nysalogs | . under starless skies . closed

[What did you expect, Solomon?

A protest had been expected sooner - Takasugi's not dissuaded in the least when a hand wraps around his. He doesn't pull away from the grip, and for a moment, it stalls his pursuit.

So he can rake his eye over fingers, porcelain white - a fragile disguise.] Who said we were fighting?

[The only source of conflict Takasugi sees are their interlocked hands, his purpose paused to deliver a thumb of affection across the man's knuckles. Idle caress delivered - a pitiful attempt at pacification - he twists his hand away.

His previous rustling loosened the yukata enough that it's easy to pull the fabric down over shoulders.

All that's left keeping the whole thing from falling off is the waistband; Takasugi's meandering finds it without delay, fingers looping behind the fabric to tug it slack.]

[So they aren't.

Which somehow isn't as reassuring as he thought it would be. His hand lingers afloat between them, doing nothing in the way of having his sash undone. Even in his distaste for the whole matter, his cheeks remain ever-so-slightly darkened, he's visibly unhappy.

If Takasugi were to explain this entire thing as a fucked up mating ritual situation, he might actually change his tune?? Solomon's fucking dumb and fascinated by that shit himself, only this sort of thing happening between two men sort of diminishes any interesting possibilities.]

I don't like this. [Airing his contempt matter of factly, the only thing quelling him is how...nice...it is...to have Takasugi touching him. Even if the matter feels clinical, it's nice.] You should have mentioned this sooner.

[So he could come up with alternatives and distractions. The wine hadn't been enough...hm. As it is, he's behaving like a mild-mannered kid who doesn't want to wear his winter jacket to school mid-december. This sucks, but he won't have an outright fit over it.

Maybe that's not the best comparison.....but....]

[Premeditation isn't a factor in the way Takasugi pulls the sash from Solomon's waist, revealing narrow waist and slight hips. His hands run up the man's chest, a spur of the moment indulgence - much like the rest of his pursuit.

He hasn't actually spent his lone nights basking in the moonlight imagining what it'd be like to feel a suggestive tremble under hardened carapace. Those fantasies are occupied by exactly what Solomon expected: carving the beast apart bone by bone until his sword breaks.

And then ripping the rest away with his hands.

It's as much a surprise to him as it is to the blonde - though less to his chagrin than the other's apparent displeasure - that he's not seeking anything so caustic now. He offers reassurance in the form of a kiss, pressed into the divot where neck meets shoulder.

No teeth, only warm lips and a weighted sigh. There he lays his head, heavy while his hands coax fabric away from Solomon entirely, leaving him naked but for whatever the fuck underwear he's wearing.]

Let me see it... that form of yours.

[Solomon's like the opposite of those kids on Toddlers in Tiaras when they don't wanna perform in the Glitz part of the competition. He isn't so concerned with ulterior motives as much as he's concerned about the act in and of itself. It's far more innocent of a thing, as far as he's concerned, compared to any amount of traditional intimacy they've shared thus far. The contact, the mouth at his neck, the warmth of that sigh. All appropriate forms of persuasion.

Keep it up and he's gonna be 2 erect 2 transform. He's left in his toight black boxer briefs, same style as always, just like a goddamn boring ass anime character.]

I won't hold it for long. [Bullshit.] You should be so endearing when you aren't trying to exploit my affliction.

[As usual, it'll start with his arms -- habit, more than anything else. His fingers extend, spread, bonesharp and notched. A former palm brushes the less-damaged side of Takasugi's face, done strictly for affect. He's being handsy, lovey-dovey to begin with. Reciprocation goes hand in hand with compliance...

His fingers eventually join to form one blade; it falls, angles to press against the side of his throat though the motion lacks anything antagonistic, deliberately threatening. It's probable he's never been so intimately arranged with another at the time of transformation.

What a bad request.]

[Deliberate affection, levied to convince this hopeless man to shed his skin and reveal the monster beneath it, is both Takasugi's intention and his understanding. That his lips press another kiss, soft as the first, into pale skin even once Solomon has relented means nothing.

That his hands wander up slight sides, fingers gentle over ribs and sliding to roam the smooth curve of back, is an idle motion. One he assigns purpose, the glutton for pampering beneath him in need of constant placation.

