[Mature] Pagan Poetry

[Lars]

LARS' APARTMENT
VORTAS 2, 2719 ❁ WAY TOO LATE

Another grin was enough to let the passive know that Gideon was still, at least, in good humor. Lars watched them curiously, observing their momentary frown before it gave way to another unsettling, irresistible grin. Their initial response drew a low hum of agreement from the man's throat, light eyes falling to watch their lips move around the words. He nodded, though the little movement was difficult what with the weight of Gideon over part of him and his head being on the cold floor. Didn't matter all that much to him though.

"Works f - fair fine, yeah," repeated the drunken Hessean, remaining still (for a moment, just to see what they were doing) beneath them when the human moved. Lars took a deep and slightly shaking breath, inspecting their lovely face in the glow of the nearby fire. Their leg was alright - fine, anyway, according to Gideon - and the passive was only slightly disappointed. Were they sure? He could look at it for them, if they weren't sure, he could dig his fingers into the muscles and massage out the pain, if they weren't sure, but -

They said something else, once they'd settled over top of him, but Lars wasn't all that sure what it was at first - Peregrine? Had he misheard them? That couldn't really be ruled out, considering his... highly intoxicated state, but maybe it was something else. He felt Gideon's (Peregrine's, maybe?) breath against his skin as they lowered their face to his neck. Could be a name, he supposed, and it'd be more of an interesting name than plenty he'd heard around the harbor. Opting to go ahead and just ask for clarification, Lars began,

"Pere -" oh, but they were kissing his neck, and - "ah!"

Lars quickly shut himself up, after his first startled reaction. Didn't need Albigence waking up and hearing him, but did they just bite him? There was another sharp inhale, and he couldn't stop his mouth from curving into a delighted smile, bleary eyes fluttering shut. His hands moved up, one finding the back of Gideon-Peregrine's head and pulling the dark hair through his fingers, the other coming to rest at their shoulder, fingertips pressing slightly into the sweater. The arching of his spine off of the floor and up, closer to the human's body, was also quite involuntary - but to say that he would not have done the same by his own will, well that would have been a lie. He did want to be closer, and closer, and close as could be.

Though their teeth did sting, and Lars was certain that that would leave a mark, he still made no attempt to push away or remove the handsome human's teeth from his delicate, pale skin. "Per -" it was a lot more distracting than he had thought, having their mouth on his neck, but the curiosity still bled through. "Y'got lovely teeth, Peregrine," he tried, a bit of quiet laughter accompanying the praise, his fingers practically caressing the back of their head. They twisted and pulled, gently, toying with the dark locks, meanwhile his other hand continued to hold onto their shoulder, a silent sign that the passive didn't want them moving away again.

[Peregrine]

02 of Vortas, 2719 - Late Late Late
Lars' Floor

Didn't know what drove them to bite down on that pale, pretty neck; some whim, some sense that such a thing might be appreciated. Appreciated it seemed to be--a sharp inhale, a little exclamation that he quickly quieted. At least, Peregrine thought that was good. They hadn't exactly asked about it--hadn't asked about any of it. Just sort of acted on whatever instincts had driven them to follow Lars out of the bar in the first place. It seemed as it was working out in their favor so far, and they weren't keen as to change direction now. Not when Lars was arching up off the floor, pressing up to Peregrine with his hand in their dark hair.

So he'd figured out the puzzle after all. Peregrine weren't sure it were much of a puzzle--ent like "Peregrine" was the sort of thing folks usually said in these sorts of situations, really--but they were pleased anyways. Didn't realize until they heard it how much they liked the sound of their own name. Weren't like they didn't like hearing Gideon, nah, that was their name too--but Gideon would come and go and Peregrine was always there. Would always be there, no matter what. Made them feel more like they really were Peregrine's sharp teeth in that thin-lipped mouth. Well shit, if that were the case, they should do this more often. Except, nah--they didn't think as most folks would appreciate the Peregrine parts, not as they'd found. Weren't like everyone who took them home had such excellent taste, after all.

