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

[ He looks so natural, set against the backdrop of the Dewlight Pavilion, wearing a white shirt and a black vest just like any other Family member. Sunday's house is a little different from the Dreamjolt Hostelry, though. For one thing, Caelus was told to leave his self-expression at the door: owing to certain compulsions dating back to Sunday's youth, everyone working in the Dewlight Pavilion must be perfectly polished at all time. Starched shirts, everything crisp, buttoned up, no wrinkles, no sloppiness.

Caelus can adhere to that. Mostly. He knows how to behave when he's on a job. He has broken one rule, though: he's left the top three buttons of his shirt undone. Ostensibly, he was told to button it all the way up and put a tie on. But Caelus doesn't like buttoning things up around his neck, and besides, he thinks his exposed collarbones look good. He's pretty confident about one thing: it never hurts to look good while working any kind of customer service job.

Particularly when Sunday could have had any other bartender from any other establishment in Penacony.

(Another thing that sets him apart from other members of the Family is that Sunday has no power to suppress Caelus's heart, and Caelus, in turn, has no power to manipulate Sunday's. The Watchmaker's tricks will only take him so far.

Even so, there are different forms of manipulation. Like the way Caelus flicks his golden eyes toward Sunday's own when the man walks into the lounge to find the Trailblazer standing behind his bar. There's something half-lidded and slightly dangerous in Caelus's expression as he smiles. That's a form of manipulation, too.) ]

Welcome home, Mr. Sunday. Would you like a drink?

Edited 2024-05-12 04:53 (UTC)

( Greetings surround him as he makes his way down the velvet carpeting. At this system hour, most guests have been dismissed from their VIP gatherings and only his staff remains. Gloved and poised, trained to the utmost elegance to satisfy Sunday's tastes. All must be perfect and in order.

In accordance to their plans, he expects Caelus' skills to be awaiting him within his private quarters in the Dewlight Pavilion. Permission has long been granted, giving Caelus no issues to set up his station as Sunday's private bartender and by extension, entertainer.

From carpeting to polished marble, his footsteps echo across the floor towards the familiar face. Can Caelus spot that slight shift of his lips, twitching into a sneer. He's not following his dress code but expects such rebellious nature from Caelus. Always when Sunday least expects it. Left field lines, loneliness, provocative glances.

Sunday stops at the bar, gold facing gold. Who is manipulating who, when Caelus is the one willing to insert himself deep inside Sunday's advantage? His gaze lowers to his parted shirt, tracing his display of protruding bones and clear flesh. Then the array of ingredients before him and all the tools of mixology. )

If it isn't my guest of honor. This day has been extensive so I'm glad you could spare a night from your usual job, Mr. Caelus. I take it you're faring better than other lonely nights?

I would like something creamy and refreshing, nothing too sweet.

I'm glad you could spare the time to be with me.

[ A sweet enough response. As for the other things Sunday said — Caelus laughs good-naturedly at the jab to his loneliness, shaking his head as though it's never bothered him at all. ]

Oh, man. Should I really talk about that right now? I feel like I shouldn't, if I'm trying to be professional... You know how I get about it.

[ Well — a truly professional response wouldn't have even touched on his personal problems, but that's beside the point. Sunday asked him a question, so he feels compelled to respond.

Even though he's not following the dress code, it's true that Caelus is making some effort to be at least some kind of professional right now: if one were to follow his movements — the confident motions of his hands as he sets about taking up an impossibly clean glass and filling it with ice and the combination of different liquors and syrups that will satisfy Sunday's request — one would never have any reason to suspect that the suave, confident mixologist behind the bar had any reason at all to be up at all hours of the night, begging for validation and desire from any man who would have him.

When he stirs the mixture, he does it almost silently, without the stirring spoon hitting the sides of the glass; under his care, the cloudy mixture in the glass indeed turns into something creamy, cool, and smooth. Blue on the bottom and white on the top, like a beautiful blue sky. Some might say that Sunday himself gives off the same impression.

Caelus smiles. Slides it over to Sunday with unparalleled grace. Then he slides his hands back to his side of the counter, perfectly poised and ready to make another drink if needed. He knows perfectly well that half his job is to make drinks, but the other half is merely to entertain Sunday right now, and in whatever form that may take. ]

Here. Custom blend for you. It's light and fluffy, like a dream.

This time was long overdue if you ask me, no?

( It would have been odd to keep addressing his guest over the phone without ever seeing him face to face. Besides, Caelus' woes do weigh on Sunday's heart as well. If he can grant him the company at least one time, perhaps he will learn his true value and feel less lonely.

