[Mature] Like Sands Through The Hourglass...

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Anaxas' main trade port; it is also the nation's criminal headquarters, home to the Bad Brothers and Silas Hawke, King of the Underworld. The small town of Plugit is nearby.

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Elias Mercucianno
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Fri Jul 05, 2019 10:46 am

Bethas 35th, 2719
OLD ROSE | MORNING
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Elias opened his eyes to the sound of Xavier’s voice, lifting his head slightly to look towards the doorway, before letting it rest again. The wick had promised him clothing, and the door was unlocked, so there was no surprise at the taller Gioran’s presence initially.

“Hurte wouldn’t let that happen my lovely moonshard, no matter how much I might desire it.” He drawled lazily, looking up again with surprise as the unclothed being sauntered into the bathroom and towards the bath, making it clear they were going to get in. The Bastian watched without shame as pale limbs reached to move his legs out of the way to give the lanky Gioran room to squeeze into the small porcelain tub, a wet black curl of hair escaping its temporary home to curl over his forehead. Gold rimmed eyes skimmed over pale skin as long legs found a comfortable place against his person and the edges of the bath, lifting to watch as elegant faded pastel and white locks were released from their confinement.

“You are so very beautiful, Xavier. And I am so very undeserving.” The galdor muttered, shifting gently to cradle the unabashed creature between his own tanned legs and reaching for the toes that were curled so mischievously on his chest. Pressing with firm thumbs, Elias stroked the pad of the wick’s foot in slow movements, both washing the appendage and massaging away the chilled walk from the beach to the room. His lips curled into a half smirk, looking down at the toes that were drawn between his hands as they continued to talk, and slowly the smirk faded. He paused the movements, lifting bleary tired eyes to meet the violet hues of the musician’s, too tired of it all to even try and put on his mask again. Xavier saw him, they saw the cracks and the chips, the emptiness behind his manic laughter and debaucherous alcoholism.

They saw through it all.

“I tried Xav, I really did, but I feel like no matter what way the dice fall they are always against me. I’ve tried being happy, and it blew up in my face. Hurte has cursed me to live a long life, so I can face up to my mistakes every day. I’ve been running headfirst towards death, because I thought it would make things better and now I—” He lowered the other’s foot, pushing both hands through dripping hair and gripping dark curls.

“I never planned to survive my backlash, but I did and by Hurtes Whiskers it’s terrifying. It’s like I’ve lost an arm or a leg, and it hurts like a heart ache.” Snorting tipsily, Eli let his hands drag from his hair to rest on the quartz skin that almost glowed just under the water, gaze unable to help drifting across all that was far too familiar to forget and far to close to ignore.

“Haven’t they already won though? I don’t even have two coins to rub together anymore, all I have left of my life is a…a….an old harpiscord and a broken pair of glasses. What do you expect me to do Xavier? Fight? Call the Seventen? I’m basically a passive in their eyes, they wouldn’t help me. The mona hates me, avoids me like I’m poison.” Thumbs a little rougher than sober would expect brushed over the Gioran’s calves, the dark haired creature sitting forwards a bit and letting them roam further upwards, as though unable to stop himself from touching the delectable expanse before him.

“What would you do?” He asked quietly, broken field brushing against the whole glamour that pressed against him, rivulets of water escaping his hair to run down his cheek and off his chin. His gold and green gaze looked intently at the albino, as though staring long enough would wash all his aching away and release him from the Gods grasp.

“If you were me, what would you do Xavier?” The words were almost a whisper, eyes dropping to dusky violet lips and hands curving over thighs and hips, unable to deny the warmth that fill his senses when the musician had entered the bath. In all his seriousness and woe, Elias wanted the Gioran like some addiction. He craved the feeling, the sense of being wanted and understood. The closeness of not just physical comfort but something more, sharing a bond with the other man.

Shifting onto his knees, the hot water lapping around their naked forms, the last of the Mercucianno’s reached for damp faded locks. He ran wet fingers through the threads, letting it fall slowly like a cascading waterfall.