Without that, it'd be left to wander and warp, become something unarguably tender.

Even once the transformation begins, his light caresses don't draw back. Instead they focus on the blade pressed into his neck, running over distorted and hardened flesh. He leans into the edge, skin splitting to trickle a single line of blood over his Adam's apple.

His fingers wrap to hold that weapon near; he intends to be a part of this transformation - he won't allow the monster to retreat as it breaks angles and grows into deformation.]

[Takasugi's lucky that Solomon isn't a fucking crazed ass lunatic in his transformation; the peek of blood isn't lost on him, nor to his senses. Eyes aglow, he'd convey some form of disappointment were he not in the middle of something.

Again...it's his birthday. He's free to indulge in however he sees fit. Solomon's a willing participant, yielding to his whims...whatever they may be.

Bloodplay, Bestiality...

In any case, those blades won't remain for long. Takasugi's free to enjoy the thrill of partially slitting his throat for a short while longer, but those limbs will eventually develop further into wings -- pronged at the joints, but the sharp knifelike edge of his (former) arms will become far too blunt to rend anything in any way. Prior to, skeletal legs add height, bones contorting and snapping to accommodate such an abrupt change. A familiar(?) carapace runs up from there, seeming to bloom out from beneath those caresses, warm but husk-like all the same.

It doesn't end at his neck; it ends when he's barely recognizable, something skeletal in place of soft features. Glowing red, he's searching the man now enveloped between heavy unconventional wings and a bared maw that lingers not a foot away.

Hmph. There's nothing romantic about it.]

[In the small cavern, the sounds of Solomon's gradual transformation echo. Draw out the arduous process, each snap of bone ricocheting throughout the chamber. As if a beast dwells inside, clamping its maw around a feast of prey.

A chaotic melody, rather than a lilting, romantic tune.

Takasugi remains silent, even as the blade in his hand stretches thin, loses its edge. He abandons the wing when it takes shape, perching himself on jutting hipbone to gain some vantage over the monster's chest.

He's still gliding his fingers over the flesh there, a caress that wanders further the more breadth grows underneath it. An inhuman color, the texture of hide, with breath that rattles deep within skeletal frame.

And human warmth.

With the transformation complete, Takasugi rises, not to his feet but to his knees, the leverage necessary to press forward. Lips brush ghastly maw, the curves there harsh - not the soft touch of lips but the precipice of bone and teeth.

In contrast to that severity, he offers gentle kiss after gentle kiss, hand working their way up chest to wrap around distorted neck, where he hangs his weight.]

[It's a form used for maiming, violence. Gorging. He can't place why Takasugi would ever prefer spending time in this beast's company, but he won't deny someone a special request on their Special Day -- it's a conditioned thing. See: Diva. The affection's felt through the barrier of carapace, not warm but weighty. Different from the pull at his neck.

He's unable to draw him close, arms and attached essentials having contorted to something to suit a monster. Wings keep him propped up, and his maw parts to reciprocate, tongue flicking out to tread lip -- an unpracticed thing. He may be off target. In the moment, it may seem like he's being indulgent...standing in place, allowing Takasugi to proceed as he sees fit, but as long as he's like this -- contorted and inhuman, he's goddamn virginal.

Give him like, ten minutes.]

[Tongue brushes his face, too wet too heavy - aimless. It smears over chin, lip, and cheek alike, chasing a taste of the man who coaxed it to life. Takasugi tilts his head, allowing the wandering only until the appendage stretches over his mouth again. Teeth lash out, sinking into the muscle, and guiding it to his lips. With tongue ls tangled, he drags his along the underside, encouraging it into his mouth.

More than even his wide lips can accommodate for; if Solomon obliges, Takasugi's left with spit leeking from the corners of his mouth.

Regardless, his lax embrace doesn't remain for long. Hands pull forward, wandering over jagged shoulders to descend chest. His fingers curl, but there's nothing soft beneath them. The skin doesn't give, pressure of carapice against pressure of callouses. Not until he reaches the creature's hips does Takasugi linger. There, hide is stretched taut between angled bone, not thin but there's a heartbeat to be felt under the pad of his thumb.

