Open RP: Smutty nonsense

[avali]

 DIRTY THINGS GO HERE

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Open RP (non-smutty version)

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I KNOW YOU TOO WELL

[tradeprince]

[Vehiron doesn't have a problem with spying on his fellow Magisters. He doesn't have much of a problem with anything, actually, except maybe for boxes, or closets or cramped spaces and heights, and, of course, when people look at him All Wrong.

And Adrasteius always does: judges and pushes him, threatens to ruin his fun or lock him up somewhere cramped enough to make his skin itch. It's frustrating, and irritating, and turns his thoughts darker than he means for them to be.

--well, that's not true. They're as dark as always, it just pushes him to act on them, instead.

It's just around sunset that he slinks off to the gardens just outside of Murder Row, hoping to catch sight of Adrasteius meditating after a long day of stale bureaucratic banter.]

u do u do

[bloodspeaker]

[Adra's sitting there, on a bench, his legs folded up one under the other. It had been a trying day in council, as he had spent the better part of two hours arguing passionately about the situation in the Ghostlands. Supplies were scarce, and the people stationed there needed relief. The council had mostly yawned in response.

Their yawns had deepened when he switched tactics to discuss the matter of the enormous orphan population, and the strategies he had developed to ameliorate the problem. Plans for an orphanage were shrugged at; ideas for a banquet were met with interested looks until Adrasteius mentioned the purpose; etc.

In other words, it was all just business as usual.

His mouth twitches in irritation as he sits, reviewing the meeting's many injustices and indignities. Vehiron's bored, sneering face is prominent among that review.]

[tradeprince]

[And Vehiron's hands, nails sharp with malice, digging heavy gouges into Adrasteius's shoulders from behind.]

Long day again, Bloodspeaker?

[bloodspeaker]

[Adra cripples under the pressure of Vehiron's weight, hissing in pain.]

Yes. Largely because of you.

[He squirms, trying to get away from Vehiron's grip.]

Get off of me.

[tradeprince]

[Adrsteius's fidgeting means nothing; Vehiron might be frail, but Adrasteius is like glass by comparison. He holds him fast, leans in close.]

I'm only saying hello to a fellow city servant. It'd just be rude if I left now...

[bloodspeaker]

You've said hello. [he squirms, hissing.] Besides, don't you think calling yourself a servant of anything is a little much?

[tradeprince]

Would you prefer it if I called everyone else mine? [There's something wholly satisfying about Adrasteius's writing: the curled tips of his ears, the huffs of frustration caught up in his throat.

He loves it, and he's more than happy to drink it in.]

[bloodspeaker]

I would prefer it if you got the hell off of me! [he tries to wrench his body away, growling.]

[tradeprince]

[Given that Adrasteius has all the strength of a sparrow dying in the winter cold, Vehiron doesn't have any trouble keeping that from happening.]

Try again, Magister. Maybe if you ask nicely.

[bloodspeaker]

Fuck you. How's that for nice? [GROAN. SQUIRM. COME ON, MAN.]

[tradeprince]

[Sharp teeth sink into the soft flesh of his earlobe within seconds of the tail end of his question. Rude, Adrasteius.]

Not nice enough.

[bloodspeaker]

[Adra swallows hard against Vehiron's bite, hissing.]

Don't touch me. You're disgusting.

[tradeprince]

I just want to help you, Bloodspeaker.

[His tongue traces the outline of Adrasteius's ear, teeth scraping over sensitive skin the entire way.]

You should let me.

[bloodspeaker]

[Adra shudders, grinding his teeth as he stifles any other obvious reactions.]

You're never interested in helping anyone but yourself. And we're in public, god damn it!

[tradeprince]

We are. [Vehiron repeats, muttering the words as he buries his face down low in Adrasteius's neck and inhaling the faint, crisp scent of arcane magic.]

But that can be fixed...