... I don't know how many times I can...? [ Which is likely only going to make him want to test it more, he's sure. ] But I don't want you to stop. I want to feel it, all of it. [ All of Cat's pleasure, and knowing he played a part in it, had a hand in it. He wants that all, greedily. ]
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The Cat wants him to dig in more, to bite him again, to bite him in return, on the back of his neck or the meat of his thighs, and pin him down prone under the flash of pain... He growls, trying to sift through those primal feelings lured from him by Phainon's need. He licks his mouth again, like an animal soothing a cub, before he kisses him with a groan that sounds as though he's coming up for air, teeth dragging against his lips. ]
We'll find out. [ He gasps, struggling to keep his eyes open as pleasure threatens to make a machine of him, libido climbing dangerously high and fast. ] Oh fuck, Phainon. I'll get you right up against your limit, and then see how much more you can take before you break. I'll give you everything. Everything.
[ He's not even entirely sure what he's saying anymore, just letting his mouth move because if he stops speaking he'll start biting, and he's already fucking Phainon hard enough that their bodies have scooted along the sheets, the crown of Phainon's head against the headboard now, creating an even more delicious impression that there's nowhere else he can go under the Cat's efforts, that the only option for him is this: to lie back and take. ]
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Destiny was not in his favour. He was not made to see the Dawn, to live, to thrive, to find love nor joy. Yet here, under Cat's hands, it all falls away. He does not have to be the Hero, the Deliverer, the Worldbearer; he does not have to be a hero, lost to the wind and shattered, carrying the hopes of a universe. He does not have to be anything more than himself, even if the bitterness of his journey hangs heavy around his neck. Cat knows none of it: he knows only Phainon, the farmer's boy from a long forgotten village.
Phainon leans into the kisses, chases the taste of Cat's mouth, and burns under his touch. He reaches for more, greedy with it, and basks; the urge to lean in, to sink his teeth into flesh, to make some kind of mark to prove that this is real overtakes him, and he shivers with it. His own pleasure remains secondary, no matter how good this feels. He wants to leave something to show that he was here, and enjoyed this also, that he is not just a recipient of what Cat is able to give him.
Perhaps that is odd of him, or betrays his nature, but it burns all the same.
Gripping at the man above him, Phainon leans up, desperate and filled with need, callous with it, almost, as he bites at his mouth and kisses him harder, arms and legs tight around him, refusing to let go. Refusing to submit to his own pleasure for the sake of others. When he speaks, the words feel like babble, foolish and awkward as he hisses, a strange lump in his throat making him hoarse. He needs, he wants, and it burns, his flesh hotter from Coreflames roaring to life. ]
Take it... Take all that I have. I want to feel it all.
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He might have been pushing Phainon to surrender to feeling, but in doing so he's gotten himself very close to chasing something he hasn't felt in a very long time. Power in his own body over a partner pinned prone, yes, but a reciprocal power from the one beneath him too: the knowledge that all it would take is one single pull in the right direction to have him toppling; playing with fire, dancing paws delicately along the tightrope of danger. Wickedly enticing for a Cat, and dreadfully dangerous for one as greedy as he is.
Later on, he might even wonder how it could be that a face as sweet as Phainon's, one so easy to please and earnest, could be made sharp and hungry as the mouth that kisses him now, but he honestly hasn't a thought left in his head to consider anything that isn't doing as Phainon begs of him, taking everything from him and letting him have everything of the Cat's in return. He wants to feel him with his hands; he wants to press him down further into the bed; he wants to get him against a wall or the floor or lift him into his arms and let gravity do the hard work. He wants to taste his skin, his sweat, his tears, his fingers. He wants to see if his blood tastes different when he comes.
Growling a sound that is half helpless sob and half hungry purr, the Cat tenses his claws, feeling slick blood under his hands, smearing it over Phainon's impossibly warm skin as he moves his arms up, catching under Phainon's knees, pressing him even more viscerally in half. The Cat's chest keeps him in place while his hips move, fucking him at a punishing pace, hands stretching up to bracket his face, red-tipped claws against his skin, palms able to feel every beat of his heart as if it's crying out just for him. ]
Cl-s— [ He can't even form the word to give him warning, so addicted to the feeling of teeth against his mouth that he doesn't want to pull away, and only a moment after he's said it, he's coming hard, buried deep inside of the other man. It threatens to shake him apart, but he doesn't stop. ]
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He likes the stretch of his body, the way that he feels pushed into taking and taking; his body has always been a vessel, always been a holder for whatever wish and desires his peers had offered. The fire inside of him is Destruction, and he has never had a hand destined for sweetness, for warmth, for love. Phainon is Khaos, is the flame of a new world, and under Cat's touch he burns as bright as the sun itself, golden blood rushing through him and setting him alight.
Burning, and burning, he still reaches for more, still makes the demand for more, more, desperate to be filled, to be contained. He seeks out the heat of this moment to ease the wildfire of his heart, and he yearns for what Cat can give him to soften the blow of his hands. Each kiss floods him with new life, ambrosia to the hurt and torn edges of him, and he sinks deeper and deeper into it. All that Cat expects is his pleasure, all that he wants is Phainon's release, the relief of it, and nothing else. There need be no else.
So he does not think of more.
Instead, Phainon moans for him, turning his head to lean into any touch he can take, any kiss he might steal, body aching and sore but flush with pleasure. The growls, the sound, the sweet relief makes him ache and hurt, and Phainon groans as he seeks, pressing their mouths together again, messy and sharp as he runs his tongue along teeth, wants to feel the ache there, too. He offers himself up like a boon to a benevolent God, and he can feel his own pleasure flood through him, flush and hot.
