[The weight of the cloth feels heavier against his chest, somehow, and that much closer to his heart. Lovecraft's heat is distinct from the water raining down on them, pillowing them in clouds of steam. Nishi's gaze pierces through them.]
...A horrible person.
[Delivered straight, it's impossible to know whether Nishi meant that earnestly or not.]
[Well, he's in the right company. Lovecraft doesn't pause, doesn't judge. His hand doesn't move from his chest, stilling there, even as he meets that gaze with the dark purple of his own.]
Do you not wish to be?
[John struggled with that day in and day out. Humanity eroded over time for the sake of putting food on his family's plate.]
[People, Lovecraft finds, break themselves a lot over things like that.]
[Ha... How ironic. He came here to checkmark a box, not to have the closest thing to an earnest heart-to-heart, but here he is having one. Always managing to botch the best laid plans at the worst possible times, Nishi has come too far, committed too much, to pull back now.
It's his turn to act. Easing forward into Lovecraft's space, Nishi's fingers frame the sharp line of his cheek.]
No one with any humanity left in them wants to be the bad guy. You simply... become what the world needs you to be.
[What it expects you to be.]
But it's not impossible to break free from what everyone expects from you. In your case, I truly believe that.
[Again, not used to touches, he freezes in place, holds his breath. Always, under his dour nature, lays true anxiety. The world has always seemed so overwhelming. People, even more so.]
[But the touch isn't rough, or painful, and he lets the tension ease even as his pupils seem to grow a little wider.]
Why...in my case? You don't know me.
[As if a stranger could simply understand. As if a....he lost his train of thought, suddenly, like he tripped. He doesn't know why. Breathing out through his nose, he slides the cloth over what was washed, the corners of it tickling over his skin.]
[The side of themselves that they show to the world may be different, but Nishi can read the anxiety in Lovecraft like a mirror. He's never managed to outrun his own, but what matters is that he tries. He keeps running knowing the beast will eventually catch him, but he can't stand to lie still and wait for its jaws.
He feels similarly about people in Lovecraft's situation, so used to the familiar bars of their cage that they've forgotten what the way out looks like. No, he doesn't know Lovecraft, but he knows what it feels like to be trapped. To bend until you become the perfect monster others imagine.
His fingers sink into the dark shock of hair that spills over so much of Lovecraft's body. For a moment, it looks like he might guide him closer, close the last of the space between them. But his hand stills before he dares. Instead, he lets the closeness suggest something unspoken, his breath brushing the line of Lovecraft's jaw, his words pitched low enough to feel like a confession.]
How do you think people get to know each other? It starts with a gut feeling. Intuition.
[That second question is one he can't touch. If Nishi thought freedom was possible for himself, he would have found it by now. So he does what he always does: he offers it to someone else instead.]
Join me. I don't know where or what, but I'll find a space for you. Somewhere you can live your life on your own terms.
[A gut feeling. Intuition. People like this man speak on it like it's that powerful. Outside of this space, he would simply set it aside, scoff at it. As if it meant anything.]
[But here, they're close. Too close. It makes the itching under his skin more potent, like he could simply rip it off to reveal...what? Its been plaguing him ever since he came here. Something he should know, but he can't as much as he can try. He wants to say it. Warn him. But warn him of what?]
[If it was something bad, would it matter? Would this man even care, relying on his intuition?]
Didn't answer...my question.
[He says, muttering, but he knows already its a fool's errand. This man wants him by his side. Sees something in him. Potential, possibility. Maybe he would use him as a tool just like the others.]
[But it is tempting to hear. Respect for what he wants. He wouldn't want to work all the time, and as much as this sounds like another cage, it feels bigger, freer than before.]
[He turns his head, nose brushing against the other- his hand still, cloth pressed over where the man's heart is. He almost feels he can hear it beating so restless in his chest.]
If I do...will you continue to give me more? Offer me...more?
[He is greedy. Offerings need to be made to keep him satisfied.]
[The word more hangs heavily in the little space that remains between them. It's dangerous, how easily he wants to rise to it. His own hunger slips its leash in moments like this, when he can almost pretend like he isn't starving.]
More. As much as I can give, you'll have it.
[His voice is low, steady, though his heart betrays him under Lovecraft's hand, thrumming like a trapped bird beating its wings against a gilded cage. He doesn't look away. If greed is the price of freedom, then let it be greed that binds them.]
But you'll have to take the risk of trusting me first. Can you do that?
[Lofty promises. Again, he doesn't know this man. He doesn't even know his name, though perhaps if he spent a minute actually looking at the graves, he would. People move like shadows throughout life, save for a few shining instances that would burn into the back of his mind and not quite let go. John was one. Fitzgerald, though he disliked him, was another.]
[Is this man one of such instances? He's so sure. He's so ready to rise to the occasion. He could have nothing. This could be a bluff. Words, words, words. He's never liked people. They always have their own paltry desires.]
[Lovecraft heaves out a low, rumbling sigh.]
[An offering is an offering. In the end...tribute. Yes, tribute is tribute.. What a fitting word.]