Peregrine ran their tongue over where they'd just had their teeth, a slow movement. Copper and salt in the mouth. Their mouth stretched into a grin against the skin of Lars' neck when he pulled oh-so-gently on their hair. Peregrine lifted their face away with only a little reluctance to look at Lars. Their lip had just a little red on it, catching the light from the fire.

"You ent gotta be gentle neither," they said, though they could honestly say they were good no matter what. Such a weakness for pretty faces, and they liked how easy it was to leave marks behind on this one. Was that a normal thing to think? Was that the kind of thing a Gideon thought? No, but wait--they weren't a Gideon, not right now, this was all Peregrine. And for Peregrine this was as normal as normal gets.

"Fair lovely yerself," Peregrine murmured, moving to take Lars' mouth with their own. Was the taste of his own blood in someone else's mouth strange? They wondered and they laughed a little, curious. As long as Lars weren't too put off by it, they aimed to kiss him slow and deep, pulling away with a scrape of those lovely teeth across his bottom lip.

[Lars]

LARS' APARTMENT
VORTAS 2, 2719 ❁ WAY TOO LATE

They didn't object to being called Peregrine, nor did they offer any other explanation for it. Their name was Peregrine then, was it? Lars could not judge them for not giving out the name earlier, considering he had done the same damn thing with his own. Names didn't have to mean much, in a place like this, where it seemed more people went by nicknames and disguise than not. It was refreshing, to an extent, to be somewhere where a name didn't matter so much. Where it didn't matter if he was Cailan, or Lars, or Laurentius, or "that moony one over there." He still wasn't fond of the idea of being known as Lars to the general population, but a few people here and there wouldn't hurt, he supposed. He was too drunk to have come up with any other excuse for the name, anyway, and really, he could not be blamed for giving out his name when he wasn't thinking so straight. He wondered if it was the same for Peregrine, or if they had given him the name by choice.

Lars swallowed (or, tried to) as he felt Peregrine's tongue against the bite they'd just given him, the sensation an odd but welcome one. It still stung, perhaps even more so as their tongue soothed the fragile skin. It only made him want them to do it again, in truth, but they were lifting their head to look at him then, and the passive forced his eyes to meet theirs, even if they wanted to close. He could see his blood on Peregrine's lip, dark and red in the low light, and he made himself take a breath to calm himself. Didn't need to make it obvious how much he enjoyed seeing his own blood on someone else's mouth. The words brought another satisfied grin to his face, and he nodded, his hair catching beneath his head against the floor. He would not be so careful, then, unless Peregrine requested otherwise.

They met him in another kiss, slower this time, and Lars hummed into it, his lips curving into another smile as Peregrine laughed against him. What they were laughing about, he didn't know, but it didn't matter. He tasted blood (not much, not enough) and it was another unique sort of thrill, knowing it was his own. As soon as the human was pulling away, their lovely teeth making another delightful appearance, Lars' fingers tightened their grip in Peregrine's dark hair. He pulled their head back, slightly, just enough to give himself enough space to move - the passive seemed to be pushing himself up into a sitting position, but - he barely propped himself up with his elbows.

His head was brought back down against the floor instead, his eyes blinking wide and another fit of laughter escaping his throat. It was dizzying - perfect. Lars moved his hands down, and down further to the hem of that nice warm sweater. Slender fingers smoothed against the knit before slipping underneath, resting at their waist and pressing his fingertips into the skin.

"Bite me again," requested the passive, light eyes bright and bleary and enthused, "hard as y'want. Sharp teeth," it seemed as if Lars had more to say, but his words devolved into what could best be described as giggling.

[Peregrine]

02 of Vortas, 2719 - Strange Hours
Lars' Floor

They hadn't quite realized until they said it that they didn't mind being treated like this, liked it even--them pale fingers wound through their dark hair, pulling them back. They liked doing it, too, but they knew that already. Couldn't remember as if that sort of thing came with other faces. They thought maybe it had. So hard to keep track.

