The Taste of Revenge

  • So many newbies lately! Here is a very important PSA about one of our most vital content policies! Read it even if you are an ancient member!
"As you said, I'm a struggle to read." Ivory replied simply once pulling away and taking in the man below him. He couldn't though, not for long - not if he wanted to be reminded of the guilt that was boiling in his stomach. Here he was, happy to please the Prince under any means necessary now that they both decided it would be okay, only for his ancestors and his friends screaming within his mind about how what he was doing was no different than what he was doing before; being a servant to the Prince, a dog eager to do as his master was told.

He was only human, right? Though he doubt that was what the King and Queen saw him as. No matter, he was just a man - a man with human desires, how much more proof did he need? Elior represented everything wrong with not only his own life but for the lives of his entire people, yet he found himself almost nuzzling the other's hand as it ran through his black locks, that purr reaching his throat. He knew he ought to use their closeness to simply put Elior out of his misery, perhaps offer some kisses to his neck before using his sharp teeth to rip out his throat. Maybe, if he wanted to be truly sympathetic, simply snap the man's neck once he had Elior out on all fours, begging for him.

Instead, he was offering eager kisses to the other's cheek and neck as he caught his breath. He wanted so desperately to lean into this momentary bliss; a moment where he could forget the consequences of their actions, of who they were and what they meant to their own people. Was it selfish? Maybe. Absolutely. Maybe. He listened intently to Elior's breathing as he spoke, the feeling of the fire warming his back as a hand moved under the other's pajama shirt to feel his skin.

"There's nothing I would rather do in this moment then fuck you until you're begging me to have mercy on you," Ivory spoke, once against blunt - however, his voice was hushed, as if speaking aloud despite whispering it directly into Elior's ear. "Though if that isn't what you want, I won't do it. I'm not here to torture you., Elior."
 
"Oh, fuck me, is it? Well, that's not very romantic. Doesn't quite fit into the setting you've created for us with this lovely fire and intimacy. I was expecting you to want to make love to me; gently, tenderly, kindly," he huffed in feigned disappointment, his eyes latching onto Ivory's. It took a few seconds for the facade to drop, another laugh breaking from his lips in response to having even pretended he could maintain it for a substantial amount of time.

It had been easy to adopt the facade in front of Ivory when they first met. He was just another person he had to fool at that time; someone of complete insignificance and inconsequence, who would be easily taken in by Elior's acting prowess and, like so many before him, fall for the charm that he oozed. In a twist he could never have seen coming, Ivory hadn't exactly fallen for such a facade, and perhaps that was part of the reason Elior had struggled as massively as he did to keep the act going on in his presence.

But now that that act had been abandoned in its entirety, the chances of him ever being able to visibly keep any lie going when Ivory was the only person who had gotten to know who he truly was (and seemingly didn't care too much, or he wouldn't be on top of him, purring sweet nothings into his ear) was... slim, potentially even impossible. Ivory had seen who he was, been granted access to the person behind the mask.

He had seen through the facades when they first met; he was only going to see through any future deceptions, regardless of the intentions behind them, with fine-tuned expertise now they had become this close.

Thus, unable to keep the feigned annoyance going for more than a few seconds, Elior returned to focusing on the moment; on what he really wanted from it.

"As cute as a tender moment might be, I have a feeling I'm going to be in for something altogether more... passionate, hm? Something more indicative of all those urges you have for me; that hunger in your eyes," he continued, his voice soft but imbued with seductive undertones, the eagerness to tip Ivory over the edge and dismantle whatever self-control he currently still possessed being immense. He wanted to tempt him to abandon the efforts he was making to be gentle with him, even if that meant having to spell the fact out, clearly and without room for debate.

"I think it's well-established what my preferences are, hm? And you seem awfully capable of fulfilling them for me - and I for you," proceeded Elior in the same hushed, whispered tone, his touches mirroring that softness even if the content of his request, of his desires, was anything but. A hand moved to settle on Ivory's arm, his fingers applying a little pressure in order to take in the feel of the firm bicep beneath the fabric of his shirt; a feeling that immediately warmed his cheeks.

"I assure you, I'm more than capable of taking whatever you have to throw at me."
 
A sparkle could be seen in Ivory's words, a childish curiosity mixed with that carnal hunger he so craved but forced down. The two personalities often had to clash but through dedication and hard work, the lapidarist was able to subdue them both. He could mask his feelings well, blend in so easily amongst others - it was a trait that often scared him upon reflection, how well he could mask himself.

Unfortunately, Elior seemed to cut that mask up quite a bit as a grin grew on his lips in excitement. He couldn't exactly say why he was so prone to Elior, why he wanted so badly to fall onto either of his thoughts - but he had a theory.

In the past, when he considered his scheme and truly contemplate the hatred he felt towards The King of The Light, there was no physical embodiment of anyone from their land to look at; to project unto. He could force his feelings down, both his childlike urge for reunion and his dangerous lust for revenge, and instead hide away those feelings to focus on the plan. Now that he had the Prince, below him and desperate for his touch, perhaps it was no longer easy to look past those thoughts?

He wasn't exactly ready to psychoanalyze himself, not when he was more than ready to instead succumb to the lust both men were clearly feeling. He moved to remove the wrap of fabric that hid his body once noticing the other so desperate to feel his well-worked muscles. The only thing blocking up the completely void black that was his body were scars, his skin instead a heather grey were the wounds once existed. Most were from work; a shard of iron cut loose and impaling him, falling off his post onto the ground below, the typical workplace incident in a place with no labor laws. There were a few from his childhood as well, darker in color and smaller in nature as the memory of him eagerly running after his sister and slipping against slippery stone caused him to hit his head on a rock. The scar itself is well hidden within his hair, but the scar from when he had tried to fish in the river ended with a fishing hook in his chest wasn't.

Memories lined his body, their color distinct in contrast to his own skin. He took Elior's hand gently and led it to his chest, happy and eager or the other to memorize the map of dips and chiseled heights that his body offered from so much work.

"I'm sure you can, Prince Elior," he continued, his breath hitched now his bare skin felt the moist air that was offered in The Dark. His grin only grew as his hands held both of the other's legs. "Just know that you will never want to be with anyone else after me, understood?"
 
