000 » do you love me?

[receptacles]

PSL.

for luocha at casketeer.

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[receptacles]

[ Perhaps a man like Luocha, so carefully in control all of the time, will appreciate the sense of anxiety that he holds Caelus in up until he speaks — the poor Trailblazer is quite clearly worried that he's offended Luocha for as long as the merchant holds him in that pause, even despite the serene look on the man's pleasant face. Then, at last, he speaks — and just as quickly, Caelus's worries go away. ]

...Wait, so you just want snacks?

[ He's so relieved, both by the fact that his thoughtless impulse didn't offend the mysterious merchant, and by the unexpected simplicity of the request, that Caelus can't help but laugh. The sound that emerges is surprisingly boyish; the smile that overtakes his face makes his eyes curve. ]

Okay, sure. I can get you snacks from Penacony. [ There's a long ribbon on his left sleeve that he fusses with sometimes; unconsciously, he flips it through his fingers now, holding it to his chin as he speaks, still smiling slightly. ] If I see anything else that makes me think of you, I'll pick that up too.

[ What was there to worry about in the end? Maybe Luocha has a point, in that Caelus's little aches and pains are adding up to exhaustion, and exhaustion is making him subconsciously anxious. The man may be slick, a double-talker, insufferably vague — but he's a nice guy, and he's offered to help Caelus, and he hasn't done anything too strange, really. Never mind how Welt feels about him. There's nothing to worry about at all.

(There's another thing here, a way in which Caelus might be like a dog with a new trick: what he has learned from this exchange is that if he's confused about something Luocha said, he can ask the man for clarification. Which might seem simple, even shallow, but people like Herta don't usually give him that luxury — and, also, might be a bit novel on the receiving end, for a man who gets away with everything by basically saying nothing at all.)

Anyway, Caelus is still musing to himself. Thinking about snacks he might pick up in Penacony. ]

...That's so cute.

[ It's not deliberate, not flattery. He just thinks it out loud, that's all; it's like the kind of request that March would make. Cute, like the teddy bears in her room. But March is cute in an annoying way, and Luocha's not annoying at all! ...Confusing, perhaps, but not annoying! ]

Normally people ask me for very different things.

[casketeer]

[There is always something distinctly satisfying, about being able to guess at reactions and find them validated--to string along a little tension just so, and then graciously allow it to alleviate, observing the expressions that result as anticipated. Caelus is a refreshingly open book, in that sense, so plainly and earnestly as he wears his emotions upon his sleeve. He might be possessed of surprisingly decent perception, yes, but it seems that in the end...

Still quite easy to sideline and assure. Very pliant to work with, isn't he?]

--Hmm. Yes, I suppose that's the simpler phrase. I do like snacks. [Quite wryly aware of how his wandering phrasing has just been unceremoniously boiled down in this way, yes. But no offense still, no, in the face of that relief and that smile. Boyish indeed, to be so relieved as to laugh about it. Caelus continues to invoke the term 'endearing', and it's really almost impressive in how it's likely not deliberate. ...Really, he could do with being more careful. This is a sort of trait people will be tempted to either relentlessly indulge or relentlessly bully...] No need to overdo it, rest assured, one or two items of interest would be more than enough. ...Does it really strike you so, as such a "cute" sort of thing?

[That's a word he doesn't receive too often. It's not that Luocha's particularly put out by it, exactly, but there's something distinctly amusing about how it's so freely given. Will he still be thought of as "cute", Luocha wonders, if he--?

Draws closer once more, now that the terms of the contract have been more or less set. Leaning down, over Caelus where he's seated, the drape of his long flaxen hair spilling artfully over one shoulder to brush at his torso, as Luocha reaches to place his left hand on his thigh.

...The thigh on the injured leg. Of course. That injury they were going to work on from the start, you know.]

What sorts of very different things are you usually asked for? [The question is asked close beside Caelus's head, words casually murmured over the side of his neck. A distinct not-hot-not-cold sort of sensation is likely spreading over his leg, about now, as the cross at Luocha's wrist flickers once more, trailed along the path of his hand as it moves slowly.] Missions of a more challenging sort, I assume?

[receptacles]

[ Caelus jolts when Luocha leans closer, laying one hand on his thigh. It's not — it's not unpleasant, he reassures himself quickly. It's just unexpected. He feels his own pulse skyrocket again, loud in his ears, overtaking his senses; not for the first time, he wishes he could just get a hold of himself. Why is he so incredibly nervous —

— no, the other question is, why is Luocha so close? Didn't he say that he didn't need to touch... no, he said that he didn't need to see it... no, wait, Caelus was the one who assumed that he didn't need to see it, and then he — he didn't say much of anything at all. But he just examined me before without touching me, Caelus thinks, a little helplessly. No, wait — didn't Dan Heng say, back then... that he was always healing from a distance...?

He was asked a question. He has to remind himself, as his heart races and all his mind can focus on is the elegant way that Luocha's hair falls, that he was asked a question. ]

A-Ah, well... they're never really... all that challenging. Just...

[ He's not unfamiliar with the sensation of being healed. From Natasha, for example, it tends to feel like being wrapped up in a warm blanket, swathed in softness. From March, though she doesn't really heal, it's chilly and bracing, like being playfully pelted with a little bit of snow to jolt your nerves awake. This — feels like something lukewarm seeping through his muscles, drawing tension like a poison out of his skin. Very pleasurable, and would probably combine nicely with the sense of adrenaline that Caelus usually gets on the battlefield — but at the moment, he just feels sort of dangerously, addictively relaxed. ]

People want things... like their goods delivered, or money, or clothes... or photos of my friends, like Himeko and Dan Heng... one of these days someone's gonna want hot photos of Welt...

[ He closes his eyes. Maybe it's just his imagination, but it's almost as though he can feel the fibers of his muscles being slowly re-knitted into their proper places. ]

I don't hate it. I like people. It's just, most of them... when you ask them what they want, or how you can help them... their problems come down to things like greed and lust.

[ A little laugh. ]

Guess yours is gluttony. That's why it's cute.

[casketeer]

[It's not as if Dan Heng's wrong, because it's true. Luocha is entirely capable of healing from a distance--and normally favors such, if anything, on the field of battle. He doesn't really...need to be touching Caelus at all, no, for something as simple as mending tissue displaced.

But close contact does bring the thrum of that Stellaron to clear clarity once again. Does it skip once more, in time with that jolt of Caelus's nerves again? Would the frequency more substantially change, in any way, if he were to feel sufficiently unsettled? Just what would it take, to fray at that remarkable stability? ...Ah, the truly ideal sort of test would be some sort of fight wound in fervent emotions, but he can't exactly get into one of those with Caelus for the foreseeable future. So, instead, there's this sort of alternative--playing to nerves, and the way Luocha's noticed that his proximity so thoroughly unbalances the young man, for reasons he can somewhat guess.

Unfair? Quite. Unnecessary? Surely. Truthfully...there isn't an objectively practical reason to be doing this. But it is...hm...what's the word, really. This isn't a feeling he taps upon often anymore, these days. A little window of opportunity to have such absolute but fairly inconsequential control as this, over someone, is rather rare. It's...

Fun? Yes, perhaps it's fun. Interesting and mildly entertaining in equal measures, to idly pluck at these strings and see what results--the Stellaron's responses, and Caelus's as well.

(Honestly, toying with somebody rather the same way a cat might toy with a hapless prey animal is really Not very cute conduct at all, but it seems Caelus is just such a very forgiving soul, and it's really just too accommodating--)]

Mm, such are the vices of all mortal things in this world, no matter where one might go. It sounds as if you take these errands with impressive stride; most people are hardly so generously patient with others. I somehow doubt even Mr. Yang would be too enthused to fulfill that particular hypothetical request there... [Luocha's tone remains warmly even, nigh soothing. It corresponds perhaps a little too well to the sedate effect of the healing. But, for all that the intentions behind it might not be entirely too wholesome, there is genuine mending to be had; muscles soothed to loosen, whatever slight internal damage might have been left within after that fall being gently unwound.] At any rate, that's fair enough--hah, even I am hardly free of sin, believe it or not. [And all the debt therein--] There are probably worse qualities to have than a little cute gluttony...very generous of you, sir.