“You should wear your hair out more often, it’s so lovely.” His voice rumbled deep within his chest, tone huskier than before, reaching for the vague sense of contentment the pale instrumentalist had given him previously. Leaning forward further, the raven haired man almost brushed his lips against Xaviers they were so close, and with a catch of his breath Elias turned away to press a kiss to white locks instead.

"Why don't you run Xavier? I'm no good, ne...uh...hama? No. Ne hady." The galdor butchered two languages together, testing words he'd heard in the past and the present.



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Xavier Zhirune
Posts: 90
Joined: Tue Jan 29, 2019 4:00 pm
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Race: Wick
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: Not all that glitters be ging. Some 'f it's me.
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Fri Aug 16, 2019 4:11 pm

Cessandra's Oasis
in the EARLY MORNING of the 35th of BETHAS, 2719

"Ent deservin' 'f me? Eyyyhada, Eli, shut yer head. I ent anythin' special, pretty 'r ne." Scoffed the flattered pale musician, Xavier flustered by such a compliment as much as they were enticed by the brush of their pale skin against the Bastian's body. Ah, but at least the poor jent played along, thumbs finding all the right places against the soles of the tall Gioran's feet. Theatrical about it, the albino wick sighed and leaned against the back of the tub, tossing both arms over the edge and staring up at the ceiling, putting on a performance of appreciation. For a few moments, their violet eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, wanting to just enjoy nothing more than a thoughtless massage and a hot bath with a handsome Bastian, wanting to drift back down the Avora to Surwood Isle, wanting to be far away from here.

But here he was talking again.

Opening one eye and pressing one flushed cheek against a moonlit shoulder, they took in the dark-haired galdor's handsome face and felt the weight of his sad words in the frayed burden of his field. Xavier chewed on their bottom lip, feet drifting away from Elias' hands and settling on either side of the man's hips while he whined about curses and death, while he spit on his god and spoke of fear.

The self-loathing wasn't unfamiliar, and while the pale musician had spent most of their lives convinced that galdori couldn't possibly know the depths of suffering an abomination like themselves did, this godsbedamned jent was crashing through all of their assumptions as if they were thin panes of cheap glass. Xavier exhaled through their teeth as the galdor shifted toward them, his hands on their knees and his tone full of something far more needful than mere desire.

"Ye can fix what ye've broken with th' mona, Eli. Ent anythin' wrong with bein' a passive, mind ye. I were born 'f one an' I turned out just fuckin' fine, mujo ma." The albino wick whispered, chiding him harshly, lithe fingers brushing over the ones that were moving higher up their pale body, breath catching in their narrow chest as the galdor's palms approached their thighs, "Ent anyone's won a thing so long as yer livin', though. Coins can be stolen back. Earned again. Homes rebuilt. Clothes bought. Music made. Life can be lived instead 'f thrown away, ye chen. Ye let them win by dyin'. Ye let them win by givin' up. For fuck's sake, look 't all th' victory ye've let 'em an' th' Circle taste already?"

Their own hands traced up over dripping arms to cradle Elias' face, their glamour mingling without judgment in the broken, sharp-edged field of the broken, sharp-edged galdor in front of them. Thumbs brushed handsome cheekbones and palms came to rest against that damn handsome chin.

Why were they always holding everyone else together?

Would anyone ever truly offer them the same kindness?

That realization stung, tasted bitter, and turned their empty stomach.

"Why d' ye think I steal? I could jus' be a damn fine musician, but—" They hummed, body stirring in Elias' vicinity, unable to resist how the angle of the man over their own pale form made them not at all want to have this useless conversation. They searched his face, huffing a needful breath between their teeth how the galdor's expression mirrored their own. They closed their eyes for a long moment, frown creasing its way into their moonlit features,

"—I don't know what I'd do were I yer blessed-born golly self, Eli. I ent ever gonna be like y'are. I can't imagine comin' from th' life ye did, I can't imagine havin' what ye had. I can imagine losin' family—I lost mine in a way, though whether 'r ne they're still livin', I ent gotta clue. I came from nothin' an' made th' life I've got now by m' own two hands—happy an' free—just t' say fuck off t' jent like yerself who told me I were nothin' but garbage. I'm gonna take what I want an' live as I please 'cause this is all I've got. This body, this mind, this heart. Mine—"

Xavier understood. They did. They knew.