Cat comes, buried deep, and Phainon jerks, his hips straining as he rocks, trying to give himself what he needs. He's sensitive from orgasm already, one enough to leave him hazy and flushed, but he wants another. It had been promised to him, and he wants it, shuddering as he gasps the Cat's name, as he grips, rolling his hips and chasing it.
He needs it, and he knows it will come. ]
Please...
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Only doing so would mean Phainon never got to experience that weightlessness, the tip over the edge as the Cat's body pushes into him again, again, again-- and though his feral, selfish mind considers it for one ghost of a moment, the tenderness he feels for those wide shining eyes and soft smiling mouth and the hands that grip so tightly to him as he shivers with sensitive need wins out. That, and the way Phainon gasps his name and then begs so very sweetly. But then he's sure that no creature could resist a siren call like that.
He can feel the muscles in Phainon's thighs flexing beneath him, the give of his body pulling and reluctant to let go every time the Cat slides out; so his thrusts become less of a back and forth and more of a needy grind, a push in and then further in, deep and intense and unrelenting in giving Phainon what he wants, needs, deserves. He flexes his claws, turning Phainon's head, mouth slick with saliva or blood or both as he drags it away, down his jaw, to the soft skin above his choker, beneath his jaw, where he growls one final huff of breath, one final command— ]
Come for me.
[ —and bites, hard, into one delicate point of his tattoo. ]
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He doesn’t even need to come again, would be more than happy to have Cat settle over him and press close, to cover him with his weight. The urge to be completely consumed is still there, and Phainon is almost gasping with it, flush, eyes damp with his desperation, his overwhelming feelings.
Giving up control, shutting his mind off… It was good.
Contentment disappears as soon as the bite to his neck comes. It’s a sharp edge, something that makes him shudder as he flickers his eyes open, the pleasure swarming him and making him echo a sharp, desperate sound. It runs through his body like lightning, and he groans, body arching and pushing towards Cat as he gives him.
The orgasm is too good, leaving him suffering in the aftershocks, leaving him collapsing into the bed with a sound that feels more like a wound than pleasure. His eyes are damp and hazy as he looks at Cat, flushed and overwhelmed. ]
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The sensation of Phainon doing as he was told and letting a second orgasm wash over him makes the Cat want to do it to him again, but the ache in his hips and the trembling of his hands make it more than clear that this time was more intense than he'd expected, and though he can fantasise with fascinating intricacies about being an impermeable force built only to drive his partner apart, his appetite for selfish indulgence is simply too powerful to make it true. Perhaps the next time they fall into bed together, where the Cat can anticipate his reaction and keep more of a handle on himself, then he could drive them both a little further. More and more each time they meet. Yes, he likes the sound of that.
He draws back to meet Phainon's gaze, enjoying that flush under his skin, the shine in his eyes. He can't help but kiss him, because he doesn't think there's any creature in this world or the next that could resist kissing him when he looks like that. And when he pulls back, he's smiling. ]
Good boy, puppy. That's exactly what I wanted.
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The kiss brings him back, restores the sensation of feeling in his body. The rush of heat that had flared through him and made his body too hot, Coreflames burning, has settled, and Phainon can relax. His limbs go slack as he pushes into the kiss, into the taste of Cat, the edge of fangs against his tongue and the soft noise that comes with it.
Lax, pliant, he blinks up at him.
Mind forgetting words, he laughs softly instead, turning to borrow his face into the Cat’s neck, idle kisses against his skin, worshipful and thankful. It’s nice, to feel so soft, so relaxed, so at peace after the stress of everything else. Phainon forgets who he is. ]
A Cat and a puppy… Isn’t that a funny pair?
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The way Phainon laughs makes him feel soft and affectionate, and he allows himself a little nuzzle of the hair falling over one of Phainon's ears before he draws back, starting to shift his body enough that he can allow Phainon's body to unfold beneath him, to stave off any muscle aches that might spoil his afterglow. And to pull out of him. Never mind how reluctant he is to do either. ]
You'd be surprised how much cats and dogs have in common. [ Their loyalty, their devotion, their hunger, their greed, their desire for safety and friendship. They might show it in different ways, but they are traits both animals share. He smirks, and allows himself another helpless kiss, as though he can't quite get enough. ] But you didn't hear that from me.
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The soft kisses and smiles soften him, and Phainon leans into the kiss, stroking his fingers over the other man’s hair gently. When he draws out, Phainon twitches a little, sensitive and sour at suddenly being empty, and he sinks further into the bed. What he’d like to do, he thinks, is draw the Cat into his arms and cuddle him, enjoy a little more physical touch before they separate, but he’s not sure how to ask for it or if the other man wants it.
So, instead, he does the easy thing. He kisses him ever so gently, and smiles against his mouth. ]
It can be our secret. Promise.
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It's easy, for him at least, to pick up on when his partner has no interest in lingering in the comedown, and Phainon could easily make his stance abundantly clear by reaching for his shirt or for something to clean himself up with... but he doesn't. Instead, he reaches for the Cat, and that rush of affection grows stronger, to the point that he's glad for the little gentle kiss because it saves him from smiling stupidly and getting caught in it. ]
Mmm. A promise and a secret. You're spoiling me. [ He says, deciding to indulge for just a moment longer by settling himself beside Phainon and running an appreciative hand up and down the side of his body, ribs to waist to hip and back up again, as he gives him sporadic, idle kisses, and simply enjoys being close to him. ] Thanks for indulging me tonight. I had fun.
[ He'll make his excuses and leave before the sensation of messy sex becomes uncomfortable so that they can sort themselves out in privacy, but he at least needs to keep the kisses up to use his power. A convenient excuse. ]