[Exceedingly so, really. But now here's a pause, and a slight tilt of Luocha's head, his voice just that bit closer to Caelus's ear in result.]

Oh...I beg your pardon, though, I should have warned you sooner. You're likely feeling something similar to an aching or numbing sensation, about now--this is normal. If it ever becomes unpleasant, you should let me know. ...Alright so far?

[The gloved hand still trails along, lightly drawing a line from the top of Caelus's thigh to just over his knee--slowly, very slowly, before starting to draw a circle back up. ...The scent of pale flowers is starting to settle heavy.]

[receptacles]

[ The Stellaron is loud, this close. Interestingly enough, it's not quite racing along with Caelus's fluttering heart, now; it's thrumming, the imperceptible bass pulse of its existence vibrating long and loud with each breath that the Trailblazer takes, like some sort of raucous block party thumping along, distant and yet only one inch away. Unlike other Stellarons, it is not characterized by greed — but the emotion in it, the feeling — yes, it is something like desire.

Caelus, for his part, feels a little too sedated. Too exalted. The intense sense of pleasure that has seized him — it's not quite sexual, but it is rather similar to the sort of orgasmic ecstasy that comes from standing under a hot shower on the Express after a long, hard expedition. Not quite sexual, but it's going to get there if Luocha keeps touching feather-light over his thigh like that. Caelus almost wants to warn the man about it — what would he even say? — but when he takes a breath to talk, he smells that sweet, addictive floral scent again, and then he really can't think of anything to say at all. The thread of that mending needle being pulled through his muscles — it's too relieving to push away.

Then Luocha's low voice is practically breathed into his ear, tickling his eardrum, trickling along the back of his skull and down his spine.

Caelus shivers, but only slightly. He likes this, too, more than he wants to let on. It's like being lost in some sort of embarrassingly indulgent Foxian immersia — Luocha ASMR: Mysterious Merchant Heals Your Aches and Pains, Soft Spoken, Personal Attention. (He wants to kick himself for thinking about this. He's spent too much time with Guinafen lately.) ]

...Yeah. I'm alright. [ He nods a little too quickly; there's an element of shame in it. ] Feels good.

[ He needs. He needs he needs he needs. He needs to think. About what, he's not yet sure, but there is something in him that is embarrassingly eager to impress Luocha, and he doesn't think that the man will be very impressed if he goes and falls asleep on his couch during this healing.

(The Stellaron flickers, as if thinking alongside Caelus. It helps him. The Stellaron will fulfill any wish of yours, it whispers, sometimes, before everything goes dark.)

He reaches out. Blindly, at first, but then his hand settles lightly on the crook of Luocha's elbow. It's not to stop him, but maybe to — to what? To invite him. To guide him. To pull him in.

Caelus looks up, and for a moment, his gaze is startlingly clear.

(The Stellaron purrs, when Caelus's eyes fall on Luocha, perhaps because it knows more about desire than he does.) ]

...I know you're not innocent. But that's why I think... it's cute that you didn't ask for more.

[ What is he trying to say, really? That he knows, deep down, what kind of person Luocha probably is? That he doesn't care. That it was enough, for Caelus, that Luocha didn't ask for more. Because everyone comes to him wanting something, and he's never hated that, would never judge someone for that —

— and yet, on some level, and despite everyone he knows, he is just lonely and friendless enough to think I know you could have been more cruel to me with genuine gratitude. ]

luocha asmr...........im dying. lbr it would def be too popular tho--

[casketeer]

[Well now.

...Well now...

Luocha wasn't expecting to be quite this surprised.

There's a combination of multiple factors here, all emerging in rapid succession, all rather more than anticipated. The stirring of the Stellaron's intent, for one, crystal clear to perceive this close--intriguingly, something that now emerges somewhat separate from Caelus's own responses. There's now, finally, a slightly characteristic sort of hunger being exerted...and yet still not in the conventional fashion. Not in the way it seems to turn its metaphorical eye upon him, purring with a desire in tandem with the sharpening of Caelus's attention. It doesn't strike as...alarming necessarily, though perhaps it probably should. Luocha instead finds himself reminded of the first time he sought to handle a flame somewhat like this one, the precaution and delicacy required therein. The heady adrenaline that accompanies such caution, unknown as the results of the slightest misstep might be. No, it seems he hasn't quite frayed that stability just yet...but to have piqued its active interest in turn instead--is this better? Worse? (Something that could be used?) New ground is being tread upon here. Perhaps ill-advised in method, but...

If second thoughts about this are to be had, it seems a bit too late for them anyhow. Because now there's a new factor emerging, isn't there? In the way Caelus reaches out like that. In the way Caelus looks at him like that. It had been noted moments earlier, of course, the too-quick nod and the stifled shiver, the way his body warms and eases under both the influence of the healing and the closeness of his presence, his voice. Things that had intended to fluster the young man, yes, and ply some more of those terribly honest responses from him. --Yet again, though, it seems Luocha has underestimated just how terribly honest Caelus can actually be. To say such a thing in such a forthright fashion. To acknowledge so very openly, that he's aware of exactly what this exchange likely actually is.

Yet still, he seeks to hold Luocha in place, instead of pushing him away. Encouragement, of this unkind toying, simply because--it's not worse?

Is he truly so confident, that Luocha wouldn't be any crueler later?

--This was supposed to be a diversion of little consequence. And it still is of little consequence, Luocha reminds himself, or at least...it ought to be. So long as he keeps it that way, within his own perception. Caelus's earnest admission here and now might be giving him just a moment's pause, and might be invoking the briefest unseen flicker of something like--no, not pity. Not quite. But oh, he thinks, you really haven't seen much of this world at all yet, have you? What terribly bitter things will Caelus find himself learning later? Someone probably ought to warn him. ...But that someone won't be Luocha, who already has too many other obligations upon his plate. Too many other debts to settle. He's hardly fit to be a teacher...but he can be a lesson learned, he supposes, whenever that time might finally arrive.

And this...is still fun, after all. Isn't it? Even despite the surprises, the renewed tangibility of the fire he's now playing with. All else aside, it's still terribly amusing how Caelus keeps bandying a term like "cute" about...when he's also all but embodying that description himself, somehow. Hazard and innocence so strangely juxtaposed.

(Luocha probably won't realize until later, how odd it is for this thought to emerge from what he'd thought to be a self-imposed indifference. He invited this meeting with the objective curiosity of a scientist examining a vessel, and now...)]

Hm. ...You know, sir, most people don't point out a ruse to call it cute. You really do say such interesting things.

[Tone still soft and even and warm, despite the pause preceding it. Luocha doesn't move away, though his hand does still over Caelus's thigh, as the tingle of the healing gently dissipates. Because the damage has been repaired, there, and Caelus will no longer be walking with that particular sort of limp by the time he leaves this room. ...But there's still the matter of the rest of his body, now isn't there? As had been discussed. It hasn't been forgotten.

But there's something else to acknowledge now, too, if Caelus is going to be so very forthright like this. (...Even if the temptation is still strong, to forego any remaining semblance of politeness altogether. Even if it would be so very easy, now, to simply take and take to curiosity's content.) No, no, at the very least...he ought to be repaid for his honesty. For being such a nicely pliable subject. So, even in having the mask pointed out, Luocha does not take it off; his smile is still kind, his manner gentle, as his left hand moves up to splay fingertips over Caelus's chest. Palm lightly settling right over the sultry pulse of the Stellaron within; half an appeal, half a provocation. Still leaning close enough for their faces to be mere inches apart, as Luocha shifts to meet the scrutiny of those gold eyes evenly.]

You must not be very used to having this asked, in that case...but I do wonder. Is there something that you want, right now?

i don't want to admit what's in my search history now...

[receptacles]

[ The Stellaron's movements are fascinating. Luocha wasn't wrong, in a way: setting Caelus's nerves aflutter did disturb the fragile balance between the Stellaron and its host, sent them spinning in different directions. What's fascinating about the current situation is that it's the Stellaron pulling Caelus back into sync, and not the other way around. It is telling him what to do; it is soothing him. Those long slow pulses of its astral core seem to be stabilizing his racing pulse. The Cancer of All Worlds is normally a disease which has no cure, and then here is this young man, using it as a shield for his own fragile heart.

