[ Oh, now this is fun. This is vicious. This is much more interesting than trading back-and-forths over tepid morality. Now things are getting personal, and Luocha is sinking his teeth into the things that make Caelus a vulnerable hypocrite in the worst way — and the only issue with that is that Caelus has already accepted those things about himself, so he simply smiles like a wolf with prey in its mouth, about to bite down and claim the kill.
Luocha looks so good like this, flushed and panting — hard and leaking despite his smart mouth, wrists and arms chafing vainly against his bindings. Strands of blond hair, all gold and gossamer, falling down his shoulders in the loveliest way.
Isn't this nice? some mad part of Caelus whispers, in a dark corner of his heart that is less his own and more the Stellaron's. Isn't this familiar? The boy who wants praise and the man who likes withholding it. Greedy boy, he called you, and you like it. Look at how we've gone back to the same old tricks.
And yet all he does is offer another soft laugh before he sinks his teeth into Luocha's shoulder, vicious but without real heat to it, as though he's merely trying to placate the man. ]
...Patience, babe. I'll fuck you rough the way you like it — just let me warm up to it first.
[ Anyway — back to business. He licks his teeth clean of blood again, considering the dilemma he's now faced with. First of all, they need lube. They don't have a lot of options for that. There might be something that could substitute for it in that torturer's toolkit that the Ten-Lords provided over there in the corner, but Caelus doesn't trust that any oil in there wouldn't have unpleasant side effects. So...
Do I have anything with me? the Trailblazer wonders, not without a bit of internal anxiety. He pulls his hand away from Luocha's cock just to go through what he's got in his coat pockets, which isn't much, since the gaolers confiscated most of his other things: at the moment, he has 50 credits, an unused tissue, the crumpled receipt from the shot of alcohol he'd had before walking into this room... and then his fingers pause over a beautiful tub of hand cream that he's had in this pocket for weeks.
It's not the sort of thing he'd normally carry around, or even buy for himself in the first place. It's too luxurious, too fancy. The hand cream was a gift from Yukong — that beautiful sorrowful pilot with too many regrets — as a gift for helping her with the Caiyi situation and because she'd noticed a bit of chafing on his palms from the way his baseball bat had burned against his gloves the last time they'd sortied together. It's very lovely and glides like butter over the skin and it's probably more expensive than he really deserves.
If Yukong ever found out that Caelus had used it to fuck a captive in the Shackling Prison, she would probably rightly be disgusted.
It'll do, Caelus decides, as he places both of his hands on the crotch of Luocha's pants where they're pulled taut across his thighs.
Then he tears the garment apart.
It's not as though Luocha's clothes were made of paper. That was good fabric — incredibly well-woven and sturdy fabric that Caelus just ripped apart with his bare hands and a loud popping of seams and thread. The reason why is obvious — he couldn't reposition Luocha the way he'd like with them on, but also couldn't get them off past the shackles on his ankles. So. ]
Sorry about the pants. I'll make it up to you.
[ He says this as he repositions their legs, moving his own thighs from where they've been straddling Luocha's lap, rearranging their bodies so that the blond's thighs are spread and he has better access to that lovely tight hole he's currently got his mind set on getting into. Caelus opens his tub of hand cream to coat his fingers in the silky lotion within, taking the time to warm it between his fingers properly before rubbing and pushing them into that hot tight passage — ]
Not that it matters... You're hot when you're mad at me.
[ For all that Caelus often seems lackadaisical and inattentive, he's surprisingly brisk and methodical about finding Luocha's prostate and pulsing into it — albeit with the occasional tight grip on the base of his cock to make sure he doesn't come. He's being really very rude about this. ]
no subject
Luocha looks so good like this, flushed and panting — hard and leaking despite his smart mouth, wrists and arms chafing vainly against his bindings. Strands of blond hair, all gold and gossamer, falling down his shoulders in the loveliest way.
Isn't this nice? some mad part of Caelus whispers, in a dark corner of his heart that is less his own and more the Stellaron's. Isn't this familiar? The boy who wants praise and the man who likes withholding it. Greedy boy, he called you, and you like it. Look at how we've gone back to the same old tricks.
And yet all he does is offer another soft laugh before he sinks his teeth into Luocha's shoulder, vicious but without real heat to it, as though he's merely trying to placate the man. ]
...Patience, babe. I'll fuck you rough the way you like it — just let me warm up to it first.
[ Anyway — back to business. He licks his teeth clean of blood again, considering the dilemma he's now faced with. First of all, they need lube. They don't have a lot of options for that. There might be something that could substitute for it in that torturer's toolkit that the Ten-Lords provided over there in the corner, but Caelus doesn't trust that any oil in there wouldn't have unpleasant side effects. So...
Do I have anything with me? the Trailblazer wonders, not without a bit of internal anxiety. He pulls his hand away from Luocha's cock just to go through what he's got in his coat pockets, which isn't much, since the gaolers confiscated most of his other things: at the moment, he has 50 credits, an unused tissue, the crumpled receipt from the shot of alcohol he'd had before walking into this room... and then his fingers pause over a beautiful tub of hand cream that he's had in this pocket for weeks.
It's not the sort of thing he'd normally carry around, or even buy for himself in the first place. It's too luxurious, too fancy. The hand cream was a gift from Yukong — that beautiful sorrowful pilot with too many regrets — as a gift for helping her with the Caiyi situation and because she'd noticed a bit of chafing on his palms from the way his baseball bat had burned against his gloves the last time they'd sortied together. It's very lovely and glides like butter over the skin and it's probably more expensive than he really deserves.
If Yukong ever found out that Caelus had used it to fuck a captive in the Shackling Prison, she would probably rightly be disgusted.
It'll do, Caelus decides, as he places both of his hands on the crotch of Luocha's pants where they're pulled taut across his thighs.
Then he tears the garment apart.
It's not as though Luocha's clothes were made of paper. That was good fabric — incredibly well-woven and sturdy fabric that Caelus just ripped apart with his bare hands and a loud popping of seams and thread. The reason why is obvious — he couldn't reposition Luocha the way he'd like with them on, but also couldn't get them off past the shackles on his ankles. So. ]
Sorry about the pants. I'll make it up to you.
[ He says this as he repositions their legs, moving his own thighs from where they've been straddling Luocha's lap, rearranging their bodies so that the blond's thighs are spread and he has better access to that lovely tight hole he's currently got his mind set on getting into. Caelus opens his tub of hand cream to coat his fingers in the silky lotion within, taking the time to warm it between his fingers properly before rubbing and pushing them into that hot tight passage — ]
Not that it matters... You're hot when you're mad at me.
[ For all that Caelus often seems lackadaisical and inattentive, he's surprisingly brisk and methodical about finding Luocha's prostate and pulsing into it — albeit with the occasional tight grip on the base of his cock to make sure he doesn't come. He's being really very rude about this. ]