They made a noise low in the back of their throat while Lars tried to sit up. Or that's what Peregrine thought he was doing--he didn't make it far before his head came back down again to crack against the floor. Dimly, Peregrine thought they ought to be concerned, or at least seem like they were. Weren't healthy, usually, hitting your head against a floor. But it couldn't be that bad, hey? On account of how Lars laughed again and moved his hands down to push into their skin at their waist.

Bite me again, and weren't that just a fair sweet thing to say? Peregrine was all a-flutter, they were, being told so pretty like that. Bite him again, hard as they liked. Peregrine grinned and it stretched from ear to ear. Delighted. Again they hadn't been sure if that would put the pretty thing underneath of them off, the blood and salt all mingled up together-like when Peregrine had kissed him again. Seemed as not. Weren't that just so--attractive, that's what that was. They couldn't argue with that kind of a self-destructive streak.

"How hard you hit yer head there, darlin'?" Peregrine asked, with no real concern in their voice. Amusement, maybe. Hard to tell, listening to them, but they felt amused. They looked at the impression of their teeth on the side of his pale neck, where they'd broken that thin skin, matched up all nice to the shape of their fingers, and they felt warm all over. Too warm, suddenly, for their nice sweater. "Just--hold on there. Don't move," they commanded, knowing fair well there weren't nowheres as he could really go unless Peregrine moved first.

Peregrine arched their back a little away from Lars so they could grab the hem of their sweater. Took a little bit of doing, getting it up and over their shoulders with them wobbly and distracted, but they managed. They leaned back a little and paused--for effect, you see. Weren't like the face was the only nice part of Gideon, hey? Peregrine was a thing of refined taste. They decided it weren't quite vanity to be so pleased with the sharp beauty of every line of Gideon, because of how they hadn't been born as a Gideon but became one on purpose. Weren't not vanity, neither. Still. Nice things were meant to be appreciated.

Now that they were less warm, though, it was on to other things. They stared for a moment, trying as to remember. Regular drink forgetting, they thought. Couldn't hold no ideas together in their head when they drank--that was the point. What had they--right. That lovely request. Best not keep him waiting any longer, yeah? Yeah. They ran one of their cold, cold hands--a little warmer now--along the line of Lars' jaw, light. Almost tender, if you squinted at it hard enough. Trailed their fingers up the side of his face, letting them stop when they tangled in that washed-out blond hair. Like a spec, they thought, left to bleach in the sun. They leaned in, back over the bite they'd already made.

"Beautiful," they muttered low into the skin of his neck. And it weren't too clear what they meant--that mark, that neck, Lars in general. All of the above. Peregrine didn't think too hard. Thinking weren't no good in times like these. They pressed another kiss over the ring their teeth had made, then bit down again right in that same spot. Imagined as it would smart worse the second time around. Certainly broke more skin, more blood flooding over their tongue, rimming the edges of their mouth. When they pulled away, some of dripped down the side of his neck--pulled by gravity. Peregrine watched it, fascinated.

Could probably--probably bite right through, if they wanted. See the blood gush right out of there until it stopped because there weren't none left. Lars would probably even let them, if they asked real nice. The thought stirred them up, and they pressed their cold body up against his, biting down again a little lower this time but no less hard.

[Lars]

LARS' APARTMENT
VORTAS 2, 2719 ❁ LATE LATE LATE

Peregrine was grinning down at them like he had amused them. He could not stop the laughter, could not stop the swimming in his dizzy head now that he had slammed it down against the floor. Good. Good, he did not want to think. That was the point of the drinking, the point of the hurting, the point of it all. Peregrine was such a lovely distraction, too, and so easily did they give in to what he wanted, to giving him the delicious pain that he desired. He had only planned on drinking until he blacked out, sure, but this was far more pleasant. Far more distracting than unpredictable dreams. No, dreams were no good, no good at all. He kept remembering them lately. He did not like remembering them.