Is the host himself aware of this? Not particularly, and that's fascinating, too. He can hear its voice sometimes, when it decides to speak to him — but in the moment, what it wants is indistinguishable from his own impulses. He looks at Luocha; he takes a breath. The man's lashes are so very long, his lovely green gaze so very soft and gentle and understanding. The touch to his chest is so patient, even though it could rip his heart out. And even if it's all a lie, even if this is only one of a thousand sour lessons he'll need to learn to swallow...

The Stellaron sings in his blood, rejoicing. Exultant in its purpose. Yes. Good. Desire — covet — claim. I will grant you what you wish. ]

...I want to kiss you.

[ Yes. Yes, that's right, isn't it? That's what he's wanted, this whole time. It feels so much better to have said it. So much better, even though the color in his face is heating his cheeks, and his blood feels like it's surging through every part of his body. It's on the table now, and he can't take it back. He's spoken it out loud. He's never felt more alive.

His face is tipped upward in humble supplication, like that of a parishioner at worship, but even so, Caelus reaches out. With the sort of hubris that would strike him down if he were the hero of a fable in which his foolishness rouses the gods, he places his other hand on the back of Luocha's knee, pulling him — gently, it won't work if the man refuses to budge — into his lap where he sits in the armchair. The cushion he was holding tumbles to the ground. ]

I want to touch you. [ Breathed like a prayer into the night, the low rasp of Caelus's voice hot against the shell of his ear. ] I think — I might want too much.

[ ...It occurs to the Trailblazer, much too late, that as pretty as Luocha is, and as coarse and thick and common as Caelus thinks himself — the man has a good few inches on him, both in terms of height and general physical build. The realization that Luocha is much heavier than he was actually braced for sends a jolt of irrational arousal going straight between his legs.

You know, I don't think I'm going to win, he thinks vaguely to himself, if this comes down to a fight — and this is a terribly funny thing to think, after begging for a kiss. ]

grips your shoulder....make that both our search histories tbf,

[casketeer]

[There's something to be noted for a fact, about the way the influence of wills between the Stellaron and its container seems to be somehow inverting, in these insecure matters of the heart. The way Caelus's pulse only seems to settle under the guide of the Stellaron's steady thrum; the way his nerves somewhat ease into a boldness that seems almost drawn from another source, liquid courage of a different kind. At this proximity Luocha can hear it easily, that peculiar shift in frequency and the thrall it seems to be exerting upon this host, but...

In this moment, for once, these are notes to be reviewed at a later time. Because even Luocha's own considerable command of focus is not, entirely enough, to resist the distraction of those hands that tug--of the voice that reaches his ear, weighed heavy with desire as those requests are spoken. So plainly, so plaintively. Why, look at him, already flushing just bringing these thoughts to surface. Cute indeed.

It's not surprising, at least, not this particular thing. Not when it had been fairly obvious from the moment they'd clasped hands back in the lobby, if not perhaps in little cues and lingering glances even before that. Luocha is well aware of the physical appeal he can carry, yet another tool among many to be utilized towards his own ends; Caelus is hardly the first to express something like this to him, and he's quite unlikely to be the last. ...But there's novelty in the circumstances, in this particular case. And he's being so very good, answering the question so promptly, even taking a little initiative for himself--

Yes, it'd be easy enough for Luocha to simply decline to move. But there's no resistance at all, against the gentle pull of Caelus's hands; Luocha settles over the young man's lap slowly but easily, almost languidly, their torsos pressing close, straddling over his thighs such that his weight quite promptly pins Caelus in place, eases him subtly but firmly against the back of the armchair. --Indeed, it'd be a bad time for him to be having any misgivings about the position. Caelus won't be moving elsewhere anytime particularly soon like this, until Luocha should see fit to free him. ...It's fairly easy to pass himself off as a mildly hapless and vulnerable healer in combat, yes, with a face like this. But the illusion likely doesn't hold up half as well on occasions like this one--where there's a subtle impression of core strength that keeps the merchant's posture fairly prim and balanced even despite this position, and permits only the most gentle roll of pressure against Caelus's pelvis as he settles--doubtless just enough, and just too little, to be intentionally frustrating.

The contrast in their body languages couldn't be more clear like this, eagerness now shored up against a near immaculate-seeming sort of composure. Luocha's own complexion doesn't yet flush; his breathing remains slow and even. Cues will have to be taken from more subtle tells, should Caelus be seeking them: the edge that curves ever so slightly upon his smile, the sharpening intent that flickers behind that veneer of patience in his half-lidded gaze. Luocha sighs, softly, in equal parts at the contact and the tone at his ear. The hand on Caelus's chest remains there, between them...and the pressure of his palm increases just slightly, as a flare of that healing flickers anew, seeps into those residual aches of earlier.]

Too much, you think so? My, but to me, that hardly sounds like too much at all. ...Take anything you'd like. It'll help you feel better.

[Isn't that why Caelus came in here in the first place?

The permission is a low murmur; there's just a bit of a shift, somewhere in there, from the warm affect Luocha normally favors. A rather interesting contrast, perhaps, between the illusion of choice still offered by the words...and the darker note of demand folded underneath the tone. Just the slightest bit of a hint, of the truth just below the honeyed surface. Luocha's other hand reaches to trace up the column of Caelus's throat, raise his head--tip his chin, with a gloved fingertip. The better to lean close, and press a kiss to his lips--sweetly, infuriatingly chaste.]

somehow easy to imagine him with a fluffy brush and a microphone

[receptacles]

[ His gloves are so soft, Caelus thinks, one last time — and that's the last really coherent thought he has before he surrenders to instinct.

It's not his first time doing this sort of thing. Well, clarification: it is his first time doing this sort of thing, but it's not his first time turning his brain off, sinking into his impulses. Caelus thinks he's good at turning his brain off because he's just stupid that way; he's never really thought about how the Stellaron might be making it easier for him.

Luocha's lips are even warmer and softer than he thought they'd be, and he's not even disappointed that the kiss is chaste. It feels sweet, and good, and clean. He can't help but crave more, when it's over. The low whine that emerges from the back of his throat when their lips part — that's an implicit plea for more.

Even if this ends in tragedy, even if this ends in regret — even though Caelus knows, deep down, that he'll have to see the disappointment in everyone's eyes, and none of them might look at him the same way, if this ever gets back to them — he still can't help but feel that he couldn't have asked for a more perfect first kiss.

He feels so euphoric off pure comfort alone. It feels so good to be sitting with his back against the armchair, thank you, Xianzhou ergonomics; feels so good to have Luocha in his lap, the most gorgeous thing that Caelus thinks he's ever handled, soft and firm and pleasantly heavy, pinning him down, like a weighted blanket. (It doesn't occur to him that he's being trapped — after all, didn't he ask for this himself?) Luocha moves the hand on his chest and does something to him again, and it makes relaxation seep like hot water into his bones, easing his old aches. Warmed from the inside out in that odd not-cold-not-hot way, Caelus groans with relief; this time, unburdened by guilt, he freely lets that sense of building pleasure sink between his legs.

Does he see the danger in Luocha's gaze? Perhaps — but then the second question is, does he care?

...It's all better than Caelus deserves. Or rather, it's better than he thinks he deserves. Caelus's opinion of himself is a little at odds with reality; although he, himself, can't possibly imagine why Luocha is indulging him, he paints an objectively alluring picture, blushing deep pink with his chest heaving as he looks up at the merchant from where he's splayed out against the armchair in a slightly drugged-up daze. The Trailblazer is very handsome, really, just in a different sort of flavor from his more attention-grabbing friends — clean jawline, soft lips, slim, angular eyes. A little too symmetrical, like his features were generated off training data that only comprised clean-cut athletes. But very approachable, all in all. Very corruptible.

His Adam's apple, quite prominent, bobs attractively in his throat when he swallows. When he licks his reddened lips, there's something in his gaze that speaks of a hunger that isn't quite his own. ]

Then... can I...?

[ His voice lapses, and then he tries again, lower and darker and deeper than before: ]

I want more.

