Clover_Leaf318
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In the backstreet of some stupid place tucked away in Belobog, Caelus let himself get caged in by Dan Heng. It was his fault for teasing the other too much anyway — small flirty quips, light nudges, leaning in too close just to brush past him — Dan Heng had ran out of patience, and slammed him against the wall.
Pain flared, but pain was good, because it grounded him, reminded him that he was here and present.
Dan Heng didn’t speak. Dan Heng never really did. All Dan Heng did was interlocked his fingers with one hand, pressing it against the wall beside his head, and cupped his face with the other, all while shoving a knee between his legs.
Caelus gave a muffled whine, tilting his head up, parting his lips and nipping at Dan Heng’s bottom lip, pulling at it with his teeth.
The hand that gently held his face moved to fist his hair, jerking him back. Caelus let go of Dan Heng’s lip, wincing at the sudden action, before his expression dissolved into a dangerous smile. In his eyes lay a challenge — kiss me again, if you dare.
Where Caelus bleeds gold from the crushing weight of his unbearable existence.
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Goetia X Scholastic - except Infernal Sin wants the entire cake…
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Sweat dribbled down the temple of an over-invested man, brows doing their best not to twitch into one of honesty. It was hard to mask so well in a heavily crowded casino, stenching of cheap booze sold for way too much and even cheaper cologne/perfume. That was if you were lucky enough to get past the scent of cigars and cigarettes, coating your lungs black in tar with one whiff of the atmosphere.
It was chaotic, a headache needing almost an entire bottle of aspirin to cure it.
“Full house.” He let his facade finally crack, a lax grin spreading along his lips as he laid his cards out—his fourth and final successful hand.
It was euphoric. It was *his*.
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There he was—Norton Campbell, or rather, Ronald of Ness. The man he thought he’d never see again.
The actor’s face dominated the poster, his left side scarred but displayed boldly, unapologetically. It wasn’t hidden; it wasn’t softened. The scars only sharpened his aura, granting him an audacious, magnetic charm. A Norton he didn’t know—sharp-edged, confident, and untouchable—was alive in that image. The elegant font of "Atropo’s Ropes," seemed almost secondary to the intensity of the figure it framed.
Naib’s breath hitched. Norton’s eyes seemed to pierce through the glossy surface, meeting his own with a mocking intimacy. His lips, curled into a faint smile, seemed to say, I’m here. Come back to me, Naib Subedar. I’m right here.
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“Why are you like this?” he finally whined, voice cracking.
Norton clicked his tongue, slowly shaking his head, like Naib was some pitiful little thing in need of guidance.
“I might have developed some new interests…” Norton mused, like this was an academic discovery and not his boyfriend currently pinned to a locker room bench, half-naked and vibrating with shame.
Naib’s eyes went huge. “You mean a kink?”