"How hard you hit yer head there, darlin'?"

Darlin'. That was funny, it made him laugh more, made the redness of his face spread to his shoulders beneath his jacket. Yulis' jacket. No, his jacket now. He giggled again at the remembrance. Yulis was dead. Fucking finally, he was dead. No more nightly visits from that dirty fucking spoke, no more hopeful, curious questions. It really was so much easier to just kill someone when they tired you, he thought. He was not sure how he had ever managed before.

"Not hard enough," came his response, the passive sounding just as unconcerned about his hurting head as the human on top of him. Lars made himself bite at the inside of his bottom lip, made himself sit still when Peregrine told him not to move. Likely only meant that he wasn't supposed to move out from under them, but he took it seriously, his limbs and body falling slack beneath them. The human sat up, and started removing that warm knitted sweater of theirs. That would be a nice sweater to have, he thought, and he wondered - but no. No, Peregrine had use. Peregrine was pretty, and Peregrine did not seem put off by his desires. They only seemed encouraged by them. But maybe, if he asked nicely, they would let him wear it sometime.

Lars watched with obvious delight as they pulled off their sweater, and continued sitting up straight for a few moments longer. He was not sure if they were intentionally showing off, or just slow - he didn't care which it was, he couldn't keep his hands off. Slender hands slid over their thighs and up, and up, until he was smoothing his healing fingers over Peregrine's abdomen in open admiration. Their cool hand moved to touch his jaw, and Lars raised his chin a little, as if baring his neck, and then the hand went to twist in his hair. He was not given as much time to admire them as he would have liked, but he certainly could not protest when they were leaning back down to meet him - back down to his neck, back down to the bite marks and the imprint of a hand.

Beautiful, they said, and he was not sure if they meant him or the markings on his neck in particular, but he did not care in the slightest. He could imagine that the markings were beautiful; they were stark reminders of what was, and what had been, and of the wonderfully painful infliction of injury. Beautiful, yes. He breathed out a shaky sigh as a kiss was pressed to the broken skin, light eyes fluttering shut in anticipation.

And Peregrine bit down. Right in the same spot, those sharp teeth sinking into the incisions they'd made before, and it stung. Oh gods, it stung, and Lars did his best to keep his breaths slow and calm but it was hard. It was hard, and near impossible, and his breath hitched in a reminder that he could not control it, not when this handsome human was biting him, not when his hands were caressing the muscles of Peregrine's back and shoulders, not when his delicate fingers were pressing firm and exploring along the lines of the bones.

Hip bones, shoulder blades, collar bones, ribs. His hands only came to a pause against their chest as Peregrine lifted their bloody mouth away from his neck. It was somehow more painful then, when the little wounds were exposed again to the air, away from the warm pressure of Peregrine's mouth. He felt thin trails of something run down the side of his neck; he was not sure if it was blood or saliva, but his lips curved into a grin at the curiosity, and a breathy laugh escaped him. It was not a case of either/or, he thought. It was both.

He did not have much time to consider it further before they were biting down again, pressing down against him - Lars simply could not help the low groan that escaped him, but really, was there a point to quieting himself? He had thought so, but if Albigence was all the way across the hall, he wouldn't hear, would he? No. He could be drunk and loud if he wanted. He was already skipping out on work tonight, for the second night in a row, and he might as well make good use of his time, right?

One of his hands was brought up to the back of Peregrine's head, and his fingers twisted through the dark hair, tugging them up and away. Not because he did not appreciate those teeth - he was just too eager to sit still, too giddy not to move. Lars pushed himself up again at the same time as he pulled Peregrine away, so that their faces were kept close. This time, he didn't slam his head back down against the floor. While he shrugged off his jacket, fingers releasing Peregrine's hair for the moment, he pushed forward to capture their lovely bloody lips in a kiss. It was as needy as the low rumble in his throat - his jacket was tossed to the side, and then his hands were on Peregrine again, touching, feeling, pressing without any intention of being gentle.