[ With a slightly shaky hand, he reaches up — hooks his index finger in the collar of Luocha's black shirt, where the fasteners pop loose with a little fussing. Once he has Luocha's collar loosened, his neck bared, Caelus noses closer, sort of nuzzling, like a cat; he presses a warm kiss to the column of the merchant's throat, taking a long, deep breath, as if trying to engrave the scent of the man's skin into his memory. ]

You smell so good. [ Another kiss, and then another, between mumbled words of praise — ] Just so damn good...

[casketeer]

[Caelus does have a few things working in his favor at this particular moment, for all that his self-perception might fail to realize it. He's indeed aesthetically pleasant enough, for one thing--moreso right now, in the way he eases and unfolds so appealingly under the gentlest positive stimuli, already thoroughly flushed with a heady pleasure from just these simplest gestures. One wonders just what the architect behind this vessel was intending, exactly, in designing this particular body...apparently someone with a weather eye for conventional attraction, who opted for a face that would be pleasant to look at and easy to relate with. The impulses wired within it are also clearly very human, and just as sensitive, regardless of the otherworldly cancer it also happens to be housing.

But, pleasing physicality aside, there's also--how very easy Caelus continues to make this whole turn of events. ...It has been awhile, Luocha thinks, since he last really indulged like this--without concern of repercussion, and without any need to account for any number of ulterior motives. For here...there are so clearly none, on the Trailblazer's part, aside from perhaps the most base motive of them all--burgeoning physical desire, and the need to fulfill it. There's a simplicity to this, to savoring the enthralled warmth of the body underneath him, to drawing out responses even from the action of healing. ...Goodness, will the Trailblazer always associate this sort of healing with these sorts of sensations now, going forward? Even when he's healed by others--will his thoughts ever stray back, to this? Luocha rather hopes so. There's nothing so satisfying as marks left long afterwards, for all that such might normally juxtapose against the gifts the Abundance has set upon him...and Caelus just makes for such an appealingly blank sort of slate to work with--]

Why thank you, sir. You flatter me far too much already... ["Sir", as if Caelus is still a client and this is still a transaction--and maybe it is, of sorts. There's probably some kind of irony here, now, looking back on certain third-person impressions left in the lobby earlier. Head tipping to accommodate access to his throat as it's bared, the words ease out over Caelus's ear in a humming fashion that's practically a purr in its own right, trailing off to a soft chuckle that reverberates between them this close. Flattery objectively doesn't move Luocha much these days, but there's something charming in the way the praises spill so haphazardly from the young man--between those equally haphazard kisses--clearly stream of thought, mingled in the quickened breaths painting warmly over his throat. Whose thought stream it might be, of course, might be a matter of more debate...the darkening of his tone isn't missed. Luocha ghosts his lips over the shell of Caelus's ear in turn; he nips lightly.] What else do you want more of, hm? Should I kiss you again? Or perhaps, there's more besides that...?

[It'll be interesting in its own right, to observe how the Stellaron's wishes might end up translating to Caelus's evident earnest inexperience...

The healing hand upon his chest has been trailing down, lower and lower, until fingertips are curling under the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath to ghost over the skin of his abdomen. Still gloved, and doubtless a distinct sensation in itself as a result. His other hand, in the meanwhile, had released Caelus's chin shortly after the kiss...but now reaches to take one of Caelus's hands in turn, the same one that had undone his collar. Guiding it idly lower, to the gold button that fastens his vest over his chest, the layers of fabric and additional fastenings underneath. There's a few layers to contend with; will he? In this sort of position there will be few articles actually coming off, really, but...]

[receptacles]

[ That nip to his ear elicits a pleasant sound, a low noise of encouragement. Caelus seems to like that sort of thing. Curiously, though, as the Trailblazer lets Luocha's gloved fingers slide up his belly, teasing the hem of the cropped black top he wears beneath his white shirt, he exhales sharply; his breath shakes on the exhale. It's not quite a growl, but he seems a little displeased — ]

Please just call me Caelus...

[ He doesn't like it, the strange sense that this is some kind of deal — doesn't like it because he hasn't forgotten that Luocha is a merchant, or at least he's supposed to be, and Caelus can't, for the life of him, figure out what price he's paying. Which, for a more cautious sort of person, would be good cause to get up and leave — but it's much too late for the Trailblazer to back out now, isn't it? Not when Luocha's thighs are bracketed around his, pinning him where he sits. Not when the heavy weight on top of him promises so much more danger and sleek muscle than he thought he'd fallen into.

Whatever. Whether Luocha indulges him or not, Caelus can lean into the kinky pleasure of taking doctor's orders. His clever fingers find and identify the curves of that button once they're guided to it. Caelus is good at solving puzzles, even the considerably difficult riddle of however-the-fuck Luocha puts on his clothes. It's not so hard when you know what to look for. The button on his thick outer vest gets undone first, followed by the ties on the silk shirt with the jacquard lapels underneath. His dark undershirt — the snaps on it get pulled apart too.

Caelus can't quite pull the merchant's clothes off his shoulders, in this particular position, but once the man's shirts are hanging loose and open, he can place his palms on Luocha's thick thighs and slowly slide them up, past the smooth waistband of his pants up towards his bared body. He isn't wearing gloves himself, so he can feel every sensuous variation in texture as his fingers slide upward; everything feels so rich against his skin. The Trailblazer's hands carefully push everything out of the way — when he does, the gorgeous sight of Luocha's chiseled chest, deliciously creamy beneath his fingers, makes him involuntarily buck his hips into the merchant's, desperately and somewhat ineffectually trying to get friction between both of their legs. One greedy hand sinks into his pec; the other holds him close, resting on his lower back.

Caelus's eyes are warm. Hungry, but pleading, too. ]

Kiss me again. Touch me.

[ How did he wind up like this? He both feels and sounds strangely desperate. If he's the one moving and touching, why is he also the one begging and pleading?

There is something so discomfiting, he realizes, about being the only person sliding out of control here; there is something so uncomfortable about realizing that he has very little sway over what he does and what's being done to him. Even if it's only an act, he needs Luocha to at least pretend to want this too.

(It hasn't quite occurred to him that for the "doctor" to permit this at all must mean that he wants it perfectly well —) ]

I wanna make you come...

[ He will probably learn to regret this later — months from now, when every healing touch and every whispered word reminds him of the weight of Luocha's body in his lap, warming him through to his core. ]

[casketeer]

[There will almost certainly be some form of regret about this later, on Caelus's side of things, considering just how likely it is that Luocha's goals will be falling well at odds with nearly every other alliance the Nameless might form in the future. To say nothing of regret on the more personal level, as well, depending on just how thoroughly Luocha ends up taking advantage of that trust of the young man's. (Any moreso than he already is right now, for that matter--)

And that is the price for this, really, when all is said and done. The debt accrued, to be withdrawn should the full extent of realization finally sink in later. Questionable as his actual merchant credentials may or may not be in reality, it's a role he pulls on for a reason. Luocha does tend to weigh near all things in terms of exchange, whether it's an aspect of his beliefs or simply a more personal sort of philosophy. That which is seized must be repaid. He wanted to learn more about how Caelus and his Stellaron tick, hands-on, and so slips into this role of offering pleasure since it so easily facilitates that curiosity; in turn, Caelus asks for touch and response, seeks to sate a hunger of desire, and so this encounter and all its inevitable later implications has now cemented. As difficult to undo as it would be for the young man to vacate this chair, at this point, pinioned in place now by a body he'd invited himself.

Luocha did agree to engage in the first place, though; for him it'd be quite easier to extricate, if he did not, and so this particular distress that's befallen Caelus's thoughts would be an amusing one to hear aloud. Indeed, he wants this--it's a very appealing position--Caelus is a fascinatingly delicious study like this--and there's a pleasure to surely derive, from the endearing little buck of his hips, from the eager hands that tug apart clothing and smooth over bared skin with such greed. From the warring desperation written so clearly on the young man's features, as he struggles to articulate both the craving clearly driving him and the need he feels in turn. ...It admittedly isn't very helpful to Caelus, though, that Luocha also just tends to prefer keeping his own reactions under such meticulously measured control. Another sort of habit-turned-reflex, a necessity in daily life conduct that's seeped even into exchanges like this by now. He never flushes easily to begin with, rarely allows himself sounds unbidden or responses too overt...