The light in the room wasn't overwhelming, the atmosphere the flames alone created being surprisingly cosy and enjoyable. Elior had high standards, and would have assumed that nothing The Dark had to offer him in the way of reaching those standards would suffice. How could it when The Dark had none of the luxury he devoured so eagerly? The heavy silk sheets, the steaming hot, rose-scented baths, the fine champagne... all of it was severely lacking and he could have assumed as such even without seeing The Dark for himself.

Granted, he had only seen the inside of one singular house within The Dark, but he didn't need to take in the entire country at large for his lowly opinion of it to have formed. Frankly, the house seemed a decent representative of the country it existed within.

And yet, Elior didn't find himself longing for those touches of luxury that he had come to expect throughout the years. He never truly needed them when he was intimate, often finding himself stealing moments on desks in offices, as he had with Nathaniel the previous night, and that could hardly be categorised as a particularly luxurious setting for sex. Yet, even he thought he would draw the line at engaging in intimacy on a cold stone floor, in a grim house in The Dark, no matter how attractive his companion was.

...But apparently, Ivory was the exception; the one person whose touch he craved so much that not only was he willing to endure his surroundings but he had actively begun to admire them. He wasn't about to gush over the cosiness created, but he could silently admit that it was surprisingly... nice to have his legs wrapped around Ivory, their chests pressed together, while a fire flickered in the background, cascading the walls with their shadows.

He could never have imagined himself in a scenario like that, being where he was and with who - but he grinned to himself when the realisation hit that he didn't mind it; that he actually liked it.

The low light in the room also enabled him to absorb the sight of the various scars lining the other's body. Nathaniel had countless scars of his own, but those were marks that Elior could understand without needing an explanation; they didn't invoke curiosity or intrigue because all it took was a second to contemplate them before he stumbled upon the truth of knowing they were gained during combat or conflict. Ivory's scars, meanwhile-- they all clearly had their own stories, each attached to separate memories throughout his life, and that was what struck Elior more than the sight alone.

The acknowledgement that Ivory had lived an entire life within The Dark that he hadn't cared to enquire about. He didn't want to be someone who cared about someone else, to be attached to someone that only represented a weakness and a vulnerability to him, but there was a reason the sight of the scars tugged at him the way they did; a reason why he found himself almost emotional as he reached to trace one lightly with his finger. He wouldn't dwell on the reason too much, not because he didn't care to spare the time but because, honestly?

He wasn't ready to handle the consequences the inevitable answer would have on him.

"Oh, you're very arrogant, aren't you? Remarkably confident, too. Those only raise my expectations higher, you understand? You have quite a lot to do to impress me," he responded in shared amusement - as well as heightened anticipation, any desire he already felt now kicked into overdrive once he felt Ivory's rough hands reach to find a place to hold his legs. "But I'm ready to be impressed - if you're not all talk, anyway."
 
Focused on the euphoria that came with Elior's compliments, he didn't hesitate to initiate the kiss himself this time. He knew he had to keep himself in control lest he breaks Elior's bones by accident - he knew the other wanted him to throw out his reservations, just succumb to what he wanted, but he couldn't. He would just get really fucking close.
By the time the two had finished, the fire had died down quite a bit. Ivory didn't climb off the man, however much he craved the cool surface the stone floor offered as sweat dripped drop his brow. He hesitated, not quite ready to lose their closeness and the warmth it provided because as rough as he was happy to be with Elior, it didn't mean Ivory didn't want a more… domestic end. He leaned down, peppering the now bruised and redden neck he had happily bit into before with kisses before he rested his head on the other's chest, where his arms could still wrap firmly around the Prince's hips to keep him close.

He steadied his breathing as quietly as he could, though his attention was primarily focused on Elior of all things. He let a finger trace the other's otherwise perfect body, admiring the blooms of blues and yellows he had caused all around his skin. That euphoria, that outstanding high he had been so happy to ride, finally coming down.

"… are you alright?" He asked after a pause, though didn't lift his head from the other's chest. One eye was covered by the other's skin but the other, still wide and curious as it had been before, peered up at Elior with clear concern as his brow furrowed.

Sure, leaving the bruises he had and the glee the sound of slapping the other's bare skin craved a bit of that hunger he had for hurting the Prince, but it would only be satiated for so long. He chose to focus on his kinder thoughts as he finally lifted his head, holding himself up by his arms.

"Need anything? Water? Blankets?" He continued, his voice low as he listened for Elior's breathing as well.
 
Despite his eagerness to set up high expectations, Elior had reminded himself countless times not to expect anything because no matter what he set his mind to anticipate, Ivory had proven time and time again that he was unreadable; the actions he chose to exact unknowable. The Prince might have heard boast after boast about former partners of Ivory's adoring him, or how he attracted in potential partners with ease, but the hype that such comments brought did little to establish any expectations from the other.

Even knowing that Ivory was a great kisser and experiencing for himself the effects their closeness had on him wasn't enough for Elior to determine, without fail, that he was in for a good time; not when he had constantly failed to analyse Ivory properly. He could take everything the other said as well as his own physical experience leading up to sex to determine that he was in for a good time - but how many times had he been wrong about Ivory in the past? He had thought his observations were concrete, his opinions formed based on those - and yet Ivory had successfully managed to fool him more times than Elior was willing to admit to.

It was better to hope for the best and expect the worst. At least then, he would spare himself the bitter sting of disappointment which, after such a promising build-up, with the tingles still remaining minutes after the first kiss, would have genuinely hurt.

Fortunately, Elior didn't have to comprehend how to deal with disappointment from subpar sex. He didn't have to concern himself with lying to Ivory to spare his ego the dent of being told that he was merely adequate or, if the worst was to occur, below even that basic standard.

No, even if Elior had set high expectations on what to expect, he was confident that even those would have been smashed by what Ivory had managed to do; managed to make him feel. His body ached more than he ever thought it would, the throbs of a dull ache throughout his body as a whole often interspliced with a sharper, stinging pain from the literal bites Ivory had chosen to make into the soft of his skin. The muscles in his arms burned, his lower back throbbed, his throat stung from the rawness within it--

But beneath all of that was the pleasure; the reverberating pulsation of euphoria that clung to every sense and clouded every thought.