And here, they can have proper privacy. His smile does convey a message, one that spells understanding and perhaps some kind of eagerness. He sees it in Caelus', too, through half-lidded gazes. He can apologize for his dress code later, properly, on his knees. Sunday will make sure of it and maybe then, Caelus will reconsider next time. )

You're very good at this and yet you only work part-time. Perhaps we should make this a more common occurrence.

( The way he handles the utensils, mixing, shaking, without missing a single beat, does draw in Sunday's attention to those hands of his. A gloved hand reaches for his drink to take it. Sunday drinks the same way he speaks, elegant and deliberate and in such a way that even the foam doesn't end up stuck on his upper lip. )

Would you like to try it yourself? I don't mind sharing it with you.

[ Caelus watches Sunday take his first sip, his slim golden eyes resting with subtle hunger on the man's lips as they touch the edge of his glass, imbibe the cocktail, and swallow. He doesn't quite comment on the offer to have him work here more often; after all, as a Nameless on the Astral Express, he can't exactly guarantee a stable employment schedule.

Nevertheless. The offer to share the drink makes the bartender raise one dark brow in mild surprise. ]

...That's awfully nice of you. You don't have to worry. I do my taste testing at the Hostelry most of the time.

[ Despite saying this, though, Caelus presses both palms into the counter, leaning forward just slightly, as if to bring his mouth within Sunday's reach. ]

But if you really want to share...

[ The Trailblazer closes his eyes, then parts his lips slightly. Open. Trusting.

Sunday could do anything from here. Touch his jaw. Lift that glass to his lips. Put a snack into his mouth instead. Maybe even kiss him, if need be. Caelus's lashes are fanned out over his cheeks, and his eyelids don't so much as waver. He seems perfectly content to accept whatever Sunday will give him. ]

Aaah.

Edited 2024-05-14 04:46 (UTC)

I do insist.
( After all, Sunday thinks it's quite obvious what his intention here is. Though guised under some kindness, sharing a drink is still possible through the sweet aftertaste on his tongue.

Gloved fingers graze Caelus' jawline to keep him aligned. The inside of his mouth is welcoming - it looks warm and pink. He wonders about how many others must have seen the inside of it like this. He takes another sip while his eyes are closed, savoring and swallowing before opening his mouth over his.

He doesn't shove his tongue like a madman, no. Sunday is precise, he locks them both sweetly and rolls the tips of their tongues candidly without making a mess. Surely, this will make his night less lonely after this. He will have something to think about instead of his nightmares.

It's only a few short seconds before Sunday pulls away, savoring Caelus' saliva and picking up the drink again where he left as if nothing happened. )

[ It wasn't a very long kiss, no, but Sunday leaves Caelus breathless all the same. Sunday's intentions are at least somewhat obvious — Caelus is fully and utterly prepared to entertain Sunday, here, tonight — but he actually was expecting the glass, and wasn't quite expecting the kiss.

The taste of Sunday's cocktail, creamy and potent and mildly sweet, seems to linger inside of his mouth as he swallows and tries to remember the soft, silky slide of the Halovian's tongue against his. Caelus touches his bottom lip, blushing slightly; for all that he so desperately offers himself to other people, his reactions are surprisingly sweet, even a little innocent. ]

...I think it's good. [ He sounds so shy. ] Do you like it?

[ Embarrassingly, that one brief kiss has gotten Caelus a little hard. He shifts his weight uncomfortably, trying to ignore his arousal. The downsides of being so horny all of the time, it would seem. ]

You... You're a good kisser.

( Caelus isn't manipulating, or rather, persuading Sunday to turn to this behavior. Quite the opposite of it, the eyelids and the shirt and his dexterity - the little glances and his softness spell desire. So naturally, as a special guest, Sunday likes to see these desires come to light. It's probably a horrible idea to give Caelus what he wants.

Sunday goes back to tending to his drink, using a spoon to mix in the creaminess of the milk into it more. He appears unphased, glancing towards him after Caelus speaks. )

Naturally. You were taught very well in your part-time job, Mr. Caelus. Everything came together exquisitely.

Haha.

( He sighs, sipping more of it while his eyes remain settled on those lively features. Dusted in red and pure innocence. He has everything to break people's hearts, so now why is it that he must beg for attention when he has this much charm? )

You flatter me. Are you feeling alright?

[ The Trailblazer is very cute. Pink-cheeked, turning redder and redder by the minute, especially because Sunday doesn't so much as seem ruffled by what they just did. The man's effortless calm makes something curdle in Caelus's stomach. What if he's wrong, and he's been misreading the signs, and Sunday really is just toying with him after all?

