[ Let it be hard, then, he thinks. Let it be difficult. Impossible. Cling to me. Don't let me go. Make it just as hard for me to try to.
Phainon's voice is like an anchor, but the Cat can't decide if it's holding him in place or dragging him to the bottom of the ocean. He can picture pushing his thighs open and biting him there, using magic to get him to bed, bringing him to orgasm with his hand and his teeth. He can imagine leaving marks all across him. He can imagine curling up under his chin and sleeping peacefully without even needing to shift. He feels sick with romantic ideals, he feels unsteady, he feels ravenous.
He pulls back, barely suppressing a whine of displeasure, lapping his tongue over the burnt ochre-coloured bruise blossoming under Phainon's tattoo. He can't take his eyes off it, and doesn't want to, but eventually drags his gaze up to take in the other man's flushed face. He wants to tell him he doesn't want to leave. He has to bite his own lip to stop himself, because it will surely be like a dam opening. Then he grins, laughing breathlessly, skin and blood feeling tight and hot. ]
Sorry. I just can't resist you sometimes. You drive me crazy. [ His other hand cups his cheek. He's so warm. ] That's what I was going to tell you earlier, that you make me feel helpless.
[ A small piece of himself. An apology? An explanation? Something to keep himself on Phainon's mind along with the sting of teeth in his flesh? The Cat has no idea. His hands have slipped from the leash. He smiles a little ruefully, as he straightens his spine so that he can start to move. ]
Okay, fine. You're right. I should go. I'm only interested in making one very specific thing hard for you. Best not to spoil a good record.
[ Phainon could indulge in this, could let himself, with no expectations or anything beyond sharing space and time. The depth of his capacity for love had been filled with hatred for so long that he feels powerless to do anything but fold himself around those that offer him anything sweetly, to take it to fill the empty and vacant parts of himself that feel so barren after so many lifetimes, after coming face to face with an Aeon and failing.
It would be easy to fold himself into little pieces and overthink, to wonder at his worth, but he holds his breath instead, watching the man on his lap as he rises, as he starts to move, as he admits to wanting, needing him. It makes Phainon fill with something - he's not sure what, as if allergic to the investigation, the worry merging with his own feelings and making him static, ever so briefly.
Softening, he nods, cheeks warm, heart thudding too fast, slowly rising to chase the Cat, be a good host and show him out. ]
The feeling is mutual.
[ Crazy... Phainon knows that. The empty, brainless feeling, driven by a singular emotion, his heart in his throat... He has lived with it for millions of lifetimes.
Leaning up, he presses one last kiss to Cat's lips, chaste, soft, despite the throbbing in his neck and trousers, and nods. ]
[ Mutual. Oh, the Cat could laugh. A more confident Cat, or perhaps one who just cared less, might tease Phainon about saying things he doesn't mean, or at least being careful he really knows what he's saying before he says it... but Phainon hasn't lied to him yet, and some starved and selfish part of the Cat wants it to be true the way he needs it to be, so he says nothing. Let him break off this little piece and keep it for himself.
When Phainon kisses him, he barely has a chance to kiss him back, but perhaps that's a good thing. It's so soft it almost breaks his heart. ]
Such a gentleman. [ The Cat teases, soft and fond. ] I'll expect you to pull out my chair for me next time, whatever it is we get up to. Or just let me sit on your lap straight away. Cut to the chase a bit.
[ He lets Phainon walk him out, or at least he lets him walk him to the door, because the Cat has arousal and desire and desire and desire thrumming in him, so walking out isn't really all that necessary. But if it gets him a little more time, an easy excuse to drag out his company, he'll take it. He'll bite the hand that feeds him off for it. He turns to Phainon at the door, only a few feet from where he materialised at the start of their evening, but feeling an entirely different Cat from the one he'd been then. He smiles at him, sharp but warm, wanting to remember the way he looks. ]
Don't miss me too much.
[ He winks, because of course he does, and disappears in a plume of violet flames. ]
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no subject
Phainon's voice is like an anchor, but the Cat can't decide if it's holding him in place or dragging him to the bottom of the ocean. He can picture pushing his thighs open and biting him there, using magic to get him to bed, bringing him to orgasm with his hand and his teeth. He can imagine leaving marks all across him. He can imagine curling up under his chin and sleeping peacefully without even needing to shift. He feels sick with romantic ideals, he feels unsteady, he feels ravenous.
He pulls back, barely suppressing a whine of displeasure, lapping his tongue over the burnt ochre-coloured bruise blossoming under Phainon's tattoo. He can't take his eyes off it, and doesn't want to, but eventually drags his gaze up to take in the other man's flushed face. He wants to tell him he doesn't want to leave. He has to bite his own lip to stop himself, because it will surely be like a dam opening. Then he grins, laughing breathlessly, skin and blood feeling tight and hot. ]
Sorry. I just can't resist you sometimes. You drive me crazy. [ His other hand cups his cheek. He's so warm. ] That's what I was going to tell you earlier, that you make me feel helpless.
[ A small piece of himself. An apology? An explanation? Something to keep himself on Phainon's mind along with the sting of teeth in his flesh? The Cat has no idea. His hands have slipped from the leash. He smiles a little ruefully, as he straightens his spine so that he can start to move. ]
Okay, fine. You're right. I should go. I'm only interested in making one very specific thing hard for you. Best not to spoil a good record.
no subject
It would be easy to fold himself into little pieces and overthink, to wonder at his worth, but he holds his breath instead, watching the man on his lap as he rises, as he starts to move, as he admits to wanting, needing him. It makes Phainon fill with something - he's not sure what, as if allergic to the investigation, the worry merging with his own feelings and making him static, ever so briefly.
Softening, he nods, cheeks warm, heart thudding too fast, slowly rising to chase the Cat, be a good host and show him out. ]
The feeling is mutual.
[ Crazy... Phainon knows that. The empty, brainless feeling, driven by a singular emotion, his heart in his throat... He has lived with it for millions of lifetimes.
Leaning up, he presses one last kiss to Cat's lips, chaste, soft, despite the throbbing in his neck and trousers, and nods. ]
Let me walk you out, at least.
no subject
When Phainon kisses him, he barely has a chance to kiss him back, but perhaps that's a good thing. It's so soft it almost breaks his heart. ]
Such a gentleman. [ The Cat teases, soft and fond. ] I'll expect you to pull out my chair for me next time, whatever it is we get up to. Or just let me sit on your lap straight away. Cut to the chase a bit.
[ He lets Phainon walk him out, or at least he lets him walk him to the door, because the Cat has arousal and desire and desire and desire thrumming in him, so walking out isn't really all that necessary. But if it gets him a little more time, an easy excuse to drag out his company, he'll take it. He'll bite the hand that feeds him off for it. He turns to Phainon at the door, only a few feet from where he materialised at the start of their evening, but feeling an entirely different Cat from the one he'd been then. He smiles at him, sharp but warm, wanting to remember the way he looks. ]
Don't miss me too much.
[ He winks, because of course he does, and disappears in a plume of violet flames. ]