Though understandably exhausted and keen on simply staying rooted to the feeling of bliss, his eyes darted down to take in the other after his concern broke through Elior's dazed thoughts. A lazy smile, tired but satisfied, rested on his lips once he fully absorbed the note of worry in Ivory's voice, his hand lifting to cup Ivory's cheek - a moment of tenderness was the least he could offer after the intensity of their acts.#

"Oh, I'm more than alright. That was... extraordinary," he praised without hesitation, resting his head back on the solid floor beneath him, exhaling a sigh rich with contentment. "Just... perfect. I'm fine, I don't need anything. Just stay here, hm? I don't usually condone cuddling with my partners, I dislike that affection, but I wouldn't say no to it right now, with you. You're -irritatingly- proving to be an exception to my usual norms."
 
As much as Ivory was desperate to play off what they had done coolly, the pain from the fall and the work of carrying Elior as far as he had still did quite a bit of work on his body. He was fit, if the handful of rounds they both endured were proof of anything, but he wasn't a super-being, his body craved a break as much as Elior's clearly did.

So, while he was more than ready to get up and get a glass of water or food to offer the other a moment to recuperate, he was ecstatic that he could rest his chest back on the other's chest. He took pride in the Prince's skin now covered in a layer of sweat and the heat that naturally radiated from him, it gave him warmth against the chill that the home could only barely fight against. He watched with a single eye as the mushrooms that illuminated the outside of said home closed just a bit, indicating it was later in the day.

He didn't mind though, not at the moment. He would much prefer to focus on Elior's heartbeat, listening carefully as if went from its aggressive thumping to a more regular heartbeat. A passing proof that he had done a good job, a sly smile growing unsubtly on his lips.

"What, you can't stand being pulled apart from me, Prince Elior? I knew I had made many fans out of my partners but you seem addicted," Ivory drawled, his tone teasing as he let his fingers traipse alongside the other's skin, feeling the outline of his body. Unlike Elior, cuddling had always been his favorite part; a moment of intimacy, to share in their collective effort and enjoy the fruits of their labor. Perhaps it was his affinity for touch, both with humans and objects in general, but the idea of no cuddling almost made Ivory ill in thought. No, he needed that time to recovery and keep their closeness.

The thought of poor Nathaniel being forced back to his post after he and Elior had sex, with no moment of love and affection, caused his smirk to only curl to a full grin.

"I hope you have enough energy to stand, or are you going to make me carry you to bed? Unless you want to sleep on the ground tonight…"
 
...Was he addicted?

The comment, though clearly teasing, hit Elior harder than he thought it would. He offered a smile, casual in nature to dismiss the (unserious) accusation, even if his mind whirred with the genuine fear that he had allowed Ivory to get under his skin. It was no secret to him that the other had been able to access parts of him that nobody else had the privilege of knowing - Ivory was one of the only people who had interacted with Elior as he truly was, after all. He was, therefore, the only one of his lovers who Elior had engaged with without that falsified persona in place: he had thrown himself into the moment as himself, free of the pressures that most, if not all, of his previous encounters had been fraught with.

It was inevitable, with that context in place, that he would grow close to Ivory as a result; that some connection would form, given all the barriers he had willingly broken down in the other's company - but that didn't mean he had to grow so close that he actively sought his presence; longed for the feel of his body beside his, their hearts beating together in unison. That was... affectionate, which was a word Elior had considered himself synonymous with. The act he presented to the world was capable of affection, showing it wherever he could and whenever it was guaranteed to earn him praise - but truthfully, beneath that mask, he wasn't keen on affection. It all felt too risky to encourage a lover to remain at his side after they had finished up - not because he feared getting caught, but because he actively sought to fight against the threat that he might grow closer to one of his partners; develop feelings that he preferred not to harbour.

Feelings of that kind made him vulnerable, provided him with a weakness - and he couldn't be a great King, a fierce ruler, if he had a weakness that could be exploited.

Even beyond that, on a purely narcissistic level, Elior always considered himself too... perfect to be tainted by the company of others for too long. He could get what he wanted from them in the form of sex before dismissing them when their use wore out, before their lingering presence could leave a stain on him and his patience.

And yet, here he was, only only accepting the affection from Ivory but initiating the intimacy himself. He hadn't been aware of that desire for closeness from Ivory specifically until he was called out on it, all his fears rising to the surface at once. If he wanted to emerge from The Dark and eventually be the King he had dreamt of being since he was a child, he couldn't... do this. He couldn't maintain closeness with someone who, unbelievably, had his genuine interest; had him and his thoughts in an absolute chokehold. He couldn't allow himself the feeling of fulfillment, warmth, belonging, acceptance--

...Could he?

In what he knew might be another moment of madness, he pushed aside every fear, ignored every instinctive insistence that he break off from encouraging the affection, and instead opted to prop himself up, resting his weight on his elbows in order to get a better look down at Ivory. In what was an almost natural response, he regarded him with a smile: tired and lopsided, but warm and genuine; two descriptors that Elior had always thought himself incapable of possessing.

"Why do you have to carry me? You've worked hard, hm? Those muscles of yours must be aching," he purred softly, a hand inevitably reaching to rest on Ivory's arm, unable to resist the temptation of it. "...No, as desirable as being scooped up into your arms sounds, let's save you the effort. I can manage walking, I'm sure. You've done a number on me, but I'll manage. The lure of those bed covers -and you beside me beneath them- will be enough motivation."
 
"… you say that as if you even have a chance of carrying me," was the lapidarist's response, his voice half muffled by his position as he allowed his eye to finally close. There were so many things wrong with what they were doing, right?

Well… not really. It wasn't Elior who caused the disparity to his people, right? It was the man's father (never mind the plans said man had) that ended his sister's life, he was merely someone to put in his place, right? A figurehead, a dummy to project his anger onto. Sure, Elior wasn't a good person - far from it. He was annoying, self-centered, and bossy… but that didn't make someone bad. It wasn't as if everyone from the Dark hated the royal family either.

In fact, he had heard his father offer praise to them, even after the death of his only daughter.

