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Kenos Inbox
voice / text / communion
D's mind is a cacophony of things.
The landscape is shadow and darkness, and it is chilly and reserved where D sits in it; he feels like a simple young man. Quiet, soft, human. But behind the stoicism is a warm, sensual, and elegant sliver of something primordial and powerful. Embracing it is hypnotic, arousing, yet also a little horrifying.
Amidst all of this is something else, too: a craggled and old presence which can be heard on occasion cackling or chattering separately, the crusty voice belonging neither to D or the peculiar entity in the space.
The landscape is shadow and darkness, and it is chilly and reserved where D sits in it; he feels like a simple young man. Quiet, soft, human. But behind the stoicism is a warm, sensual, and elegant sliver of something primordial and powerful. Embracing it is hypnotic, arousing, yet also a little horrifying.
Amidst all of this is something else, too: a craggled and old presence which can be heard on occasion cackling or chattering separately, the crusty voice belonging neither to D or the peculiar entity in the space.
no subject
Hmm? What'sat?
[ D doesn't clarify what he means by that, but like hell Gen's just going to let it slide without comment. The sleazy grin he's already wearing just creeps a notch wider, and he makes up for D's withdrawn arm by resting his own arm against D's shoulder to lean against him.
-- and at this point, D might notice that, even now when the ruse is up, that flush of heat he's feeling sympathetically through Gen hasn't abated in the slightest. It's accompanied by a slightly heady sensation, similar to but not quite like being inebriated. An antsy, restless feeling that tingles down the spine and lingers low in the pit of his stomach.
His pupils are just a little blown, D might notice, when Gen leans in so close that they're almost nose to nose. ]
You're feeling that hungry for attention from me? Didn't know you were feeling so lonely. That's kinda cute.
no subject
Gen leans in, and D actually doesn't move. He isn't afraid of Gen in his personal space, and he wouldn't dare give Gen any ammunition. Also, he's still trying not to make a huge scene right here. But it does mean D has the opportunity to look clinically into Gen's eyes, assessing the wide pupils accompanying the sensations.]
Take me where you had planned to go.
[It's difficult to tell whether this is a request or a challenge. The way D continues to stare directly at Gen without wavering, it might be a challenge.
If Gen refuses to acknowledge his question... he just also slaps down a reverse uno on top of Gen's card.]
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His challenge -- it sure is being taken as a challenge, even if it might not actually be one -- is promptly met with a wider grin before Gen forces forward a half-step, pushing chest-to-chest against D so he can breathe right into D's ear: ]
No take-backs after you asked for it, yeah?
[ His breath smells sweet from the drinks -- without the signature sting of alcohol, D might note -- when Gen gives a wolfish laugh. Then he whirls around, snatching a hand around D's wrist and dragging him along as he starts forging down the street, speed-walking with the manic energy of someone driven by more than just a desire to pull a stupid prank. Where was he originally planning on taking D, if his ruse hadn't been busted? Who knows! He hadn't thought that far. But now that the challenge has been issued, he knows exactly where to head.
A turn here, a turn there, a few blocks down a dark street, and Gen shoves open the front door to -- an incredibly seedy hotel. A place he's frequented a few times before when accompanying his favorites from Bloody Marie's. His status as a semi-regular is immediately made clear when Gen only gives the tired-looking receptionist a wave of the hand and shouts, 'Going to the usual room!' before forging on without so much as pausing.
His 'usual room' turns out to be an entirely unremarkable little place just down the hall, clean enough but dimly lit, curtains all drawn, furnished with little more than a bed in its main chamber. Its purpose is probably immediately obvious. ]
no subject
D's head turns ever so slightly to the side, welcoming Gen's murmur in his ear. It is strange Gen does not smell like hard alcohol, like the usual stiff drink over heavy nicotine. Fruity? Sweet. He starts to try looking at Gen's face again, at the eyes, but Gen spins around and takes him by the hand.
It's not out of character for Gen to give him a hard time. It is a little weird for Gen to be so blatantly into him. Usually it's only the flutter of Gen's heart, the frustrated way Gen tries not to look at him.
He keeps up with Gen's fervent speed, his strides long. If nothing else had been telling, the shady hotel definitely is. D is emotionally constipated, but not fool enough to not understand Gen is taking him here for, if not sex, making out. Oral? A hand job. He doesn't know how gone Gen might be. Hilariously, D turns his head away from the receptionist, trying to keep himself from being fully seen. (As if that would hide him, tall, dark, and vampire.) DON'T PERCEIVE HIM.
The low light of the room pools into his eyes; they adjust quickly. He can see everything as if it were daytime. Terrible. He surveys the simplistic room. The purpose is absolutely obvious.]
You said there are no take-backs. Don't forget.
no subject
And why would I wanna take back anything, aah? [ Gen drags D inside and lets go of his wrist just long enough to turn around and kick the door shut. As if he couldn't make his intention any clearer, he makes a point of turning the lock, which slides into place with a loud click. ] You're the one at a disadvantage here.
[ At least he seems less hurried now that they're in here and there's no turning back. Gen looks terribly pleased with himself as he slinks forward, hands shoving at D's chest to get him to back off until the edge of the bed is nudging against the back of his knees. If he sits down, great. If he lets himself get pushed down onto his back, even better. Either way, Gen clambers over him to straddle his hips, looking down at him with a toothy smirk.
His face is still flushed, breaths starting to come a little hoarser. ]
... so why're you askin' for this? [ Maybe it's a little messed up, asking this when he's already worked up and eager. But it's like finding a half-healed cut -- he can't help poking at it, prodding at it, maybe tugging it open a little out of morbid curiosity. ] S'gotta be frustrating, getting found by the enemy, on their turf, getting hassled. Needing to go along to avoid drawing attention. Are you really just that lonely?
