. all you have's your axe to grind . closed

[shikomizue]

Who: Takasugi Shinsuke (shikomizue) & "Friends" | Closed
What: Catch All For April-May-June
When: Over April / May / June
Where: Mostly Wyver, some Thesa and Olympia
Warning(s): alcohol + graphic violence + bang + will edit as needed

[ closed starters in the comments ]

Comments

[shikomizue]

[Solomon's cock only brushes the back of Takasugi's tongue once before he braces himself against that overeager sway of hips. Molars threatening the sensitive swell of head in his mouth, Takasugi raises his hands to plant them firmly on jutting hip bone.

Like that he holds the man in place under his dominion, his attention continuing pointedly uninterrupted.

When he chokes, it's entirely a result of gasping down some of his own spit in staggered breath, rather than anything Solomon's done. The coughing only tightens his cheeks against the other's cock, tongue pressing into it, a facsimile of intent pressure.

Before the motions resume, as usual - a constant build to climax.

One Takasugi expects, but not the way it comes (ay).

He hears the man's voice tittering, pitch heightened as his arousal comes to a precipice. One he'd intended on abandoning entirely, not one to wear a string of come across his face, nor taste another guy's ejaculate.

Solomon's strength doesn't permit the escape he'd wanted. Fluid spills into his mouth; startling, an immediate hiss of air pulling it into the back of his throat.

More choking, accompanied by the feeling of some rising in his sinuses to sting his nose.

By the time Solomon's emptied his entire load, Takasugi's calmed. Settled into glaring up at the man between fingers and rustled hair.

He pulls away the moment he can, falling gracelessly to the side to spit what remains in his mouth to the ground. (Towards Solomon's clothing, absolutely on purpose.) There's no afterglow, no tender touches offered - he can only think to get up and stab the bastard.

But when he actually tries to, his body sways and falls. Back into his shitty mattress, where he woefully settles. Rather than grope around for his threadbare blanket, he grabs his discarded yukata, pulling it half on top of him.

The liquor in his veins tugs at his eye, threatens sleep, but he can't rest. Not when the object of his ire is so close.]

[semblant]

[Once he's on E and Takasugi's been appropriately choked, he sinks against that wall, sentimental tingles running throughout, but he won't pursue the fleeing man. He's not one to apologize, but the quick start of one finds a place between strained breaths. He's focused on his company all the while -- vision occasionally going dark, eyes closing as if it'd help regain some composure.

It happens eventually, naturally. He unwinds after...close to a minute; still disheveled, regarding Takasugi with much less contempt. Not love, reverence....omitting how he'd just made a sincere attempt to taint his clothes just moments ago.

Speaking of, he'll make himself decent as soon as the thought occurs to him. His undies are drawn up first, pants, making quick work to dock them at his waist. He should, uh, probably leave, but the gay starry-eyed loser inside wants to. Join him. On his shitty destitute mattress. His back would surely be sore come morning, but it'd be worth it. All fifteen seconds of enduring that pain.

He'll step nearer, mopping at his forehead with a forearm, testing the concept. Takasugi's regarding him the same way a lion may observe a zebra, he hasn't not noticed as much...but....

But.]

[shikomizue]

[Shadows swirl in Takasugi's vision, unblinking glare levied upon Solomon as if it could force an artery to burst. His focus is sharp, despite how heavily his entire body sinks into the mattress. The nape of the blonde's neck receives his utmost contempt; it's too pristine.

Next time, he'll leave blossoms of purple and black in a ring, so deeply sown into muscle they aren't healed until morning.

The thought doesn't pacify him, but it's an enamoring enough fantasy to move him. Only inches, shoulders hunched under his makeshift blanket and jaw nestled into pillow. From his vantage, he sees the man above with a truly confounding countenance.

Like he wants something? Like he's lonely...?

There's a shrug, subtle and dismissive, before he adjusts more blatantly. That his shifting has opened up more space on the mattress is 'purely coincidental'. He's turned away, a final icy glance over the shoulder spared before he burrows in for sleep.]