But there is something of a slight quickening in his breath, as Caelus's touch wanders and sinks in. The slightest bit more tension, in the set of the hand over Caelus's belly, a twitch of fingertips as he speaks his thoughts. Luocha's smile curves anew; palm slipping up once more, under the layers of the Trailblazer's shirts, a thumb rubs over one of his nipples, promptly less gentle than his other touches have been up to this point. An intentional contrast.]

Is that so, Caelus? [Call him by name, very well, if he so desires such intimacy on that front too. One more potential vulnerability for potential future review--but yes, Luocha will indulge this. Since they're being so very indulgent already...] Well, that may be something of a mess...but I suppose you'd like to see that, wouldn't you? Pleasing sights can be such beneficial things, for the heart...

[A doctor's angle really is almost too easy to incorporate, into this sort of thing. Luocha languidly rolls his hips over Caelus's, a delayed reward of that friction he'd been seeking earlier, the sensation drawing a low hum from his own chest. The movement brings him close once more, alongside the hand at his back; the guiding hand of earlier trails back up to cup at Caelus's cheek, and he's drawn into another kiss.

Less chaste this time. Heavier. Demanding, in how his mouth is coaxed open with a press of tongue, seeking out a taste.]

[receptacles]

[ A touch to his chest, a deeper kiss... Caelus feels like a dog chasing crumbs, desperately lapping at little treats dribbled out to him from between Luocha's gloved fingers. The sensation of the merchant's tongue teasing the sensitive insides of his mouth mingles with the scent of white lilies caught at the back of his throat. A fresh rush of euphoria seizes him when Luocha calls him by name, making sensation buzz at the back of his brain like a thrill down his spine. The man's hips roll against the firm promise of his hard cock, making pleasure tingle through his belly to his throat, and he can't help but think one more time — not even for the first time this evening — that he's never felt better in his life.

Ache, the Stellaron whispers, and Caelus lets the last of his self-doubt crumble into dust. ]

...That's okay. I like mess.

[ His voice is low, like before — deep from the chest, with a hint of the Stellaron's throaty purr from earlier.

He does like mess. He likes destruction. He likes breaking things and wallowing in the filth of what he himself has wrought. There's a little bit of saliva clinging to his bottom lip when their tongues part, because he's such a messy, messy boy, sometimes; he laps it up with catlike grace, his predatory, pleading gaze still lingering on Luocha's mouth. ]

I want to make a mess with you. Make a mess out of you. I want —

[ Is there a limit to that patience, that infuriating sense of eternal serenity he always projects in his outward calm? Caelus wants to know. He wants to take Luocha apart — or at least see what attempting to take him apart will bring him.

So: he doesn't quite yank. He's not that ill-mannered. But he does take a handful of Luocha's long, lovely blond hair, pulling firmly back to make him bare his neck again, and when he sees that beautiful stretch of alabaster skin, he bites, hard enough to draw blood. ]

[casketeer]

[Make a mess of him, is that right? The Stellaron may be speaking about as much as Caelus is, about now, the mimic of its intensity ever so intriguing in how it seeps into his tone the longer this goes on...but it's a bold desire put forth either way. --Luocha knows exactly what sort of stillness he tends to project, as painstaking as he is about maintaining it; objectively, it's easy enough to understand the appeal of puncturing it. I wonder if you could manage it, he thinks, and nearly says--wonders what the Trailblazer might see fit to try, what lengths he might go. Kind and well-meaning as the young man's natural disposition seems to be...just how much might that be superseded by lust, now, and the Stellaron's encouragement? He'd like to see it, Luocha muses, in that breath of a moment after the kiss breaks, the taste of it still lingering on his tongue. He'd like to--

--There's a hand in his hair, pulling, baring his throat. And the press of Caelus's mouth upon it, biting--

Enough to draw blood, yes. Enough that it should be painful...and it is, in a sense, a keen sharp note mingling with the heat of it. (Still, nowhere near so painful as other things have been and will be. How many thorns have pierced this body far deeper, by now?) Luocha's entire frame shudders, the hand on Caelus's chest pressing and curling almost as if it would scratch were it not for gloved fingertips; the other sets heavily behind the Trailblazer's head, half in his hair and half upon the nape of his neck...but not to pull him away. No, not with how Luocha's breath stammers, a sound low and soft and nearly something like a whine slipping free unbidden--perhaps only a moment, only a few moments. But the lapse is distinct, as the sting of Caelus's teeth darts electric upon nerve endings, sends heat coiling to the bottom of his gut. A desire that had already been kindling in its own right, in unwinding and degrading more and more of Caelus's uncertain restraint with sweet indulgences, but now...

The mask slips, with a drop in Luocha's voice, with a darkening in his eyes.] Mm--there. Just like that. Don't hold back...you're a greedy boy, aren't you? Wanting such things...I'll allow it, if you're good like this--

[Breathed into his ear, through lips just a bit more flushed. Luocha's hips shift once more, grinding against that hard cock this time, hard as he's grown in turn.

Wounds never linger long, not in this current contract. Caelus has seen it for himself now, in how entirely unblemished and pristine Luocha's body is, despite the lean muscle built for sword-work frequently engaged; the Abundance does not permit so much as a trace of any past injury, over time. This new mark, too, will be gone before the next day arrives...and maybe that's why Luocha's body savors it so, while it still burns here and now. Seems Caelus has found something quite sensitive here.]

[receptacles]

[ Caelus pulls his fangs loose; blood stains the corner of his lips, making him look like a beast with prey in its mouth. He liked that reaction, the sweet whine, the more earnest shift of Luocha's hips, the way the merchant's mask is finally dropping, revealing the monster beneath. Yes, this is all so, so much better, for a simple boy like Caelus. No more lies, no more games. Just raw carnality, and the sweet indignity of succumbing to lust. ]

You're the greedy one here. You like that?

[ It's not a question that he needs an answer to. The shiver that went through Luocha's spine was potent enough that Caelus could feel it too, and the way he's grinding now, greedy and eager, answers more honestly than his pretty mouth probably ever could.

Impatient, and now feeling, irrationally, like he's winning, Caelus suckles hard against Luocha's skin, hard enough to leave a bruise over that neat bite-mark he just left — indulging himself in the thrill of having discovered Luocha's more masochistic tendencies, he repeats the gesture over one of Luocha's peaked nipples, the Trailblazer's hot tongue flicking over one of those sweet rosebuds before his lips come down hard on it with bruising brutality. ]

I'll give you more. [ And another nip, another bite — ] As much as you want...

[ The hand that's not in Luocha's hair dives down between their legs, fumbling with buttons and zippers. Clumsily, Caelus gets his own cock out first, and then the merchant's. The friction between them — it's so much more potent and mind-numbing without clothes in the way. He groans in utmost gratitude as he sinks into the rhythm of stroking their cocks together, haphazard and graceless in his movements. ]

[casketeer]

[This wasn't--supposed to become something so raw, so singular. For someone with whom lies and one-sided games are as habitually natural as breathing, this encounter was not intended to be any sort of exception. ...Which is to say, that Luocha was not actually expecting to find his own grasp on his self-control loosening quite like this, quite this soon. Not entirely relinquished, not yet, but.

It really has been too long, since someone last tread upon his particular relationship with pain quite like this. ...Too long in general, since he last felt like this. Caelus is both a quick study and an intent one, as it turns out--now that doubt no longer holds him back, and all that remains is a clear single-minded pursuit of a weakness discovered, an eagerness to tear it open and savor how it yields. A beast with prey indeed. --As Luocha had encouraged, he knows. It's simultaneously thrilling and infuriating, how deliciously that bruise at his throat sears. How promptly that spark of pain-pleasure leaps under the harsh mouth working over his chest, driving an instinctive craving that has him arching into the heat of those wandering lips with another gasp of sound. No doubt it's quite a sight--no doubt Luocha's quite a different sight in general, about now--as restraint frays, and crimson marks bloom on pale skin under Caelus's teeth, hair tugged loose and messier over his shoulders, vest and layers still half-worn but askew. A further and further cry from the immaculate, untouchable image he carries by default...

