trailblazers | 004 » broke all the promises i made last night

Why isn't it good?

[ He doesn't have the Halovian sense for preternatural empathy; he only has that which any human can claim to have. Doesn't know, right now, what turmoil lurks in the corners of Sunday's heart. He feels Sunday hold him back and — seemingly — snuggle deeper into him, and he enjoys it; he's happy.

So then, why does it sound like Sunday isn't happy? Caelus pets the back of his head as if trying to soothe him. The man's hair trails down his neck; it feels especially fluffy at the back. The Trailblazer hums in a way he thinks is reassuring. Maybe it isn't at all. ]

What's wrong?

You should like a person who will journey with you, no?

( Not some flightless Halovian at his wits end, gazing into the divine scriptures of Order as he signs away the last of his will. He balls up Caelus' fabric in fists while he holds him and he looks into his eyes. Nerves burn with his touch on the back of his neck, and as much as his mind is going through now, Sunday is as poised as ever.

The storm never sees the light of day, just like the Dreamscape itself. )

There is nothing inherently wrong, but I wouldn't want you to suffer.

...Is that what you're worried about?

[ Caelus's voice is soft. Coaxing. Is this really what Sunday is worried about? It's so hard to read him, sometimes. His face seems so serene, and yet the way he's clinging to Caelus's shirt is anything but. ]

I can always come back to visit. For me, Trailblazing is about making connections. There's no point in it if I can't maintain the friendships and relationships I've made.

[ Carefully, without sudden movements, or anything that might be disrespectful at all, Caelus gently presses his lips to the tip of Sunday's left wing, as if swearing an oath. ]

You don't have to journey with me. I'd come back for you if you needed me.

[ A promise destined to be broken, surely...? ]

Yes.
( Visiting is only so useful when two people are so involved. Even having Robin leave Penacony did cause a trench to form between them— namely because Sunday simply keeps his issues to himself.

His wing twitches against the sudden touch, leaving his entire frame to tense against Caelus. )

Wouldn’t you feel more lonely when you spend your time away? Texting me doesn’t solve much.

( He pulls away to see him, the root of his feathers still feel burning up and eager for attention, but he ignores them. )

What if you were to come back and I’m no longer here?

[ Caelus pauses before answering, if only because Sunday's reactions aren't making a whole lot of sense to him in the moment. Why is he so worried about Caelus being lonely? If Caelus says it's fine, then it's fine, isn't it? All he's ever wanted is a little bit of affection. Texting would be enough, as long as he knew that Sunday loved him.

...But it's not enough for Sunday, is it?

Why is it not enough?

Looking at Sunday, Caelus comes to the conclusion —

Ah. That's right. He's lonely too, isn't he?

He thinks, maybe, that he finally gets it, why Sunday has been this perplexing mixture of someone who listens to his every word but then pushes him away. He thinks he gets it, so he brushes his thumb down the slope of Sunday's neck again. Caresses those pretty birdlike feathers of his, ever so gently, with the fingers of his other hand. ]

That's scary. You'd disappear, just like that? [ His tone is soft, teasing. Cajoling, just the barest bit. ] Without saying anything to me or Robin first?

[ Patiently, he presses a kiss to Sunday's forehead. ]

I guess I'll just have to stay with you all the time, then. Maybe I'll just kidnap you and keep you on the Express.

( It is never enough because if Caelus leaves then how is he supposed to assert his control? His servants can't travel away from the Dreamscape and then who else will Caelus spend his lonely nights with? A screen and some words, or a voice message? Sunday knows best than to tie him down to a world that does not belong to him, but he will never admit it - how much he detests the idea of letting go something precious. He can't own Caelus.

And if he did stay and it was Sunday's time to ascend for the greater good, for all his people, then what would be of Caelus' loneliness?