"This is politics, something simple miners like us don't mess with," his father said over dinner, in response to his son's despair. He had just lost his best friend and he was supposed to stay out of it? "I'm certain The Council will resolve everything. They must have simply run out of medicine, you're looking too deep into this. People die, Ivory. It's… what we do here."

A shudder escaped Ivory's lips at the memory, though he didn't bring attention to it as he simply enjoyed the moment of close proximity. He only really let his eye open again and take in Elior when he felt his head lift along with the other's body. His blinks were slow, almost dismissive, but his crooked grin proved he was more than eager to tease the other.

"I'm shocked. I don't intend to be crude but I thought I would have broken your back with how hard I was hitting into you," he admitted with a hum before finally getting to his feet, however reluctantly. He grabbed his discarded pants to pull on though didn't make the movement to grab his other clothes as he knelt down beside the firewood placed neatly by the hearth. He dumped a few sticks first, watching the flame build, before adding logs for extra warmth and light.

He then used a stick to light the candles within the bedroom with a hum, a tune he was often hummed as a child. He would only re-emerge once the candles were properly lit before leaning against the doorway, a cocky grin spread as he waited expectantly for the Prince fo get to his feet alone.

Hypothetically, Elior could use this moment to make a run for it… but call it being full of himself, Ivory knew Elior wouldn't dare.
 
"I could carry you if I wanted to-- you sorely underestimate how strong I am, do you know that? I engaged in training alongside my kingdom's finest warriors, received personal, hands-on, physical training with the best of the best. If my back wasn't aching as much as it is, I'd be more than glad to swoop you up into my arms, without hesitation. Because I could manage it rather easily. I'll prove it to you-- one day. Now's not the right time," he defended hurriedly, determined to prove, even only verbally, that he was capable of doing what Ivory seemingly doubted he would be able to achieve.

It wasn't an unfair judgement to make but he still took issue with it being made in the first place, a disgruntled huff escaping his lips at having to sound so defensive over something that didn't even matter in the grand scheme of things - but it mattered to him. He didn't engage in daily training anymore, losing interest in the effort it took when he could otherwise be lounging somewhere in the castle, indulging in the luxuries that came rushing to him whenever he desired them, but that didn't mean he let all his effort over the years go to waste: he still maintained a semblance of a training regime.

Granted, the strength it had earned him was noticeable in his physique but it wasn't hard-earned through necessity - so in a challenge, in a fight, he had no doubt Ivory would be able to overpower him within minutes, even less than that if he was truly honest with himself. But admitting that his own muscles were mostly for aesthetic reasons, rather than built up through hard work for necessity (because he didn't need to be strong when he had an entire army to be deployed should he need defending) wasn't something he cared to do.

Not because he cared what Ivory thought of his egotistic takes, but because he wanted to spare himself the teasing it would inevitably provoke.

Even after the other moved from the position, Elior remained on the floor beside the fire. He knew he had to get up at some point, especially when Ivory seemed content to lean in the doorway and wait for him to do that, but finding the motivation to abandon the space and disrupt the strange comfort he found on the stone floor (particularly when he still felt the sensations of pleasure stinging his skin) wasn't an easy task. He also didn't want to falter and let a grimace slip out if he moved too quickly and awoke the pain, again aware that he would be the subject of teasing for it.

"Fine, fine, I'm coming," he groaned childishly, pushing himself to first sit up so he could collect the clothes strewn about around him - despite having no intention to put any of them back on beside his underwear. If Ivory wasn't going to bother getting dressed, he took that as an open invitation to do the same. Eventually, after bracing himself for the aching that would inevitably occur, he pushed himself to his feet and wandered across to Ivory, doing his best to mask the slight stumble that arrived the second a sharp pain erupted across his lower back.

He knew it had been noticed despite his efforts to move past the moment without comment, shooting Ivory a glare as a result.

"I don't enjoy the smugness written across that horrid expression of yours, by the way. Remove it or I'll remove it for you," he threatened sharply, even if the words held no malice or genuine disdain. Rather, he found himself smiling just a second or two later, mostly as a result of his method to wipe Ivory's face of the smug smirk it had held - a move that consisted of him grabbing his jaw and pulling him into a quick kiss. Satisfied with the result, he pulled back and returned to the bedroom behind the other, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. Comparatively, it provided more comfort than the floor could and he quickly sought to devour that, leaning back with an exhausted sigh.

"Are you going to tie me back up again?" He enquired, raising his bruised wrists for emphasis. "Because I'd be very sad if you did. I'd feel betrayed by the lack of trust, dearest Ivory, but-- do as you must. The choice is all yours; you're in charge, aren't you?"
 
As Ivory watched from the doorway, arms folded neatly into one another, the amused smirk still plastered on the man's face as he watched Elior struggle, it was a placeholder as he found his mind seemingly drifting. This was such a pleasant moment, yet the lapidarist seemingly couldn't allow himself to dwell on that happy moment.

Elior was still the enemy at the end of the day.

Was he really that soft? Was he really weak enough to consider letting the other go after hearing some cute moans? Was he to ignore all of their issues just because he was able to grab at Elior's flesh with a hunger only comparable to that of when his rations ran out? His eyes scanned the emerging bruises and the little cuts his sharp teeth and nails left with a sense of pride but why? That wasn't going to enact his ancestors' revenge. In fact, he was certian his ancestors would be disappointed if they knew.

Fuck them. He was tired, more so now after putting so much effort in pleasuring Elior, he couldn't be blamed for lapsing for a little while longer, right? There would be absolutely no excuse come morning. Come morning he was sure that he would have more issues at hand, shouldn't he be able to relax for a little while? Have some fun?

Ivory blinked, his eyes not leaving Elior as he obediently followed behind the man to the bed. He sat down on the edge, still hating how much he missed the feeling of a proper mattress, before wasting no time to lay back on the slab proper with a groan of content. It was no plush mattress but it was sure as hell better than a fucking chair.

"... If I don't tie you up, what's stopping you from trying to run off and killing yourself?" Ivory asked as he peered up at the other man, his head tilted ever slightly. His smile grew to a cocky smile. "That being said, I've got quite the grip and I've come to love touching you, so maybe I don't need to tie you up. All I need is to wrap my arms around you and you'll be set in place unless you try to, what? Scratch my eyes out?"
 