Lars seemed a bit too restless to stay there for long, though, and he broke from the kiss to move back a bit, until he could pull his legs out from under the strange, pretty human. He was crawling back to them just as quick, onto their lap, slipping bruised arms around their neck and legs around their waist. The passive wasted no time in kissing them again, blood trailing slowly down his neck and onto his shoulder, fingers threading through dark hair.

[Peregrine]

02 of Vortas, 2719 - Strange Hours
Lars' Floor

Oh but Peregrine did so like being appreciated, especially by a thing as fine-featured as the ghost underneath them. They were sunk all flesh and blood into each of the sharp, sharp muscles of Gideon. Drawn further in by the slide of Lars' hands up their thighs, the skin that was bare now that they'd taken off their sweater. Pleasures of the flesh--weren't that the whole fucking point to having it? And pain, too, for that matter.

Weren't often Peregrine got to really sink his teeth in. Not and get rewarded by a hitch of breath, the touch of hands along their muscles and bones. Usually they had to stop. Usually, folks didn't as like all their lovely teeth--not like that. So they thought this one might be a little moony, more than a little moony. There was a word for it, but Peregrine was too drunk and giddy to try to remember. Could chase that down later, that little factoid. Giddy? Yeah. Giddy, like a schoolgirl, like a child in a sweet shop, like a... a... They'd run out of metaphors. Like they were really fucking into this. No metaphor required.

Lars wasn't being so quiet anymore, and they liked that too. What was the point in being quiet, right? Blood and screaming, that's what it was supposed to be. Or maybe not, but that's what they wanted. Thought as Lars wouldn't mind. How loud, Peregrine wondered, could they make him? How loud could he make them? Now weren't that a thought.

And just like that, like a fucking mind reader, Lars was tugging them away again. They made some sound halfway between a laugh and a gasp, somewhere between reluctance to stop and eagerness to do something else. Their faces were still close. Close enough that Peregrine could have seen every little flaw, if there were any to see. Weren't too sure what was happening, but they were happy enough to go along with it all the same. Lars took off that jacket--that ridiculous fucking jacket, with no shirt underneath, that weren't no defense against hypothermia. Or against Peregrine neither. And he took their mouth with his own, still all rimmed with blood as it was. Peregrine pressed back, devouring. They could not think as they had ever tasted someone else's blood in their mouth while they kissed them. Leastways not quite like this. It stirred them up all over again.

The jacket was gone. Now there weren't nothing between Peregrine's hands and touching Lars' skin. They did so with enthusiasm, taking note of every bruise and mark. They bloomed so easily on him. Peregrine hardly marked up at all--didn't really seem fair. They reached out and dug their fingers in--adding a few more. Spurred on by all that hard grasping from Lars, by the mingling of blood and saliva and teeth in their mouths.

When Lars pulled back, Peregrine might just have growled. Nah, they definitely did. Sound like an animal, not a man--well, weren't too far off, were it? Almost reached out so as to pull Lars back, but then he was crawling back to their lap anyways. Them lovely limbs came to wrap around Peregrine and they weren't upset no more, not at all. They still kissed Lars a little harder than before, just because. A hand came up to cup the side of Lars' face for a moment, then it was moving down, down, down that neck to his side. Trail of bright wet red in their wake--pretty pretty pretty.

With Lars' smaller figure on their lap, it was hard to miss just how cooperative Gideon's body was being today. Didn't always work that way--their desire and Gideon's didn't always match up well, yeah? Sometimes that pretty flesh betrayed them. Couldn't say as it usually troubled them, but they'd have been awful put out to have that be the case here. They pulled Lars closer against them with a rake of their nails down his back. Yeah, this was good. This was great, even. They were just drunk enough to appreciate everything, and not too much so.