And that's before Caelus is reaching down, tugging buttons and zippers apart, tugging them both out--

The stroking is haphazard and graceless, yes, and that only adds to the intensity. The sudden well of sensation that crests under the curl of those fingers sends another jolt up Luocha's spine, hips bucking of their own accord before inexorably, irresistibly, rocking into the erratic rhythm the young man sets. Long eyelashes flutter, and Luocha's breath catches on half a moan. --Too quick. Not quick enough. There's still some semblance of coherent thought attempting to rally despite the onslaught of multiple pleasurable stimuli at once, but it's tenuous. ...This isn't a sort of thing a person wins, necessarily, but it could be said there's a balance of control tipping back and forth here--and it's becoming more of a challenge than Luocha had anticipated.

There's, constraints, to this position. It's a pity that Caelus's shirts cannot be pulled open as Luocha's layers are, and he has no patience for tugging them up at this point. Satisfying as it's been to touch his chest, and draw out sweet responses with strokes of healing, it's no longer enough. So, instead--Luocha's left hand and the cross upon that wrist slip out from there, fingertips raising to ghost along the side of his throat. (For the briefest moment, it might almost seem as if they were tempted to close over his windpipe, but--) They drift from there to the crook of his neck, and the exposed stretch of his shoulders over his shirt's neckline. Following Luocha's mouth, as he presses in to nip marks of his own into the young man's skin, in time to the pumping of that grip over both their cocks. ...Only for his healing to soothe the marks promptly away, as he goes, contrasting sensations of stinging and mending...

Before he's lifting his head at length. There's a hunger of a different sort in the still-darkened intent of Luocha's eyes, as he focuses on Caelus's features anew. Tugs against the grip upon his hair--too arousingly restrictive in its own right--to lean in close again, take Caelus's chin in his other hand again. This third kiss is rough, biting--perhaps enough to draw blood in its own right--then, not yet healing this time, instead laves at the coppery traces upon the Trailblazer's lips and tongue, strives to rob him of breath.

I'll give you more, Caelus says, as much as you want. As if he truly could. As if he has any idea.]

--Careful. Promises like that... [Low and rough, panted against his mouth.] You don't know what you're offering.

[After all. Caelus isn't the only one here that so very much craves, to take something apart...]

[receptacles]

[ It hurts and then it heals and Caelus shudders as the relief passes through him, soothing his aches. If Luocha is hooked on the pain, then he's hooked on the pleasure, chasing each exhilarating hit of soothing sensation working through his frayed nerves. It was so relaxing and purifying, at first — now it's getting him hot, making his cock throb with desperate longing for release. Luocha might really ruin healing for him forever, if he keeps this up.

They kiss and they bite and this time Luocha doesn't heal the sting to his lip, the taste of iron on his tongue. Luocha kisses him hard enough to leave him dizzy and aching and Caelus, too, finds himself whining for more, craving it, the way he just wants one more hit — and yet, as desperate as he feels, he still feels like he's winning because he's finally got this gorgeous, graceful man gasping and panting like any other slut.

He hasn't forgotten that he's on his back foot here, that Luocha's on top, that the healer could dominate him, choke him out, overpower him, claim victory, and in a lot of ways, he'd love that, too — but all the same, Caelus entertains wonderfully naive delusions, at least for the moment. He wants to fuck Luocha. Take him by the hair. Have him laid out in a bed, aching, waiting. Imagine how pretty he'll be, spine arching, shaking every time Caelus's thrusts hilted into him just right.

So like a lotus floating on the water, ever out of reach. Caelus feels like he's tearing the petals apart with his teeth. ]

You're right. I don't know. [ There's a desperation underlying this, a breathlessness. He has Luocha in his arms, but he's the one begging for mercy. ] But I do know — this is getting you off...

[ To hell with his own release. Caelus doesn't care anymore, really, if he gets off; he wants to see what Luocha looks like when he comes, what kind of pretty sound he'll make, with his soft, tingly voice tinged by breath. The Trailblazer stops jerking their cocks in tandem, but only so he can give Luocha more targeted attention: palming his shaft, rubbing into the slit at the head of his cock, even massaging his balls. What will he look like, what will he do, and if it's the pain that gets him off, how will he react if Caelus bites down on an untouched corner of his alabaster neck — ]

[casketeer]

[Ruining healing for him going forward...it would be a satisfaction, it's true. To say nothing of the perverse irony of how this was once technically about healing Caelus's errant aches and pains to begin with--which is still being done, sort of, alongside...everything else. But it'll be quite a lingering thing long after this is over, now won't it? He won't be able to acquire quite the same sensation as this from anyone else...and even if he did, it will perhaps ever just be an untimely reminder, of sultry weight and a murmured voice and heated touch. Luocha would enjoy knowing he leaves such a mark, even so shallowly as it scratches the surface of the other ways he'd like to ruin Caelus.

Which, perhaps, had been the intention all along in this--from the moment Caelus had first reached out, and confessed his wants so plainly--no matter how Luocha might couch it in such indifferent rationale as wanting to observe what makes this vessel tick, what stimulus might strain its contents at the seams. The temptation of such a seemingly pliable subject had been a difficult thing to resist--something that could be bent and shaped so very easily, in this world where so few things are so simple to manipulate--especially when the subject all but asks for it, invites him into his lap. ...The catch, though...

Was that Luocha hadn't expected Caelus to try ruining him too.

Perhaps a strong word, and perhaps there's still some ambiguously measured influence from the Stellaron moving through him, but either way the result still feels the same. It's, demeaning. (Exhilarating.) To find this coming from such an unexpected source, and somewhat succeeding. (So clearly not even fueled by anything ulterior, simply desire.) ...The strangest aspect, too, is how there remains such a distinct duality to the Trailblazer's actions. The way desperation still colors his greed, sweet whines slipping from this throat with every ministration, even as his mouth still says words like those, and his hands--

The shift is abrupt; it catches Luocha off-guard, the insistent fingers that close fully around his cock, touching stroking coaxing--bearing upon every sensitive spot with a clear intent. It's not that there's no effect, because there certainly is, tangible in the way Luocha gasps for breath he's suddenly lost, and his hips seize, hands clutching at Caelus's shoulders just to keep upright as pleasure jolts up through his spine anew. Even then, for just a moment--two--it almost seems as if it won't be enough. ...Before Caelus goes in for another bite, that sweet-sharp sting of teeth sinking into tender flesh.

Luocha comes into Caelus's hand with a moan, low and breathy--messily, shaking, panting into the crook of Caelus's neck as his frame can't help but give way and sink down over him. Perhaps it isn't properly fucking Luocha like this, no...but for a moment Caelus might yet derive a satisfaction close to it here, from debauching the man in this way. It's a rare vulnerability, the way the merchant's body trembles against him, as the heat of the pleasure moves through every nerve until he's spent. And even after the moment passes--even as he lifts his head--there's further evidence of undone poise in the faint flush on his cheeks, in his lips, the way green eyes have to refocus from a haze. It's a delicious, irresistible high.

It's not enough.

A hand still clutches at Caelus's shoulder tight enough to bruise, until it's not, until it's dragging down over his chest and pushing him back against the chair, refusing that clever mouth any further chance to ravish his neck. Slowly but firmly sitting up against him, Luocha rakes his other hand through his blond hair where it's spilled messily over his shoulder...and then reaches down, wrapping fingers around Caelus's neglected cock in turn, fingertips threading messily through his own come and slickening his grip.]

--Mm. Now look what you've done... [Harshly, roughly, he begins to pump at the shaft.]

[receptacles]

[ Oh, Caelus thinks to himself, blissfully smug. Yeah.

Whatever happens to him from here on out, it was worth it, if only to see how heavenly Luocha looks when he's pressing Caelus down, one hand pushing his hair back against his scalp, heaving for breath.