Laying down beside Ivory and immersing himself into the affectionate positioning was ridiculously tempting, Elior stumbling onto the realisation that he actively craved that as he peered down at the other. He had already decided to cave to his urges and enjoy a moment of affection beneath the covers, rather than end the interaction the moment he got what he wanted as he was usually prone to do when it came to his lovers-- but Ivory had already proven himself to be a remarkable and notable exception to the Prince's usual norms.

Trying to resist the pull he felt for Ivory was useless at this point, especially after going as far as anyone could go by having sex with the man, but he could, if he chose to, limit the extent of their interactions; coldly cut him off and return to the cutting, icy nature that had dominated all of his true conversations with Ivory. Doing so would have been cruel but it was far more characteristic for Elior to react in such a way, rather than act like... this: seeking affection that he normally turned his nose up in disgust at.

He didn't cuddle with anyone, never seeking to prolong an intimate moment longer than was necessary. Sex was one thing that brought him pleasure so he encouraged the closeness of others-- until the act had completed and he had no need for them, never once feeling a desire to insist they stay so he could press in close, share the warmth beneath the covers and rest at their side. It had been asked of him a few times, hinted at even more, but he consistently turned down the attempts with a genuine sliver of delight - it was nice to be wanted and equally as nice to turn them down and keep them wanting more.

And yet, every personal belief he had ever held had been tossed aside, be it temporarily or for good. He didn't know if he was likely to regard Ivory with disgust once this moment had passed, or if they had ventured past the line and ceased to be able to return to how things had been behind it, but that was a problem he would contend with when he woke up from the exhausted nap. For now, with the pull to settle beside Ivory far too strong to ignore, Elior sought only to satisfy his continuing urge to be beside the other, eventually sharing the same grin and taking up a position at his side.

"I wouldn't joke about that; I'm most definitely capable of tearing your eyes out. Luckily for you, that sounds absolutely abhorrent and I don't wish to bloody my hands in such a way. These hands are perfect; my nails have recently undergone a fantastic manicure. I don't wish to ruin that by carving up that face of yours-- besides, it's far too beautiful to receive such a treatment. Even if I were desperate to escape your strong clutches, I'd never go for the face. It would be a shame to see a beauty gifted by the gods pettily ruined," he complimented with an ease that struck him as far too comfortable - but again, he would deal with it later on; another problem for his future self to try and comprehend.

After a mere second of hesitation, he opted to rest his head in the crook of Ivory's neck, between his collarbone and his jaw, an arm strewn lazily over his chest to encourage the closeness.

"...You don't need to tie me up, I have no desire to abandon you just yet, Ivory dearest. You're undeniably addicted to me, aren't you? I'm not so cruel that I'd rip my presence from you so soon."
 
As promised, Ivory's legs immediately wrapped around Ivory as his arms moved to hold the other's waist, his fingers moving slowly as they took in the dip of the other's spine with curiosity. It was that childish curiosity that left the man craving more of Elior's body, craving his touch.

Like Elior's body was an undiscovered cave. Ivory wanted to find every boulder, dig out every hidden gem with his fingers. He wanted to observe it, record it. Ivory wasn't very good at topography but he sure as hell could try.

The mention of such a precise and clearly dedicated manicure caused him to take in the other's fingers curiously. The natural French tips caused a brow to raise, though he said nothing.The sight was ridiculous, admittedly - granted, fingers were meant for work in The Dark - with the exception of Ivory's curious touch. Nonetheless, it caused him to glance at his own nails; short, bitten down. The nail bed itself was cracked from years of both physical abuse and lack of nutrition. They were rough, his skin like sandpaper on the edges. For the first time, he found something that made him feel… insecure about himself. It wasn't a fun feeling, evidently.

He averted his gaze as he instead chose to focus on Elior's words, humming in approval as the other nestled into his neck. If Elior wanted to be brutal, he could bite out his throat.

Blink.

"I'm addicted to you?" He confirmed, his words slow as a smile crept slowly. "Ah… perhaps, if only a little. That being said, you and I both know the feeling must be mutual. You're sticking to me like my skin is glue, Elior. I can see the way you clammer onto me. To say that your obsession with me isn't intoxicating would be a lie. I'm quite honored," he hummed, a hand moving carefully to run itself through the other's hair. He moved his fingers lazily, feeling the hair wrap around them with a smirk. If he were in any other situation, he would proudly take Elior out and show the town his prize.

Alas, they weren't in a normal situation.

"If you were to rip out my eyes," he began, his voice soft in case the other chose to sleep, "I would hope you would keep them in a jar. I know how much you love them, I see the way you stare at me. You could… rattle them around, hm? For fun?" He suggested, his words lacking any serious tone despite the serious topic. His eyes closed as he pictured it. "When I am inevitably executed, I hope that you will keep them. Or-" he paused.

His eyes opened again, taking in Elior. Unsure how to proceed.

"… I always wanted to taste an eyeball. You can eat them if you'd like."
 
"Me claiming that your addiction to me is abundantly clear doesn't mean I deny feeling -or presenting- the same. It pains me to say it, but you have got under my skin, somewhat. You do... have me in a chokehold, both metaphorically and hopefully literally, during future love-making," he retorted, drawing out the last word in amusement at the affectionate images it brought to mind when, in actuality, he preferred anything but affection when it came to matters of the bedroom - as the bruises colouring his body currently served to prove.

That didn't mean he wasn't silently fond of the current, genuine, affection that was taking place. The scenario was one he had never envisioned himself being wrapped up in, nor would he ever have been able to imagine when he first met Ivory that this would be where their future was destined to lead, but he couldn't deny the enjoyment he gathered up as he all but snuggled into Ivory's side. He could hear and feel the steady thump of his heartbeat, share the warmth that exuded from both their bodies, take in the rich, almost oaky scent that he had come to find intoxicating.

All of it would have made him grimace in disgust just a few hours prior, regardless of the instantaneous attraction he had felt towards him. Sex would have been all he had seen that attraction resulting in, the furthest extent of what he was willing to engage in with the other - and yet, as ever when it came to things revolving around Ivory, Elior had proved himself entirely useless in predicting what would happen between the two because not only was he actively engaging in the intimate embrace, but it brought him more comfort, more security, than he would have ever thought.