Another drag of their nails and one of Peregrine's hands came to settle on Lars' thigh. They hooked a finger through the waistband of his pants, just so. Broke away from kissing that pretty mouth to put his teeth instead against Lars' earlobe.

"I take requests," they murmured into the shell of his ear. Mostly just to see if he would say something else terrible and strange, something that Peregrine liked hearing. Couldn't help but laugh, neither, thinking on it.

[Lars]

LARS' APARTMENT
VORTAS 2, 2719 ❁ LATE LATE LATE

Maybe if he had been a little less drunk, Lars would have been more hesitant. More careful. More likely to think the whole night through a thousand times before anything ever even happened, and more likely to keep himself from acting on things that seemed dangerous, risky, wrong. Peregrine was one of those things - ever since he'd first spilled that drink on them, they had proven themselves to be a highly unusual creature, not unlike Lars himself. They seemed dangerous. Risky. Wrong. They seemed like someone that he would regret talking to, regret getting in arm's reach of, regret letting into his apartment. Like he would wake up hungover in the morning and wonder how and why the fuck he'd willingly let them leave their marks on his skin. The imprint of their strong hand around his neck, the incisions of their sharp teeth, the lines from their nails.

But maybe that was exactly what convinced him to allow it. Maybe he wanted this because he wanted to be wrong; being right always blew up in his face anyway, so why not go with something that he knew was bad from the start? Why not know, and be prepared, so that he was not disappointed? Why not admit to himself that he would never be as good or as pure or as well-intentioned as he wanted to be? He was no whimsical, good-natured lady in a high tower awaiting her prince, he was a dirty, broken-down thing that wanted only to be broken down further. Crushed into the grime and muck and blood and shit and mold and rot and left unable to crawl his way out again.

What had they asked him before? If he had some sort of death wish?

Maybe they weren't too far off, after all. For when Peregrine kissed him harder in response to his moving away, he found himself wishing that they had shown their displeasure more harshly. He did not wish to upset the handsome human, of course, not in any deeper way than little frustrations, but he wanted to be punished. He wanted to be hurt. Yeah, that was it - not any real wish for death, but the wish to feel that grounding, inescapable pain. It kept him from unraveling. It kept the other ones from sinking in, because they could not bear the pain, because it gave that instant switch if they tried. It kept him in control, when the tapping of his fingers could not.

Peregrine's strong hand was sliding downward, down the side of his neck, smearing the blood from the bite marks. He wondered, idly, what would happen if he just let them keep biting - hard, harder, harder - if he would ever stop bleeding or if he would find himself resigned to bleeding out on the floor. He wondered. Would he even try to stop it? Would they? Would he care? What would happen? He kept wondering.

Their nails were dragging down and across his skin, and Lars' hands were tugging at Peregrine's dark hair, twisting and keeping a tight grip on the strands, keeping them pulled close as he kissed them. The pale-haired passive was pulled closer, closer, not close enough, his hips pushing forward over Peregrine's and back in slow motions. When they pulled away, Lars drew in a ragged breath, which was quickly exhaled as a laugh. Their hand was on his thigh, a finger holding to the waistband of his pants, and his laughter was only renewed when he heard Peregrine's, the human's breath hot against his ear.

"Do y'now?" he practically purred, his hands releasing their hair to fall instead to their neck. His fingers did not press, his thumbs sliding from their chin along the sharp line of their jaw. He pushed them back just enough to make eye contact, and leaned his forehead against theirs, smiling with all the drunken delight of a man who simply didn't care. Because he didn't. Not right now. Not when caring was a different sort of hurt, the kind he didn't like, the kind he was trying to cover up with the physical. Gods, he felt so giddy. Like he was in a constant state of adrenaline, like his body didn't know that he was seeking out the danger on purpose, like it was trying to run run run run run like Doris. There was another little laugh. Here he was, letting Peregrine grab his ankle and drag him down.

Lars considered their face with a hum, and then said, "told y' that I'd clean these, yeah?" His hands slid down their neck, down their chest, down their nice tan stomach, "bein' such a rude host! Need 'em off, first."