The tall Gioran's hands slid away from Elias' face to rest on his chest, fingers curling into flushed skin and dark hair, frowning at him with such an expression of defiance as if they truly despised themselves for this common ground the pair stood on. They tsked at the galdor's continued compliments, tilting their head when he ran fingers through their hair,

"An' ye should find better uses for that sweet mouth other than jus' bitchin' an' moanin'." Purred the petulant wick, grinning up at the man with their tongue pressed against their tinted lips. Flushed with the heat of the water and the warmth of arousal,

The ersehole had the nerve to lean closer, and Xav let a noise of surprise and wanting escape their parted lips, stirred by the motions of Elias' body so close to their own, welcoming the change of subject from too much honesty and self-hatred to something far less revealing and far more enjoyable. Not at all as shy as the man above them, they pressed lips to the dark-haired man's stubbled jaw, to his neck, to his shoulder—

Why don't you run?

—only to sink teeth into flesh with a snort of a laugh, hands having already slipped from the galdor's chest to his hips, pulling him closer still. Biting him to hold back more ridiculous laughter, Xavier growled against Elias' shoulder, choking on words for a moment because hama had dug a little under their translucent skin,

"All I do 's run, godsdamnit." The pale musician admitted, the glories of Surwood still too fresh in their mind, Juniper's touch still to close to the surface of their memory. They couldn't settle. They had nowhere to go. They didn't deserve anything more than this Bastian galdor: they deserved even less.

Shifting their body beneath him, water splashing over the edge of the tub, they leaned their head back and met Elias' gold-rimmed gaze with their violet hues,

"I ent any good, neither. An' yet here we be, both livin'. It's a real shit hand 'f cards ye got dealt, ye chen, bein' th' sole survivor 'f that accident, losin' folks ye love, losin' yer golly money an' yer golly houses. Woe's fuckin' ye. Ent like I've been dealt all th' good hands in this damn game we're playin', neither, but ye don't see me mopin' d' ye? Th' mona's a forgivin' lot, t' be fair. It's people who ent. Ye got breath in yer lungs—why waste it?"

They spoke against the skin of his shoulder, against his neck, nibbling his ear, whispering against his delicious jaw, tickling his lips by the last syllable, achallenge in their tone,

"Fix what ye can. Pick yerself up. Live th' life ye got. But first, thank me proper for this daring rescue, ye mung bastard."

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Elias Mercucianno
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Sat Aug 17, 2019 7:47 am

Bethas 35th, 2719
OLD ROSE | MORNING
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Ent anythin' wrong with bein' a passive, mind ye. I were born 'f one an' I turned out just fuckin' fine, mujo ma."

Elias felt a hot flush of guilty shame rush over his features, swearing softly under his breath and pausing his slow creep towards the Gioran.

“Shit. Xavier I didn’t mean…I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant they won’t help…nevermind. I’m sorry, that was incredibly insensitive.” He said, chagrined by his lack of forethought and surprised at how much he cared. Give him a few seasons in the past, before Xavier and before burning down his own fucking house, Eli wouldn’t have apologized. He wouldn’t have given a gods-be-damned-hingles-erse whether he offended someone. Shifting to move closer again, the brunette man leaned into wet hands, wishing he could disappear in this moment and never come back.

More words, digging without malice but making it painfully clear that the galdor was selfish, made the Bastian groan quietly.

“Ouch.” Eli said quietly, not arguing with the moonlit being, too tired to fight. He was garbage, a petulant child bemoaning his sad and sorry life, because he couldn’t stop the guilt that ate him up inside. The aching that haunted him. Seven years, anyone else would have found their feet by now, anyone else would have made something of their wealth and their brains. Instead, the stupid man had fallen into excess to stave off feeling those hurts. He let the pieces fall regardless of who he hurt and what damage he did.