His wing twitches to any immediate touch, starved for it, yet he barely shows any expression. The warmth of his lips on his forehead is nice. It's different. )

I can't leave Penacony, you know that much. And the other option left - well - your friends wouldn't leave you behind either. It appears we're back where we started, no?

Heh.

( The most tragic, forced laugh that is. Like he's barely breathing. )

We can have this moment to cherish, Mr. Caelus. I strongly advise against kidnapping me. You do not want to make an enemy out of the Dreammaster.

You only ever think in absolutes...

[ It's chiding, but affectionate. Loving and sweet, for the sad little birdie who is so determined to stay sad. He kisses Sunday's forehead again, and then the bridge of his nose. His lips, softly and sweetly at first, and then more, deeper. Tongue against tongue, licking into the roof of Sunday's mouth, the sides of his cheeks, in a way that will leave his sensitive mouth tingling with pleasure. Everything slow and soft and unhurried. Everything sweet. ]

Look, I'll show you. Let me show you how I'd love you.

[ Hands cradling his handsome face, teasing those pretty wings. Caelus coaxes him back down into his seat again, and then straddles his lap. The Trailblazer's heavy, very heavy — lot of solid muscle there, in his shoulders and chest and arms — but his thighs, pressed against Sunday's own, oh, those are pillowy-soft. His ass is downright voluptuous. He feels like comfort.

Firmly, Caelus seizes one of those wings between his index finger and thumb — the unpierced one — and rubs it slowly from wingtip to wingjoint. Slowly, slowly, massaging the flesh and the thin bones beneath the pretty feathers. ]

Of course. Leaving any room for error would only result in tragedy.

( He's just as soft-spoken through that first layer of sheer finality. There is no steering Sunday from his path once he's settled on it. Or once he starts falling. He remains frozen as each of Caelus' kisses begins to smother him, casting warmth across his features. Whenever he tries to lift his chin so their lips meet, Caelus has a similar idea, languidly tasting him as they kiss deeply. Sunday's tongue rolls along with his, closing his eyes at the moment and simply following along each slight tilt, swallowing as much of him as he's able to so they don't make a mess. But a kiss can only take them so far and a kiss is still not enough to shake Sunday off his stance. )

You may do as you'd like, but I'm not asking you to convince me.

( He's inquisitive about his next move, tracing the back of his hand with his gloved one before he's ultimately guided down on his seat. His weight is ironically comfortable on him, his plump thighs around him, and a surprisingly good ass. He looks up at him patiently, still as a statue before Caelus takes to his wings. They expose how much he likes the touch itself, puffing up to him rubbing it, the joint, and shuffling between them to their roots. He can't help but gaze down so he can hide the way his chest fills up with pure delight. His wing stretches outward for him, taut and waiting for more attention. The other one can't move as far, naturally. )

Nobody has ever done this.

[ Caelus doesn't respond. Not to the debate of what Sunday will do with is love, or whether or not he can accept it, at least. But he responds to the puffing and fluffing of those pretty feathers; he takes in the way the pierced wing can't move as far as the unpierced one, how expectant it seems, how bashful he looks with his lashes lowered and his chest swelling with anticipation. And Caelus...

Caelus is hungry. He has an appetite for destruction, sometimes.

(And once upon a time, a little birdie in the narration told him to bite.)

So: he's gentle about it, but he's merciless, too. He sinks his teeth into the tip of the unpierced wing, so open to that sweet massage, so vulnerable to Caelus's fangs. He's not too rough — he could have bitten that pierced wing of his, but he wants to see if Sunday likes this, first — and it doesn't break skin, but it's hard enough to hurt. Maybe, if Sunday's a bit of a masochist, the pain will lead straight to blossoming arousal.

Has anybody ever done that? Caelus seems to ask, in silent satisfaction after the bite. He licks Sunday's feathers apologetically, but he's not very sorry at all. ]

004 » broke all the promises i made last night

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the way wuwa and windtrace sucked my weekend lol

it's ok we are capturing the rebels together

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