(He has to have such special doubts, to think that Sunday might not want him, even after kissing him like that.) ]

I'm a little... [ Caelus swallows nervously, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands. They grip the edge of the counter, turning his fingertips white. ] I'm fine, I just...

[ He shouldn't do this. He's unraveling. He wanted to show Sunday a different side of him tonight, something polished and professional and cool, not the hungry, desperate, innocent thing that blatantly begs strangers to fuck him in the anonymity of his raunchier posts — so why is it that he's wound up like this, anxious and pathetic again?

Caelus hesitates. But even so, he thinks — didn't Sunday sort of like it once? When he said what he wanted? What if he — if he just asks, maybe Sunday will... maybe he can...

Looking shyly away from Sunday's steady gaze, suddenly unable to hold it after all, Caelus mumbles: ]

I want you to kiss me like that again. But I — I don't know how I... how to earn it.

Edited 2024-05-15 02:24 (UTC)

( There is no active reason to deceive Caelus, let alone lead him onto a path that ends with bitter hurt. If anything, teaching him how to contain these surges might be helpful to him in the future. For the sake of his health and his heart. )

You don't appear fine.

( Sunday isn't stupid. He knows how Caelus sometimes behaves when they're around everybody and Sunday is present. The frequencies in his halo picks up on slight cues unfelt by others, secrets of one's intentions and he doesn't even need to rely on it to tell what's happening to Caelus here. )

Do you feel like you deserve it?

( Build some confidence, Caelus. ) Hm?

...No.

[ Caelus wanted very badly to say yes. But that would be a lie, and there's something about Sunday that makes the Trailblazer feel, instinctively, that it would be difficult to lie to him. He fidgets nervously with the edge of one of his sleeves. ]

I think — I think I'm good-looking. And I think you like me. But you...

[ His breath catches a little in his throat as he lifts his eyes to gaze at Sunday again — such is the depth of his admiration. ]

You're just so pretty.

I feel like I need to earn you. I'd do anything for you.

( He keeps on savoring the drink until there isn't a single drop left. Just the residue of cream clinging on the sides. It's a long road to help Caelus find some type of grounding in his feelings and fears, but at least while he's in Penacony, Sunday can help him.

It's an impossible situation after all. He knows Caelus will leave eventually so he decides not to get attached. )

Mr. Caelus. Come here. Around the counter.

[ ...Sunday likes to keep him in suspense. Caelus has noticed this by now. Even so, he still does exactly what he's told, walking around the edge of the counter until he's stopped in front of the elegant Halovian man.

He wonders if he should kneel — Sunday commands that kind of instinctive surrender, sometimes — but he decides not to. Not until he's explicitly told. ]

...Yes?

( He does have this inkling of enjoyment whenever he leaves Caelus on an edge, but there's no malice behind it even if it's a little cruel. He spreads his arms around him, coaxing him closer until their bodies are pressed together. It's what he wants, no? To be held.

Caelus' loneliness is much better harbored within Sunday, so if he could take it away, he would. Unfortunately, that would come at a price for both of them. His wing folds back so it's not in the way of Caelus and he tilts his head closer, almost nuzzling him. )

You do deserve things. All the things you wish for. Including dreaming peacefully without any interruptions, nightmares, or fear of being left behind.

[ Caelus's breath catches in his throat.

Sunday smells nice, this close. It's probably his soap or his shampoo or his cologne or something, but he smells nice. His wing's folded back in a way that lets Caelus get closer, and his nose feels impossibly soft as it brushes up against the Trailblazer's cheek, and if Caelus just turned his head a little, he could kiss him. He could kiss Sunday and he thinks about it a thousand times in the span of two heartbeats. Sunday is holding him and snuggling him and he feels so, so happy, even as he's confused.

Why question a good thing? he sighs, breath close enough to tickle Sunday's ear, and wraps his arms around the man's shoulders, returning his embrace. He does really like to be held. ]

...You deserve all of these things, too.

[ His voice is soft and warm and vulnerable, and it might be slightly besotted, too, but Caelus decides that he doesn't care. ]

I really like you, Sunday.

( Tending for his wings does require daily maintenance, so he naturally spends plenty of time getting ready in the mornings or bathing at night. He was raised a prim and proper without fault by Mr. Gopher Wood. Manners are of the utmost importance and learning one's place in The Family was cemented early on. Although his arms are warm around him, there's somewhat of a disconnection. He'll suffer as long as Caelus ends up feeling good.

So he doesn't answer him, really. There's nothing to answer because Sunday is but a shell of a prophet. He'll sacrifice it all. )

That's not good, Mr. Caelus.

( He says gently, squeezing him in his arms and resting his chin over his shoulder. )

It's not good.

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

— befehl

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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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