It was no wonder someone had ruined him.

The stubble faced galdor dropped his head for a moment, taking a deep breath to stop himself from feeling the hurt in Xaviers words. The wick was clearly done with his woes, and frankly Elias wasn’t surprised. Their meetings had been glorious and eye opening, or they had been for the Bastian. What had they been for the tall, lithe creature?

Clocks, he hadn’t even asked. He’d taken, he’d indulged, just like always.

Chuckling deep in his chest at the Gioran’s wicked joke, Eli lifted his head and brushed close, so close, only to disappear into the soft white locks that he so adored. His eyelashes fluttered as violet lips caressed his jaw, his neck, his shoulder—

The galdor hissed in surprise when firm white teeth pressed hard against the warm tan of his shoulder, resting palms against the edge of the bathtub so he could hover over the being, drawing back slightly to look down into the softness of their face. Hands shifted, water splooshed, and Elias bit his lip as he couldn’t resist rocking his hips against Xaviers with a languid stroke.

“Alright.” He said quietly, face warm as those same soft lips returned to the skin of his shoulder with far less aggressive actions, stopping himself from turning his head to capture them, instead allowing the Gioran to come to him and brushing against the tantalizing tickling of his mouth.

“I don’t think I can be fixed, but…I’ll try. I have to fucking try because what else is there.” Elias hummed a small laugh, bitter in its tone.

“Not like I have anything left to loose, right?” Groaning with the wicked challenge the taller creature had set, Eli rocked his hips again, capturing the wick’s lips almost forcefully. He inhaled deeply through his nose, stealing a firm and satisfying kiss whilst their bodies pressed together under the warmth of the water.

“Oh, I see how it is.” The Bastian rumbled, sitting back on his knees to run his hands over pale arms and quartz shoulders, feeling his way over the gentle ridges of ribs and under the curve of nearly feminine hips. Pressing his fingers into albino flesh, Elias lifted Xavier slightly, bringing him closer to rest on his lap against the hard obviousness of his arousal.

“My prince. My pretty shard of moonlight.” He groaned, wrapping his hand unashamedly around the Gioran’s own warmth, moving with a slow but focused determination. His gold rimmed eyes watched the pale face, leaning over the others body to kiss him again with a needful sound, the friction of movement between them teasing the galdor.

“Will this be thankyou enough, or am I misunderstanding?” Eli muttered quietly, free hand squeezing supple flesh gently and roaming over all that could be touched, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind this was wrong. He shouldn’t find his happiness in the body of this decadent being and yet, he craved them.

You ersehole.

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Xavier Zhirune
Posts: 90
Joined: Tue Jan 29, 2019 4:00 pm
Topics: 10
Race: Wick
Location: On Tour
: Not all that glitters be ging. Some 'f it's me.
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Writer: Muse
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Mon Sep 09, 2019 2:53 pm

Old Rose Harbor
in the EARLY MORNING of the 35th of BETHAS, 2719

"Used t' it." Whispered Xavier while they watched Elias backpedal about passives, smirking with unashamed satisfaction, "Yer jus' an ignorant Bastian, after all, livin' 'n equally—'f ne more ignorant—Anaxas. Ne'veryone realizes passives be golly children, ne'ven their own parents, eh?"

They moved their body, no less greedy for the distraction of the Bastian's flushed skin against their own. Far more interested in their handsome form than their increasingly horrible sob story, the pale musician let a little humor slip between them, finding it difficult to stay serious and focused now that they'd gone and climbed into the deliciously warm bath with a man with such an irresistible face.

It was easy to kiss that face, far easier than it should have been. But, gods, the dark-haired jent just kept talking and finally the willowy Gioran couldn't stand it. Teeth dug into firm flesh and they enjoyed the reaction, stifling a giggle only to have it turn into a gasp when Eli purposefully teased them both with the rocking of his ridiculously eager hips. It was wrong, but oh, so right. Xav could have stopped. Should have stopped.

They did not need any of this mess.