His head tilted up just enough from the nestled position to take Ivory in, locking his gaze on the aforementioned eyes. His fondness for the hue and the almost luminescent glow was far from subtle when he always found himself staring longingly at them, so the idea of them being torn from his face by his own hand made him frown, even if he was somewhat pleased he had held back a shudder at such a thought. He had attended public executions since he was a boy, stared indifferently as countless criminals violently lost their heads in front of his own eyes, so violence wasn't something he was particularly squeamish about.

But there was a distinct difference between seeing someone he had no emotional attachment to lose their lives and imagining Ivory follow that fate. He could delusionally deny caring about the other but their current positioning was all the evidence anyone would need to see that Elior, someone who genuinely held no interest or investment in anyone besides himself... cared about him.

"If I refuse to eat spiders, Ivory, what makes you think I would ever consider doing something as horrific as eating your eyes? Really, you're mad, do you know that? As for the execution-- again, you really are quite mad if you think I would allow you to go to your death. No, no. No, as you say, I'm quite addicted. Why rob myself of the one thing that satisfies such an addiction? No, you're mine now; I won't deny myself the pleasure of having you, however criminal your actions have been," he murmured beneath his breath, his own voice growing softer as he fought back the urge to cement his words with a kiss. He wasn't against offering such affection, but he didn't want to break the eye contact and the weight of emotion -at least on his end- that existed beneath it.

"...Really, are you seeking a promise from me? I promise not to have you executed. We really are quite romantic, you know. You offering me the chance to consume your eyes; me promising not to send you to the guillotine. Just the sorts of conversations conventional lovers have with one another," he snorted, the laugh escaping him before he could muffle it. He... didn't have much familiarity with the noise, having so rarely laughed over the years (at least, genuinely laughed) that the musical, almost melodic tones momentarily silenced him in surprise. A smile rose not too long after, deciding not to dwell on the moment but accept it as proof that Ivory was just... an exception; the one person he was able to be himself with.

"No, I want you to myself for awhile longer yet. Rest assured, you won't be going anywhere," came a concluding remark as he rested his head back properly, his arm tightening just a tad around Ivory to both press in closer and to solidify the possessiveness behind his words. "Now can I get some sleep? As smug as I'm sure you are over it, I'm aching. We could both do with a rest, hm?"
 
"Oh, so I do truly get under your skin then? Like the delicious spider I cooked and you blatantly refused to eat?" Ivory teased in response, a grin on his lips to emphasize his cocky mood. A hand moved to wrap very carefully around the other's throat, similarly to how Elior did to him. It was just enough pressure to restrict some breathing but certainly not enough to cause any damage - only for him to relent and let his hands return to the other's side, happy to use his touch for something a little less violent.

Sure, there was no doubt a part of him he didn't want to acknowledge; a part of him who would be more than pleased to harm his… companion. He simply had to force it away and instead offered a gentle kiss to the other's temple while his hands enjoyed the slight dip in Elior's waist.

He couldn't deny the absolute glee hearing just how exhausted the Prince was made the lapidarist, his grin almost hurting his jaw now. Smiling hadn't been something that came to Ivory easily in recent years yet here he was, putty in Elior's hand to the praise. He forced his smile down upon realizing that said exhaustion could only be remedied by sleep. He almost felt guilty, knowing that he had done so much damage. So, he offered a simple nod and a conforming 'Hm' to the request before tightening his grip, however lightly, on Elior's form.

"Sleep, then. When you wake, I promise I will make a meal for you to gain back some energy. I have no intentions of letting you starve… but you have to be willing to eat it. We can talk about it when you wake up though, yeah?" He confirmed, his words whispered carefully into Elior's ear before resting his chin neatly upon the Prince's hair.
 
It would be the first time that Elior had ever fallen asleep beside one of his lovers, let alone to be enveloped by such an extent of intimacy, but the Prince woke hours later confident that it wouldn't be the last - albeit only if the person he was to share a bed with was Ivory. He couldn't imagine replicating the moment with anyone but the other, as bewildering as that thought ultimately was. Out of all the lovers he had had, past and present, the last one he should be seeking to initiate any sort of closeness with was Ivory - he ought to cut off the threat of a bond before it was further established, dismantle the growing affection in favour of a return to coldness and disgust.

But he couldn't; not when he woke up as content and as relaxed as he was, memories of their time together just a handful of hours previous allowing him to become accustomed to full consciousness with a quiet smile on his lips.

That smile would probably dip if he were to become aware that, during the period in which he contentedly slumbered nestled into Ivory's side, his kingdom had received Ivory's letter. It had been passed directly onto the King once its contents were opened and digested by the chief of staff, who had waited anxiously as her King's eyes graced the letter and all colour drained from his face once its threat sunk in. After establishing the threat to be true, given Elior's missing status in and around the castle, little time had been wasted in alerting those in the royal's inner circle of the events and gathering opinions on how best to proceed.

Though a decision had already been made in the King's mind and he only really sought the best way to deliver the set of actions he thought were best to engage with - if Ivory sought a conversation, a way of ensuring coexistence and delivering his people a better standard of living, then the King would be happy to oblige. Ideally, he would send his troops in with the express demand to be as violent as necessary in order to save their Prince from the hell he was anticipated to be enduring at Ivory's hand - but if that meant bringing harm onto his son, or even convincing Ivory to end his life regardless of the personal cost, Aledeus couldn't -and wouldn't- risk it.

It was why he had made the choice to push aside the indignity of venturing to the entrance to The Dark himself. Ordinarily, he would never dream of personally making the trip from his castle, from the capital of his kingdom - but this was no ordinary situation. He had to approach it with the seriousness it deserved if his son's life was potentially on the line, Elior's safety being all that mattered as he climbed aboard his carriage and ordered the driver onward, pushing aside his anger and outrage in order to engage with Ivory as respectably as he could.

He wanted nothing more than to strike the man down or see him sent to the gallows for his crime - but until Elior was safely back in Hollowslocke, where he belonged, the King restrained himself and focused on the responsibility at hand to save his son.