Maybe it's his own. Who knows...

Another sensation throbs, the precursor to something more desperate stirring in his gut. Finding reciprocation isn't so simple as gliding his hand between legs, but that's where Takasugi starts, dawing meandering curves over harsh angles.]

[Ah, sweet guidance. Being intimate like this is like trying to write left handed while being a practiced right-hander for life. He's delving in, messy and unwieldy; their mouths don't fit together the way they're meant to, they way they have. He thinks to pull away, starts to as Takasugi explores the flow hardened flesh. Calloused warmth exists, but not in detail. He can feel his touch, but his skin isn't quite so sensitive to it. A grunt marks the moment his explorations grow obscene, but there isn't any stirring between his legs.

It doesn't work like that anymore.

Without a hand to offer a rebuttal of sorts, he'll turn his head out of that kiss, nestling at the side of his head because he's Solomon & has to be a corny fuck about something eventually. Luckily, he's favoring the side where Takasugi's already lost an eye...since he's got some pointy ass horns atop his head. There's a step forward, urging him backwards, trying to pin him against the nearest thing for some stabilization. Being a fake amputee while trying to seduce your....

Friend. Is hard.]

[Spittle flecks the inside of Takasugi's mouth, discernibly cool in comparison to the thick mucous-like substance that coats the beast's tongue. Whether Solomon's communication in this form is relegated to grunts and roars, or there's something more eloquent to be heard, he doesn't know.

He isn't trying to find out.

He'd rather hear the beast's voice cracking, distorted by the cave's arches.

Tongue slipping from his mouth leaves him winded, chest heaving and throat constricting with labored breaths. Takasugi suffers the affection because he needs a moment. A respite to tilt his head into cranium and let his open mouth brush teeth against jutting horn.

He's missing that tongue already.

With the monster baring down on him, Takasugi does abandon their now wrinkled blanket to press back into the cave's wall. Rough rock skewing his posture is the bulwark Takasugi's complacency breaks against; he shifts aside, giving himself better position to wander more pointedly between Solomon's legs.

Fingers crawl along smooth carapace, searching for anything wet, anything tender, anything that goads a reaction. It's not the most sensuous of explorations - he's impatient.]

[We're not gonna talk about the string of saliva that acts like a connector for .3 seconds -- until Takasugi moves on, huh. He bows forward, acquiescing and nudging material from his shoulder simultaneously. It's a rough persuasion, something he can't really help in his current state. Tongue treads skin in a similarly unceremonious manner, favoring his throat in a borderline-clumsy manner.

Precision's lost on him, for how poised of a beast he is. Luckily he isn't up to anything that requires accuracy. He's simply tasting him as he had from the beginning.

For all of Takasugi's exploring, Solomon's not exactly bursting at the seams/providing anything rigid to grip onto. It still feels very clinical to him, like an experiment or a trial of some sort. At one point or another, he may finger his way against a slit; it's something more fleshy and malleable in comparison to the majority of the rest of himself.

He'll grunt if it's addressed, slide forward to cage him against the rock wall and himself, wings disturbing said wall in the slightest of ways; something about not knowing his own strength. The weight of his wings only cause some debris to shift, dredge up around them but nothing more than that.]

[Dully, Takasugi wonders if that tongue is long enough to wrap around his throat. Of course, Solomon could always claw it to shreds, but there's little by way of embracing he's capable of. Such a monstrous feat would hardly be intimate, but if his breath were to be cut off.

One fantasy into another, Takasugi's wandering stops for a moment. Long enough to flex his fingers against tough flesh and ponder what choking the beast would feel like.

His skin is left feeling thick, the trail of heavy drool left behind by the creature's tongue doesn't evaporate. It coats him, the humidity of the cave ensuring that it stay moist despite how chilled it becomes.

Unpleasant, but hardly worth dwelling on.

Not when he's found what he's been looking for. A slit, its purpose inconsequential in the face of Solomon's reaction. The wall behind him groans, rubble falling to stick on slick skin. Takasugi curls his fingers into the swell of flesh, two coaxing their way inside without concern for lubrication or comfort.