Instead, they sighed, rolling their eyes with dramatic flair as the man continued to be overly dramatic about how horrible and hopeless his life seemed. Perhaps it really was—hopeless—now that he had nothing. Perhaps if he hadn't wasted it all over the years, he wouldn't have been stuck here. Now. They had more to say, they wanted to speak to how little the jent had to lose—

But Elias stopped them with their lips, with their hungry mouth and taunting motions. Xavier whined, not ready to give up any of their perceived control in this situation at all. Elias' hands moved roughly, attempting to tug the willowy musician into a position they wouldn't normally object to but just weren't in the mood for. They knew where this was going, flushed and dizzy, but gods if he didn't always want it his way. Greedy fucking galdor—here Xavier was helping him and the bastard was still making demands,

"Ne, ye don't—" Moaned the Gioran, colorless eyelashes fluttering as the Bastian's hand moved so purposefully. They bit their lip, sucking in air, one of their own hands curling around the edge of the tub while the other placed a palm flat against the olive-skinned chest of the man beneath them, attempting to catch the man's attention, "—Eli, wait. This ent thankin' me. This jus' be gettin' more 'f what ye want. I mean, I want ye, too. I can't seem t' say ne t' ye like some weak dumberse. But, listen—"

They felt everything, glamour merging with the mess of Elias' field, but they were no less gentle in their movements. Slipping away from the man's lap, they shifted to their knees between his and made it obvious in their press closer that they had every intention of reversing the galdor's expected roles for this moment. Their lithe fingers wandered over skin made flush by hot water, palms forceful in their repositioning, demanding in their desire to not be seen as just a particular type of plaything. Far from gentle, uncaring of how much water splashed and spilled, they didn't refuse more of the man's kissing, nibbling along his lower lip, reaching to trail their hand down the galdor's chest, far more direct when their palm found its destination,

"—it ent 'bout winnin' an' losin'. It's jus' about livin'. People forgive an' move on sometimes, an' believe 't 'r not, I think so does th' mona when it wants. If th' gods ent let ye die yet, ne matter how hard ye've tried, m'haps ye should be lookin' for what they want from y' instead? Ye know, after I get what I want first." Grinned the pale musician, already breathless as they teased the other man with a firm, swift rhythm of their hand, the bath making their motions easier but also limiting. They smirked, hinting at how they wanted things to go, at how they wanted to enjoy their sense of control, with the bucking of their narrow hips, persistent for Elias to give of himself, pressing harder against the Bastian's inner thigh, pressing lower,

"Vita ent ever revolved 'round ye, ye chen. Ent ever revolved 'round me neither. I shouldn't even help ye, ye mung bastard." Xav mumbled, frustrated at how easily they let things happen, pausing for more distracted kisses, pausing to just enjoy touching and being touched, to just be carried away for a few heartbeats in foolishness. Sometimes, they took what they wanted, too. Sometimes, they did as they pleased, also.

Was any of this gratitude? Or just gratification?

The pale musician had dragged this handsome piece of erse off the beach. They'd promised to help him find his footing. Somehow.

Should they have?

Could they even?

What kind of thanks did they really want? Sex was easy. Sex was fun. Sex without regret was detectible, but everything about Elias carried with it the faintest notes of regret. Were there redeemable galdori out there?

Xavier's instincts said no. Never. They weren't the only ones who'd been burned on the pyre fueled by golly power and control, either. How much more wrong was it to think for even the briefest of moments about Juniper and his struggles, about Surwood, even as the albino wick continued to taunt further, to rock their hips in a teasing mockery of pleasurable thrusts until perhaps Elias welcomed their bodies together? It was wrong, but it wasn't as though the pale musician ever felt capable of being proper right, anyway.

"I don't belong t' anyone, but given y'ent even got a pair 'f shoes, neither d' you, Eli." The willowy Gioran whispered fiercely, practically another moan.

If they were going to commiserate down some self-destructive path, they'd do so gloriously. If they were going to attempt to repair the life of some hardly worthy stranger, they'd do so to better themselves.

Somehow.

No less selfish, really.

No more deserving, either.

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