Understandably oblivious to the fact his father had arrived at the border and demanded, in stern tones, that Ivory be brought to him, Elior stirred and stretched out his arms with a long sigh, any desire he might have had to simply curl back up and catch an extra few winks of sleep ending the instant he adjusted his position and caught sight of the other. Inevitably, he found himself struck, to such an extent that he couldn't remove his gaze away - though admittedly, he also didn't want to. His smile played on his lips as he unashamedly drank in Ivory's physique, delighting in devouring every single inch of it.

"...Where's the meal you promised me?" He enquired in a sing-song tone, sitting up and taking care not to put too much pressure on his still-aching lower back. "I expected-- well, not pancakes and golden syrup, and a collection of fine fruits, but something at the very least. Perhaps those berries I had earlier, they weren't inedible, in fa-- are you alright? You're awfully quiet."
 
The brief few hours that Ivory was able to actually sleep were a gift he hadn't realized he craved. Sure, he fully intended to sleep in the chair adjacent to the bed and offer Elior his space but fuck that. No, if he was given the opportunity to properly sleep in a bed, underneath covers that, in addition to the Prince's body heat, kept him warm? Kept him dry against the dewy humidity offered by the caves? Ideally he would have pushed the man off of him and tied him back up, but no.

No, he wanted to ignore the consequences of his actions and the whole purpose of the kidnapping in general for just a little longer.

Unfortunately, those consequences moved faster than he expected. Typically the mail took at least a few days to arrive at the Capitol, and that was assuming the letters would even be read by the King. He knew personally, the many letters sent directly to the King often being replied by a copy-paste response from his advisor, no doubt never actually meeting the man's eyes. To finally have his demands listened to was... a strange feeling. One that didn't sit quite well.

Perhaps it was because he was hoping to make a scene out of the fact that the King was too afraid to venture down to The Dark and, while it was true, he was at the very least meeting at the border. It was all moving so quickly, it was almost overwhelming - he almost wanted to abandon the mission, kill himself before the King ultimately did. Sure, Elior promised his life would be saved but how much power did a Prince have over a King? He could only assume that was if Elior wasn't lying. For all he knew, it could all be false - Elior could drop him immediately, running to his father with tears in his eyes as he... told the truth. Spoke about how some stranger came and stole him away from his home, tied him up.

The moment of strange bliss that was offered to him by waking up beside Elior were cut short, those thoughts - however brief - now gone as he leaned against the doorway to the bedroom and stared at the hearth he once again had burning. His eyes locked on the fire in front of him in contemplation, his eyes shut tight as he tried to keep himself from getting dizzy.

"Your father got back to me faster than I was expecting," he finally admitted, his voice hoarse as he unclenched his jaw. He turned around to take in the Prince, his own eyes drinking in the other's sleepy frame. He felt a twinge of guilt reside heavy in his stomach. "He will be at the border soon, ready to negotiate. He'll probably listen, or at least pretend to, then slit my throat before any treaty or understanding is made. That's my theory anyway. I did make you breakfast though - no spiders, of course." He moved carefully out of sight, returning with another plate of food; the aforementioned berries, a variety of mushrooms, some lichen, as well as what appeared to be small shrimp.

"More truffles, I noticed you liked those. Truffles and berries as well as some jelly lichen and some cave shrimp. I deveined them and everything so you'll be fine," he reassured, his eyes all the while now avoiding the Prince before he took a seat on the bed. No plate in hand, his stomach far too rocky to eat. "After you eat, you'll need to get freshened up a bit - or at least get dressed. Then we'll head to the border and... I suppose you'll be leaving."
 
Even as the food was brought across to him, Elior remained sat upright, unmoving and unwilling to even feign that normalcy. Ultimately, the news of his father's actions to resolve his situation was inevitable - he knew it would arrive at some point and that he ought to be glad of it; be hit with an immediate feeling of relief at the knowledge that his suffering in The Dark would soon be over.

His father's actions in seeking to meet Ivory without simply sending in the army to overwhelm The Dark were something to be quietly happy about, given Elior's very recent realisation that he didn't seek to destroy Ivory in revenge for the audacious actions he had taken against him. Rather, to ensure himself several more days of pleasure and an opportunity to take it up in the future should he ever want to, it was best that Ivory remain alive and well. His plans might have been thrown into disarray the instant he locked eyes with Ivory and acted upon the build up of sexual tension, but he could live with his backtracking if it enabled him to enjoy Ivory's company time and time again.

So why did he feel... strange? He knew he should be euphoric at the idea that he would get to go home and, with the lack of an army around to slaughter whoever stood in their way, have the opportunity to smoothly convince his father to leave The Dark untouched; leave Ivory alive in spite of all he had done. It wouldn't take much convincing for Elior to get his way - he was quietly confident that all his years of getting his way would stand him in good stead, so, with everything seemingly working out in his favour and with the opportunity to go home in a mere hour or two and sink back within the luxuries of his privileged life, why did he feel so... sorrowful, his chest tightening and becoming pained the longer he considered the run of events.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that this would probably be the last time he would see Ivory. Hours ago, he wouldn't have been happy to simply leave him; he sought a violent revenge for the crimes committed against him, yearning to see the man suffer endlessly for all he had done, but now? Now he couldn't exactly imagine going back to his ordinary life without Ivory, in some way, being part of it - but he knew they were from different worlds, each completely unsubtle in one another's environments. He didn't know if he could accept the fact that he had grown so intensely close and even possessive of Ivory in such a short time but it was the only thing that would explain the sadness seeping through him.

That, and the fact Ivory seemed to have already settled on a plan of action to get Elior back to the surface. The Prince knew, ultimately, that Ivory was left with no choice; that he would gladly hand him over if it meant securing a better future for his land and his people - and with the King waiting patiently, he couldn't exactly avoid giving the man the only thing he wanted. Yet, Elior's jaw clenched tightly in dismay at the perceived matter-of-fact approach that Ivory seemed to have adopted, as though the list of things needed to be accomplished could be done without any emotional consequence.

"...You are aware you won't see me again once I return to my father, aren't you?" He murmured as he set his gaze on the plate, any appetite he had seeming to desert him as he eyed the berries. Despite his nausea, he reached to pluck one from the plate in an effort to be more accommodating than he truly wanted to be. Refusing to glance up at Ivory, he kept staring at the food in the hope that the longer he did so, the quicker his appetite might return to him.