Continuing exploration, now with his full attention - eye trained upwards to watch the creature's breath in its throat because there's nothing to see on such a skull-like face.]

[His snout travels the length of Takasugi's face, unceremonious in taking his scent in -- musky and earthy as usual, far more acute in this form. It's a source of excitement. He's immersing himself while clawing at the dregs of normalcy, not exactly wanting to indulge so much to disregard this form versus the fleshier, fragile one he's toying with.

Having never toyed with a fleshbag in such a way -- it's cause for concern automatically. The weight of his bony wings up against that rockwall cleave some damage, little divots of rock and whatever debris fall from impact and he's only weighing heavier against it and Takasugi when he's delved into.

It's marked with a bestial sound, but it's nothing that should halt his explorations. Inside, he should be met with something fleshy; a roadblock that would prevent him from pressing in too far; it's his cock, left dormant in such a form for x amount of time. It really isn't like he summons this form for banging, but here we are and Takasugi's on the fucking hunt for excalibur (there it is). Some coaxing would have been nice, but he's only been prompted to do the Awkward Shuffle rather than draw back. He's trying to grind that slit up against his palm, seeking stimulation while combating an almost light-headed quality in like.

Never ever being fucking horny as a chiropteran beast. Bare teeth rest dormant against his shoulder, though he's breathing like a stuck bull. This is going to be the most unromantic thing of all time....]

[The gentle glide of nostril along his cheek leaves skin bristling in its wake. Suggestive not of the sensual but of the possibility it bares back. A scent of blood, a frenzy.

A beast gorging itself on prey trapped under its maw, shuddering as blood pools on the cave floor and everything grows cold.

In fantasies like those, Takasugi accepts his brittleness. Weakness that serves no other purpose than to get him killed. A quality Solomon may be jealous of, his life dragging one dull century after the other. He'll brag of it, taunt with it, even if he's the one drawing blood from himself.

His cheekbone thuds against the carapace resting on his shoulder, a heavy nuzzle that slows to something of a cheek to scalp caress. Romantic, if he weren't fist deep in monster cloaca. Takasugi's never actually fucked an alien before, much less a monster; his fingers stroke along the fleshy appendage rather than immediately take it in hand.

It's slick, just like the drool that's crusted over his face and chest. The discovery isn't disgusting, it's encouraging. Each bestial heave he works from the creature folded around him emboldens his exploration. Until he is wrapping his rough digits around that flesh, stroking without care for how his angle, his fervor, might be stretching the creature's ~~boipussy~~ slit.

All while his head dips lower, tongue brushing along exposed teeth before retreating under his own. He bites down, worrying the flesh until a bead of blood forms at the laceration. An offering, he leaves his mouth open.]

[And yet, here he is being manipulated by the dick. A heave of a sigh ruffles hair, gives way to a series of dramatic breaths. He's virginal in this form, and while Takasugi could care to be gentler...

There's no real call for it. That slit's gotta stretch eventually, he's wet enough on the inside that 90% of any involved discomfort is negated in that slickness (in slickness and health). His cock's in an ever-protest against that hand, protruding eventually past that opening -- just a bit at first, growing in his grips with searing encouragement. With his mouth hanging ajar, he's not remiss to overlook that tongue; his own lolls to the side, lazily trying to return a bit of something but he's a bit too late and all at once his senses are overloaded in an entirely separate means.

Ah, Takasugi's trying to get killed.

On a good day, he'd be mentally sound enough to lap at that offering like a doe from a stream. Where Takasugi's been urging him into a more carnal state -- and even whilst being aware of this, he's automatically recoiling, angling his head up and away like a street kid that's just been invited to their first Thanksgiving dinner but what are plates and utensils? Bony appendages pierce further into overhead rock, prompting a minor torrent of dust. He's making a goddamn mess and not even in a good way. Not yet. This isn't the monsterfuck session Takasugi wanted.

Try harder bitch.]

. under starless skies . closed

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HOLY SHIT HOW DID YOU FIND THE PERFECT IMAGE TO DESCRIBE TAKASUGI??

ohoho

its still funny

cute icon...

don't be gross

its gonna be gross

this is already gross

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