The Trailblazer is aroused beyond belief, but he's glad he stopped touching himself, if only because it's given him a slight reprieve; he might last just long enough to be a smug little brat while Luocha is looking at him with an intensity that is only slightly diminished by a post-orgasmic haze. Caelus can barely think of anything but how good and wet Luocha's hand feels between his legs, but he still smirks, lifting his own cum-stained hand to his lips. With coy precision, as if promising what he can do with his tongue, Caelus laps up the taste of Luocha's satisfaction without hesitation, drinking it down like he loves the way it tastes. ]

Yeah, I'm looking. It was good, right? [ It's smarmy, but distinctly submissive, too: tell me I'm a good boy. ] It was great.

[ His soft thighs are starting to quiver with how close Luocha's pushing him to the edge, though. Breaths coming quick and short, dribbling pre-cum from his tip, Caelus throws his now-"clean" hand over his forehead as he starts feeling slowly overtaken by pleasure... ]

Bet you haven't — gotten off that hard — in a long time... ngh...

[casketeer]

[The audacity couldn't be clearer in that unabashed smirk, and the deliberate show of that tongue as Caelus cleans his own hand of spend--as if this is precisely what he'd wanted all along. Infuriating, as a smug brat is. Infuriating, in how Luocha gets a vague sense that he's played to the Trailblazer's expectations...a thing he generally tries to avoid in all matters, and certainly hadn't intended to lapse upon in this encounter. So it fuels something vindictive, yes, in the intensity of his focus on Caelus now, and the rough handling of his cock. But there's also--something newly arousing here as well, far too much so, in the appeal of knocking that self-satisfaction down a peg. In exacting a price for what's been taken. Look at this boy, so clearly taking pleasure in Luocha's pleasure--in being pressed down--in being overtaken--]

Is that what you want to hear, hm? That you've been good? A good boy wouldn't have such a filthy mouth... [It's indulging him, Luocha knows, far too much--more than he'd ever intended, at the start of this--and yet in this exact moment he doesn't quite care. Not while he's still only partially down from the high of that orgasm, and it still flickers in half-lidded eyes, heats the lowered register of his tone in half a purr. (He hasn't gotten off that hard in some time, no, and the fact that Caelus managed to draw it out so easily...is something to unpack far, far later. For now, it's an indignity to be punished. A service to be rewarded...)] Quiet.

[A pair of fingertips press against those flushed lips, dip into his mouth, start pumping slowly against that shameless tongue. Utterly out of place, the cross at his wrist drapes over Caelus's chin. (These gloves are going to be either ruined or in need of a thorough wash after this. He doesn't care.) Even in this perverse sort of fashion, light healing is brushed over those tender bitten spots in Caelus's mouth, a soothing distinctly at odds with the motion accompanying it, the grip on his cock. To speak of which...

It's quite alluring, the trembling in those plush thighs, as clear a sign of strain as the pre-cum beading at Caelus's tip. The harsh pace of Luocha's hand begins to slow right as it seems like the boy will reach his peak, intentionally agonizing. With the idle deftness of a doctor of some kind versed enough in anatomy, his thumb presses just under the head of Caelus's cock, in an exact spot where he won't--be able--to come, yet, no matter how much he might want to. ...Taking the main edge off Luocha's desire as he has is a danger in this sort of way, where there's now less immediate urgency to touch and be touched. He's distinctly curious in turn to see how Caelus might look when he unravels, yes--how he'll sound, how that thrumming power inside him will sound too. How this meticulously crafted vessel body beneath him will respond. But there are other things, too, that he's curious to see displayed from the young man...and there's now a languid hunger to find out...]

I wonder...for being so shameless, then, should I draw you out longer, or make you release over and over? How will you beg for me? [Not that Caelus will be able to answer with words without some struggle at the moment, probably. Seems he'll have to convey any wishes in other ways, won't he?]

[receptacles]

[ He means to talk back, but when Caelus opens his mouth, he finds Luocha's gloved fingers slipping and sliding over his tongue instead. So soft, so smooth and buttery-soft, working inside of his mouth, making his tongue feel more sensitive than ever before — it's enough to make his lashes flutter and his eyes lid as he sinks into the pleasure. He wouldn't have even dared to dream, earlier, that he'd be violated by those wonderfully soft leather gloves quite like this.

The cross resting against his chin makes him look like a devout parishioner in the throes of perverse worship. The vague sense of being dominated and humiliated by Luocha's order to be quiet would almost be enough to make Caelus come on its own, but then the man heals the wounds still smarting along the edges of the Trailblazer's lips, and the burst of intense relief through his body is just so potent that he swears he's going to come, he's so close, so close —

— he doesn't come. Can't come. The coiled tension of being denied would have Caelus gritting his teeth in frustration if his mouth weren't being held open by Luocha's clever fingers. As it is, he can only let out a low, pitiful whine as his entire body flexes and tenses with the insistent urge to come, one that isn't satisfied. He's never felt so desperate for anything in his life — ]

Let me... let me come...

[ Slurred so desperately and wetly around Luocha's fingers, muffled and muddied because he can't clearly move his tongue in the way he'd like, Caelus's words are nevertheless unmistakable, and what he wants is obvious. He's trembling from head to toe at this point, unable to focus on anything but the throbbing ache between his legs and how close he is to blissful release. He looks up at his "doctor," golden eyes pleading, begging. He can't move his tongue; bereft of options, he rests his palms on Luocha's thighs instead, moving his head very slightly back and forth, taking the man's fingers in deeper, in imitation of other things he could pleasure so thoroughly.

(It must be so satisfying, for a man caught in that chess game between Aeons, to have something so simple to toy with. Caelus knows nothing about the coffin still watching them in the corner or what it means to be an abomination of Yaoshi. Nothing of the Aeons; nothing of the universe. What he wants is pleasure, and what he craves is Luocha himself. For his body and his beauty, yes — but also for himself, as a person. For the man that he is, both above and beneath the surface. His gentle kindness is just as addictive as his insatiable need for control.)

Clearly, Caelus wants to be satisfied. He might very well have it in him to come again and again, staining the inn's lovely armchair in the filthiest way, as if to fulfill that social promise of what happens when wealthy merchants pick up handsome young men off the street for a night of fun. But what will Luocha do? Will he reward the boy's earnest honesty, or punish him with denial precisely because it's the opposite of what he's begging for? ]

[casketeer]

[Like a devout parishioner indeed, yes, with the flickering gold of the cross pressed just underneath those needy lips. The sort of believer who would accept any debasement without hesitation if it still meant salvation at the very end. Shaped in lust as it might be, base and sinful as it might be...yet still, inevitably, the template is always the same. Always the same. Head tipped up from below, beseeching supplication. The fact that it's vanishingly unlikely to even be an intentional parallel on Caelus's part only adds to the impression. Isn't this familiar?

Luocha will not linger on how very familiar it is. Nor will he unpack the twisting flicker of feeling the sight invokes, aroused and pleased and bitter bitter bitter all at once. No, not right now. Right now...

It is truly satisfying beyond words, above all else, to have something so simple to toy with. No overarching conspiracies, no underlying goals, no finely precarious balance of cause and effect and consequence to constantly check and weigh. The power balance here has tipped back, now that Caelus has goaded him into dropping all pretenses, and it's where it should be. ...For Luocha is a man perpetually in pursuit of control, yes, in a world where a mere mortal being is permitted so very little of it, forces barely within one's ken constantly in motion overhead. But here is something he can bend and shape to his will by the simplest means, an open book refreshingly plain to read. He may not have anticipated reaching this point, in this encounter...but in the end it was Caelus who opted to openly encourage it himself--who has yet to push away, and can't seem to help but beg for more--and a good doctor does listen to the needs of his patient, after all. (It's just...unfortunate, very unfortunate, that the Trailblazer's proclivities are apparently so very lenient. To crave a person like this, with such unpleasant things underneath that too-pleasant surface...but, well. As the saying goes. There's no accounting for taste, and it's hardly Luocha's role to criticize it.)

The damp words, the pleading eyes, the way he bobs his head that bit to take more in his mouth...there's not a lack of effort here, despite the limited means available. Adorable. The young man's body trembles deliciously under him, so clearly overwhelmed with a need that has nowhere to go, and Luocha hums pensively as he slowly presses further over the damp heat of that pliant tongue--deeper--just enough so for breathing to start being difficult, just on the verge of too much. The way Caelus seems to so thoroughly enjoy having just these fingers in his mouth, it really is far too easy to imagine what else it could pleasure...enough so that the sight and the thought coil a dull but intrigued heat anew, between his own legs. Hm. Perhaps not this night, but next time...