[semblant]

[Maybe he is lonely, it isn't something he'd ever discuss. Being an immortal weirdo doesn't exactly pave the way for interpersonal relationships. It isn't something he'd ever discuss aloud, unless compelled to by some unseen force (thank you nysa). While post-coital tristesse is a compelling thing...

He shan't be making a big deal of this. The arrangement's more like an uncertain cat trying to figure out how to rest alongside a pitbull. He'll sink into the offered space eventually, not exchanging a single word as his back presses to Takasugi, facing outward, away just as well. He's still warm from reaching his peak, otherwise he may hazard a grip in reverse, urging him to share.

For now, he's content to lie in sleepy silence, mopping his hairline with an open palm, slicking his bangs back with sweat in an uncharacteristically disgusting display.

This whole scene is gross.]

[shikomizue]

[Warmth flush against his back, Takasugi lays motionless, as if the grip of sleep had already coiled around him. He's awake, eye open and unfocused, consolidating himself against the spine coiled with his.

He'd expected an arm draped over his waist - perhaps some idle caress invading his space far more than an eager cock or trembling lips had.

Without a sigh, he closes his eye. Not disappointed, but their inertia has plateaued - the evening fades into a haze, culminating behind his eyes not three hours later. A strong enough swell to rouse him. Takasugi sits up to meet a shiver; the cool, dark room is still.

But for the gentle sway of a few stray strands of blonde hair at his side. In the dim moonlight, they almost appear white - he stares until the ache becomes unbearable. Slowly, not out of consideration for the other's slumber, but his own misery, Takasugi rises.

Seeks a windowsill, folding his yukata loosely around himself and gathering pipe and a small bottle of alcohol on his way. Perched there, he'll spend the remainder of the night nursing his hangover with liquor and smoke, watching the night through cracks in the grime covered window.]

[semblant]

[For someone with an inclination for luxury and comfort, Solomon's fast asleep without a single bid to cuddle and review their feelings. Maybe he'd rather not know, maybe he doesn't give a shit. Whatever the case may be, it isn't compelling enough to keep him awake.

And sleep he does. He's passed out through Takasugi's movements, the cold absence of a body within reach does nothing for him. Bidness as usual.

What does have him stirring is that smell. Smoke, fire, it's immediately foreboding. His nostrils twitch at first, then he's rolling flat unto his back. Just as his eyelids pry themselves apart, he's distinctly aware of how comparable the scent is to Takasugi in general on any given day.

It's still dark, but there's a silhouette by the window, one that's easily identifiable as both his companion and the culprit. It's another moment or so before he's pulling himself up post-stretch -- not nearly rested enough, but he'd like not to be the only person in the room laid out so vulnerably.

He'll make an inward note about Takasugi stinking up the room with his crappy tobacco while sitting by a window that looks perfectly functional -- openable, disturbing his sleep after effing him in the butt. Rude.

Blindly, he'll shuffle his fingers through his hair, try to make himself look decent for a pending walk of shame. He won't ask to use his bathroom, his shower specifically. Not before, not now, probably won't in the future either. He won't spare a word, tasking himself with trying to stretch himself far enough to reach his shirt without actually getting up from that shitty mattress. It's an eventual success, the garment lies open across his shoulders.

Awkwaaardd....he's just finna keep getting dressed.]

[shikomizue]

[Bottle of alcohol hanging in his hand, the rim once cool now warm against his lip, Takasugi had fallen into something of a trance. Between waking and sleeping, he stares through the warped windows at nothing but shapes, colors, seeing there memories rather than abstract beauty.

People milling about a village on a rainy day, he smells fresh fallen droplets in dirt rather than the burning of his tobacco.

Motion breaks the haze, at once he's thrust from nostalgia to the darkness of his room.

Spitefully, he doesn't spare the roused man a glance.

With the amount of shuffling, broken by pauses where breath hitches, tumbling forward in a sigh, Takasugi assumes he's planning on staying awake. Leaving, likely...

There's nothing he has to say to a man on his way out the door.]