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It's an almost pretend happy, but it's happy.]
Am I.
[It isn't a question on purpose.
The push doesn't stumble him, but he doesn't resist stepping slowly backward, one foot at a time, until he gets to the bed. He does sit down actually. He sits and doesn't expect Gen to climb into his lap even if he should, so it's with a little surprise when he falls backward onto the bed. If Gen likes hair, he gets to look at a lot of it just fanned out behind D's shoulders. The lashed, sad eyes which look up at Gen, unwavering.]
You're the one who propositioned me. [This is not a denial for what Gen said, however.] There are no take-backs. You told me that.
If you're asking why I'm going through with it... maybe it's because I understand.
[That Gen is also lonely.]
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If it were anyone else, it'd be so easy to dismiss as a bluff. Too bad D seems consistently, infuriatingly, stupidly sincere in everything he says. ]
... s'that right.
[ In the end, Gen settles for that dismissive response, one corner of his lips rising in a lopsided smirk. ]
Well, quit it. Not like there's anything here to understand. [ He's not lonely. This is meaningless. It's just a moment of vapid indulgence, really. (He insists, at least to himself.) ] Don't waste your breath on that shit. As long as you play nice, I won't go snitching on you to the rest of Highstorm. I ain't a rat.
[ With that, he hooks a finger into the top of the neck of D's shirt, aiming to yank it down and start unfastening it. Whatever it is that's affecting him has him especially impatient for the good old sensation of skin on skin; all that stuffy leather D's wearing doesn't do as much for him. Even as he continues to fight with D's clothes, rendered a little clumsy in his haste, he ducks his head in to press his lips against D's throat, right under the jawline. Dragging his teeth along the pale skin there and taking in the intoxicating scent he seems to exude 24/7.
Maybe he's motivated by just a little bit of petty desire for revenge when he nips at D's throat; a mirror of the same bite he'd begged for in the past, even if his own teeth aren't sharp enough to so easily puncture into flesh. ]
no subject
[It's expected Gen would shut the gate on the wall that's up. D doesn't mind, he knew it'd be there. He allows Gen to continue this way if it's the most comfortable.
He just knows that's probably not true.
Very languidly, D reaches up to gently take Gen's arm at the wrist, to stop the frantic digging at his collar. He pushes Gen's fingers back behind his neck beneath the hair, letting the tips feel the teasing zipper there. It can come down a little, to the top of his back, but lying down, with Hayame's strange haori, it won't go down much more.
Which isn't to say the collar doesn't fold somewhat out of Gen's way as Gen comes down to abuse his neck. He tips his chin up slightly, trying to keep Gen from being frustrated. A reward while he drops his own hand to the sash of the outer layer and pulls it open. It was a gift; he doesn't want Gen to tear it trying to get to him.
And then that same hand very suddenly appears under Gen's clothes at the waist, feeling the skin at the bottom of Gen's ribs. Shockingly, somehow not cold at all. It's warm like his neck. Is Gen ticklish? The nails might tickle a little if he is.]
You didn't think this through. [His voice hums in his throat against Gen's lips.] You should have let me undress first.
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S'more satisfying when I can do it myself.
[ This might be marginally charming coming from someone more considerate or gentle, but coming from a brutish piece of shit like Gen, it just sounds rancid. Sorry, D.
He's quick to tug the zipper down so he can dip his fingers past the fabric. D's skin is almost unnervingly smooth, not clammy at all despite being trussed up in leather for god knows how long. Is that another vampire thing? Though most of the vampires he'd fraternized with through Bloody Marie's had been cold to the touch. -- Gen gives a startled grunt when he feels a palm drag up his side under the loose drape of his shirt, canine ears flicking back and tickling at D's cheek, given the way he's nuzzling D's throat. ]
Well ... though I guess it's fine, if you'll make a show of it. [ The bed creaks beneath them when Gen abruptly straightens up to sit back on his haunches, tugging his shirt up and off in the same movement. Unlike D, his build is pretty unremarkable, his skin marred with the criss-cross of old scars. That done, he looks expectantly down at D, wearing the most insufferable shit-eating grin. ] C'mon. Gimme something worth looking at.
[ So he says, but D is always worth looking at. ]
no subject
When Gen leans up again, D remains where he is without moving. The show can go both ways. He watches the shirt come off and makes no move to avoid his eyes. There is no starvation or thirst to his gaze, but the way he surveys Gen's exposed torso definitely means he is looking on purpose.
He lifts a hand and drags a single long, pale middle finger down the center of Gen's chest, from collar to navel, light. With an unnatural fluid gracefulness, he raises his upper half directly off the bed, and he places a pair of surprisingly warm lips against Gen's sternum to taste the dip in the skin there. But his fingers hook into the top of Gen's pants, and he yanks, flipping them around. Gen is dumped onto the bed where he had been, and he glides away to his feet.
His back turns to Gen as he removes the robe; he folds it politely and lets it land at his feet. He reaches around behind him and up, then pulls the zipper very slowly down the curve of his back, allowing the dark leather fold open and away from his skin. Teasingly beneath the long hair, glimpses of a surface like the moon. Unmarred and white flesh, the muscles carving out the shadows. The tunic is peeled forward and off, and he lowers it to the floor on top of the robe.
Then he faces Gen again, an infuriating and disgustingly perfect upper-half of lean muscle, unblemished aside from the missing left arm, a body hidden almost shyly by the curtain of hair. He begins to undo the belt as painfully slow as the tunic with one hand.]
Take the rest of yours off.
[It's not a request.]