"Next time". There's another thought for later unpacking--]

Mm, that's better. Much better. You're very good like this, too. [Still low, still heated, but there's a lilt reminiscent of that more gently kind guise in Luocha's tone as he murmurs the praise. Tempting as it is to be cruel, just to observe the shape of Caelus's desperate dismay--still, credit must be placed where it's due, between that earlier intent to get him off and the way he strains so sweetly now.] ...Very well, then, since you're begging so nicely...

[Luocha's fingers slip out of his mouth. And, at the same time, that agonizing pressure deftly held over Caelus's cock is released as well, in favor of stroking it anew. Coaxing to that needed release. --Even when he does come, Luocha's hand won't stop.]

[receptacles]

[ There's really such a sick pleasure in all of it — such a sickness in the way that Caelus knows, instinctively, that he's never going to get this again from anyone but Luocha. Who else could manipulate his body (the vessel) so easily, caressing muscles and nerves and their connections as expertly as playing an instrument? Who else would know how to press into his tongue just far back enough that it stifles his breath, not enough to make him choke and gag, but just enough that he can't breathe and the hazy lightheadedness that sets into his brain makes him feel even closer to vulnerable ecstasy than before?

Caelus struggles to breathe, but he doesn't resist. He has never worshiped the Aeons in a way that matters; he has never tasted true religious fervor. But this, he thinks, is what it must feel like to surrender to the hands of a god.

Luocha calls him good again and it floods his heart with unreasonable pride. Has he really wanted this that much? Has he really craved this that much? Yes, he's a good boy, wants to be even better, wants to beg that he would do anything for that harsh pressure over his cock to just be removed so that he can bask in how good he's been —

— and then, finally, Luocha lets go, and Caelus comes.

Having to hold back for a time seems to have made it that much more potent; the Trailblazer comes with a soft, broken cry and an incoherent whimper, spattering over his abs where his shirt has ridden up his chest from all his writhing. He's staining Luocha's beautiful gloves, too, but he doesn't care, not when that wondrously soft leather is pumping back and forth over his shaft, now slick and warm from everything they've done together, milking him dry. He thinks he's given up everything he has, but Luocha's hand keeps going and then he comes even more with a shudder. So damn soft. He's just so obsessed with how Luocha's hands feel, in those beautiful fucking gloves —

Boneless and jittering for it, Caelus submits completely to Luocha's touch, panting breathlessly, spread-legged on the chair and thoroughly debauched. His short-lived victory is over, but this is a victory for him, too. Perhaps surrender looks better on him than triumph. ]

...Luocha...

[ What is he calling Luocha's name for? Is he beseeching, pleading? His eyes are glazed over and his face is flushed and it's impossible to read his expression for anything but satiated desire.

Maybe it's just acknowledgment of who's done this to him. It's not his real name, but that hardly matters in the moment. It's also just kind of fun to say. Luocha. Luocha.

The Stellaron has stopped singing, but it hums, pleased. Again, as is its nature, it has granted one more twisted wish. ]

[casketeer]

[It's not his real name. ...But no, it doesn't matter. Truly, in a situation such as this--it's more ideal this way, if anything. To Caelus it will ever be "Luocha"--that merchant healer with an apparent wickedly indulgent streak--that he associates with this particular experience...and so this name continues to work as intended. An alternate, in alternate matters.

Besides which, it does sound so very pleasing when it leaves the boy's mouth like that; thinly breathless, and thoroughly layered in the high so clearly still chasing through his body. Surrender suits Caelus very well for a fact, nicely as he's splayed beneath Luocha in this moment, that soft and flushed stretch of skin underneath his hiked-up shirt damp with his own cum, golden eyes unfocused. Utterly submitting, appealingly vulnerable...really, almost too much so. Being made to come twice in such close succession is evidently his natural limit, but for that brief moment with his cock still slowly stroked in hand, Luocha finds the temptation is strong to continue teasing Caelus apart--to drink in more of those lovely noises and shivers, to see how he'd respond being driven ruthlessly to a new brink.

But...no, it's a temptation folded away. Some semblance of practicality is growing more vocal in the back of thought, now he's satisfied enough for the heat of lust to settle into more of a warm simmer, and Luocha is aware that Caelus needs to be able to actually return to the Astral Express in some form of decent shape later. (There's probably also some analogy of not breaking a new toy so quickly, somewhere in here, for all that's a thought less directly looked at in this moment.) It'll be less complicated all around, really, for them to part on relatively equally satisfied terms. As far as he's concerned, Luocha's already shown too much of his hand in one sense already--no need to shatter the front even further, so soon. Hm...but there is the aftermath to contend with, now, in all this...

The thoughts circle idly, detached in a backdrop. At the forefront, a few moments are taken to enjoy the sight that's been made here, the waning of a mutual high drawn from very different but equally derived sources. Caelus is slowly released; Luocha sits up and back, somewhat, though he doesn't make any particular move to actually get off of the Trailblazer just yet. Instead, he lightly reaches down to place the back of a hand against Caelus's chest. (The back, because these gloves are thoroughly stained to be sure, yet another less consequential price paid in all this--) There might be a vague impression that Luocha's checking on his pulse, touching just over his heart as he does, though the reality is that he's listening for the Stellaron more than anything else. The singing easing at last, yes, alongside Caelus's release...reduced to a thoroughly satisfied hum now, it seems. Satisfied because Caelus is satisfied, or because its own desires have been satisfied through him? Is there even much of a line between the two distinctions? One wonders...

The expression on Luocha's face is perhaps rather difficult to read, in this moment. 'Pensive' might be the best term--and, not dissatisfied, at the least. Even if something still flickers intent and hungry behind his eyes, despite the ease in the rest of his body language and the slight and gentle versed smile that has settled upon his features, as his attention shifts up to Caelus's face at length.]

There...easy. Breathe slowly. How do you feel?

[receptacles]

[ Caelus catches his breath quickly enough. March always says that the Nameless are more resilient than ordinary people due to the blessing of the Trailblaze, but the thing about that is that Caelus was like this before agreeing to join the Express, which means his preternatural endurance and stamina must stem from something deep inside of him. (The Stellaron? Or some other quirk of his body's?)

Anyway — that's not too important, either. What is important is that Caelus shifts against the armchair, stretching and rolling his shoulders and neck with leonine grace. The post-orgasmic glow looks good on him; he feels comfortably lethargic, though something in his body still throbs greedily for more. (The "cancer," insatiable, all-devouring.) He meets Luocha's gaze, his knowing half-smile.

He finds himself smiling back, as if this has all been a very routine appointment, and Luocha a very attentive doctor, seeing to his needs. ]

Good. [ Another, more noticeable, quirk of his lips. He is trying not to laugh, both at the absurdity of the situation, and at how ragged he sounds. ] Really good. Better than I've ever felt in my life.

[ Which — the stretch of consciousness that Caelus has been "alive" is actually not very long, considering that all of his memories prior to the attack on the Space Station were wiped. But he's pretty sure that Luocha doesn't know that about him, so for all intents and purposes, Caelus does, in fact, feel better than he's ever felt in his life right now.

He's still a little desirous, even though he's satisfied. Still wants to touch Luocha, undress him — maybe even possess him. But Caelus is not so delusional that he doesn't understand the kind of man Luocha is. He's not someone to be possessed. He probably doesn't want to be touched right now — his body language is suggesting as much.

Caelus still spreads his hand a little, stretching his palm out over where it's patiently resting on Luocha's thigh. ]

...But what about you?

[ His golden irises flash a little whenever they catch the light. They flick upward now, taking in the faint hunger behind the merchant's false smile, the dark ambition in his eyes. Perhaps the Trailblazer has intuited that once is not usually enough for a man like Luocha. Maybe he's just a needy young stud, himself and of his own volition. ]

I could give you more. You could fuck me, if you want.

[ Straightforward and obscene. The invitation of a whore, promising a different price to pay. But what is the price here? What is it that Luocha is or is not willing to give up? ]