"You don't exactly fit in my world, in The Light. You stand out like a sore thumb - as do I here, I imagine. So this will be the last interaction you have with me - my father may provide you with a little of what you seek in return for my safety, but he won't allow your people to venture up above the surface, Ivory. That's a pipe dream," he admitted softly, his brows pulling together as he felt the weight on his chest increase the more the seconds ruthlessly ticked on by. "...But that's fine. You'll have won some benefits for your people and that's what was important for you, wasn't it? Not me. I... know that. I'm not delusional. We'll go our separate ways and this will simply be a memory. That's... it's fine."
 
While Ivory may have moved to sit cross-legged to seem more relaxed initially, it was giving quite the opposite as he sat rigidly on the bed. He stared at his own plate, his fingers gripping tightly onto the edge until he heard the faintest yet echoed crck of the plate. He quickly set the plate down and instead rested his hands flat down on his crossed legs as he tried, so fucking desperately, to keep himself calm.

It was one thing to read over the situation alone, in his own head. He could say what was going to happen out loud, on repeat, until he had a headache but it didn't mean much once seeing just how unsubtly distraught Elior clearly was. He was too, he simply though he had been able to force those feelings away - offer a mask like he did to every other person who had ever been in his life. Yet, now sat with their bodies just barely grazing one another? It was that closeness yet that distance that made it difficult. He swallowed hard, the sound audible in the quiet of the abandoned house, before a quiet curse could be heard under his breath in frustration. He gripped at his hair, squeezing those flickering eyes shut as he tried to make sense of the situation.

Ideally, he would hand Elior back and they would move on with their lives - hopefully with Ivory's being an easier one to function in. His requests would be answered and he wouldn't have to have his life ended, either by the hands of himself or The Light's militia. Everything would go on, the world would continue to spin... yet when he blinked his eyes open again, it wasn't until he noticed the lights the candles offered were blurry that he was crying.
He didn't want to cry in front of Elior again, not like this.
Ivory sniffled as he desperately tried to hide the tears that threatened but they couldn't be helped as the tears dropped into his own breakfast plate, He watched as the tear slid down the crack that had formed, until it hit the bed itself. He glanced up finally, his eyes locking on Elior before he scooted closer.

"That... is true. I did this for my people, to help them have a chance of survival while we're forced within these tunnels. I don't want to see people hurt and sick just because your land refused to offer us help. That being said, I... can have selfish desires, can't I? I'm just a man, aren't I? Am I not allowed to have desires that might contradict my message?" He questioned, his voice small now as he took to hold Elior's ankle gently. "... I know it's selfish of me, I know that what I want isn't right for everyone b-but.... gosh, I'm babbling, aren't I?" He laughed, or rather croaked.

".... can I be honest with you, Elior? If we're never going to see one another again, I think It's only fair, right?" He continued, his gaze hardening. "I want you to know - and you are welcome to tell your father this - that while these temporary fixes will do wonders for my people, I... truly will not be happy until his head is on a fucking spike within the tunnels of The Dark."
 
The berry tasted just as sweet as it had earlier in the day, and ought to have provided him with a moment of genuine satisfaction. He was hungry and though a few berries would hardly fill his stomach, it was better than nothing - yet it did little to bring him any sort of enjoyment or contentment. If anything, the tartness he usually favoured now seemed too bitter, his lips twisting in discomfort the longer he chewed. He wasn't naive to the fact that his dissatisfaction had little to do with the food itself but with the situation unfolding around him - he couldn't sit back and enjoy the food as he otherwise might have done when his time with Ivory, time he had quickly come to adore, was... slipping away faster than he wanted it to.

It was hard to fathom just how quickly things had shifted between them, and if he was honest, he still didn't truly comprehend how that shift had occurred so dramatically fast in the first place; how they had gone from sharing the cruellest of insults to experiencing genuine sadness at the thought of going their separate ways. For Elior, he also had to overcome the very real consequences of the kidnap: the humiliation at being fooled, the indignity of being torn from his comfortable luxuries, the sharp, stabbing pain of the bound wrists.

Yet he had managed to push it all aside in favour of the other emotions that had sprung up in Ivory's company; the relief that came with being wanted for who he was, the freedom to express himself without having to constantly put on a mask, the... fulfillment that arrived as a result of being in the company of someone who seemed to like him as much as he liked them.

How was he supposed to remain solemn and unemotional at the idea of being torn from the very first person who he had connected with; who understood him better than anyone ever had or ever would?

His earlier boast that he couldn't recall a time he had every cried, or grown teary, was on the verge of being dismantled the longer he was forced to watch Ivory's dismay. Inevitably, when the first of his tears dropped, the strength needed to maintain a face free of tears of his own became more difficult, the challenge only heightened when he felt Ivory's fingers rest upon his ankle.

He dipped his head to act as though he was analysing what to pluck from the plate, whereas the move was made to hide the glassiness blurring his own vision. The tears stung more than he imagined they would, mostly because he chose not to blink and have them fall freely from his eyes. In the end, the pain cut too deep for him to avoid the necessary action, though his hand flew to wipe his eyes to ensure the tears wouldn't stain his cheeks - even if that guaranteed there was absolutely no subtlety in what he was doing.

"...That would make you happy, would it? My father's death; his head in your possession? That would make you truly happy?" He questioned after a moment, deciding he had recovered enough from the momentary lapse in self-control to peer back up at Ivory. He bit the inside of his cheek contemplatively, mulling the confession over as the seconds, in their prolonged silence, ticked by.

"You don't ask for much, do you?" He teased after a further moment, swallowing back the pain in his throat from restraining himself from fully crying. The pain wasn't ideal, granted, but it was better than the alternative of breaking down and mourning the loss of the first period of time he had ever truly been happy. After deciding he couldn't face eating anything more, he shifted from the bed to retrieve his silk pyjamas carelessly tossed aside hours previous, slowly pulling the garments on without caring to hide the dissatisfaction that came with doing so.

"We should-- go now, then. My father isn't a patient man. If we keep him waiting, it'll make him far more keen to see you killed. I'll convince him against that, obviously, but I'd rather make it easier on myself if I can. The whole golden child act is exhausting, you know. It drains me."
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top Bottom
Back