His touch continued down to the front of their trousers, injured fingers trying their best to undo them despite his current position making it a little difficult. Didn't help that he was still moving his hips against theirs, either. "An' mine too, since 'm already doin' yours," that made the most sense, right? Might as well get all of them out of the way. "Help me?" Clumsy fingers. Such clumsy fingers, couldn't do anything on their own. And he also just wanted to be moved around by those nice hands of Peregrine's, just a little bit, but it was mostly because he was just so clumsy, for sure. So he wanted to be rough handled a little bit. So what?

[Peregrine]

02 of Vortas, 2719 - Strange Hours
Lars' Floor

There it was, that look on that bleached-out spectrogram face. Like he didn't care about nothing at all, because it was all already over for him. Looking for some kind of self-destruction--Peregrine had seen that before, of course they had. Over the years, the way they were, the company that they tended to keep? Yeah, seen it plenty of times. Weren't never a good reason for it, but if Lars wanted to make Peregrine the method of his own execution they didn't mind neither. Happy to oblige. They were nothing if not accommodating.

"Sure do," they confirmed, thoughts and voice a little thick. Weren't enough blood in their brain, right? On account of it mostly being elsewhere, with better things to attend to than keeping them swimmy little thoughts all in a row. Hard to focus on being weapon and executioner, though that came natural enough to them now. Fair natural, they'd say. A skill finely honed with 185 years of practice and experience.

For a bit there, Peregrine had no idea what Lars was even talking about. Didn't care, really, he could say whatever he wanted with that pretty mouth of his--but then they remembered and there was something so fucking funny about it right now. Godsdamn fucking high-larious, that was.

"Y'know, now as you mention it, I do seem to recall somethin' like that." They weren't sure if this had been the man's intent from the start really. They didn't think so, thought as it was a genuine accident. Couldn't complain about the results though, not when they had such a lovely thing rocking up against them. Begging them to break him apart. Their mouth split open into another grin, just to show as they were joking. Weren't always clear when they was doing that, joking.

Help? Sure, they would help. Always happy to be helpful, that was Peregrine--or was that Gideon? Shit, they couldn't fucking remember anymore. Peregrine thought it was them that was helpful. Had helped so many folks before, hey? Helped them in lots of ways. Peregrine grabbed at Lars' wrists with more force than was necessary, knowing it was likely as to leave a mark. Didn't expect as they'd ever be seeing Lars again, so they wanted to leave something behind, see? A memento. Sentimental, they were. That was always their problem--too much sentiment. The iron grip of Peregrine's hands around those wrists, slimmer and finer than Gideon's, pushing them to the side. They were tempted, real tempted, to see if they could pull off the trick of just ripping that button right off. Maybe a bit much, given how drunk they were.

Of course, it was fair hard to do anything with the man continuing to rut up against them like that. Dilemma. They didn't really want him to stop. Sacrifices had to be made, they supposed. For the greater good. Helpful and selfless. Peregrine shifted forward, none too gently. It would have been hard for Lars to keep balance when they did it; likely he'd hit his head again. Weren't healthy, to hit your head so much. Clumsy. Pretty though, and it weren't like either of them were here for intellectual stimulation, right? Besides, Peregrine needed the room to be helpful. They made quick, rough work of it, tossing the clothing somewhere. Didn't much give two fucks as to where, they'd worry about that later. They were not under any illusions here--took too long to dry, right? So weren't nothing getting clean here. Dirtier, maybe. Smashed up. Just the kind of service Peregrine was here to provide.

"Rude host, yeah. Even needed help." Peregrine ran a hand over a pale thigh. They weren't grinning anymore, though they weren't frowning neither. Just that careful sort of blankness in all the muscles of their face. Looking down at Lars like a cat looked at a mouse beneath their paw. "Make it up to me." A command, delivered simple, flat, low. Didn't brook no argument, neither.