Very well. [He will take the risk, because in the end, he is a man guided by simple, endless wants. Hunger, thirst, sleep. He will take all of this, and more.] I will trust you. But do not...make me...regret it.
Nishi closes the last fraction of space, lips meeting Lovecraft's with a deliberate force. It's brief at first, staking his claim, but there are limits to a man's self-control. Nishi is no exception.
His hands move with practiced ease, one at the small of Lovecraft's back, the other brushing through his long dark hair. Anchoring, guiding, asserting. Every movement is measured, but the heat in his chest pushes urgency into the motion, a quiet insistence as he sets the pace.
Nishi doesn't pause for consent this time— the trust Lovecraft offered is enough. He deepens the kiss, tilting his head, pressing closer, letting the energy between them swell without losing the careful control that defines him. Breath mingles, his heart kicks into overdrive, and the world beyond them falls away.
Even as he takes and takes, Nishi is attentive. Every twitch, every inhale, every subtle shift guides him. Nishi leads, commands, and protects this fragile line of trust, letting desire and control coexist.]
[Admittedly, he is surprised by the sudden lips on his. He's never been one to think about such things as being in the realm of possibility in any sort of context, and his ability to read other's intentions in this regard is pathetic at best. He tenses, uncertain, but Nishi seems to have realized something. Lovecraft, as stubborn as he is, bends to active guidance. Such is the weakness of his passivity.]
[It continues. Not simply one, but many, as if to steal the breath out of him. Nishi is taking...or is he giving? No, he must be giving this to him, too. He said as much, didn't he? He would give him all he wants, and more. He didn't think he wanted this...does he want this, too? It seems like a fuzzy thing - warmth from hands through his hair, heat between their bodies, cold from the water, all boiling together into one overwhelming mess of sensation.]
[He's relaxing into it, though - Lovecraft drops the soap and cloth as to grasp at the other's body like an anchor. Nishi's heart pounds in his ear. How fretfully alive. He, who walks like a dead man, can't help but be a little obsessed.]
[Lovecraft ekes out a little noise, a half-groan, as his slender fingers press over the other's spine.]
[That's the irony of losing yourself: forgetting names and faces and even moments like this, but it's not all lost. Lovecraft's hands remind Nishi of what it feels like to surrender to someone else, to dissolve into them, to forget about everything else for a brief, blissful moment.
One kiss bleeds into the next. Frenetic, messy, driven by the raw impulse to chase sensation. There's a thrill for his ego too, the challenge of riling such a dispassionate man. No one's blood runs truly cold.
He shares the heat of his tongue with Lovecraft's without hesitation, while the remaining distance between them collapses. Lovecraft's back is pressed into the shower wall. Nishi could finish his task here, take what he came for, but he hasn't had his fill. Not even close.]
[This is nowhere near the timid one who came in saying that the mask would stay on. Actually, now that he's thinking about it...staying on during something like this? Is this what he was aiming for the whole time? With him? Surely not.]
[And it seems, his own self-imposed rule has been tossed away. He's seen his face, and then some. The uncertain young man of before seems like a vicious fire, now. Lovecraft winces a little as his back hits the shower wall, but the attack continues. He could simply let him have his way, but Lovecraft is a well of sins, it seems. Sloth, gluttony, and of course, pride.]
[So yes, he still can be stubborn, even if he follows orders. Murmuring, he's pressing back a little, tongue pushing between lips as if it can dive deep into him. His hands slide lower, his spine cracking slightly as he bends down closer - he's smaller than him, and yet he holds such strength.]
[What a brilliant little light. How very unlike him at all.]
[That's the thing: Char is the mask— capable and confident even when the man beneath it feels nowhere near as self-assured. If you can't be it, become it. If you can't make it, build it. The ruse has gone on so long that Nishi can't recall who lies beneath, or even who Char is, existing as the remnants of a mask that has, ironically, been forgotten.
Perhaps he's doomed to forget himself over and over, or maybe that's the fate he is meant to suffer. At any rate, it hardly matters now. His hands are a crawling inferno, scaling the vertebrae of Lovecraft's back, commanding, demanding. Fire burns within him, a reminder of the assertiveness built under duress, of the confidence forged from nothing.
His free hand hovers above Lovecraft's heart, teasing bare skin, threatening to penetrate, to slip in and claim the rose in his chest. Fingering the tethers of his soul, toying with it, leaving him unsure of what comes next. Nishi revels in keeping him on edge, a predator savoring the chase, intending to swallow him whole before the water runs cold. Has he always been so animalistic a man? How many times has he been in this position, commanding hearts as easily as he rends them?]
[He's never been one associated with fire. He's the slow sluggish waters of the deep sea, content to hold its mysteries. He's not passionate. He doesn't burn. He simply persists. Life is so exhausting as to not find enjoyment at all.]
[This man seems like he wants to tempt him into it, though. He feels like he's suffocating a little. The fingers press over his gaunt chest, and he's opening his eyes with a little choked noise. So here it is. A claim for the treasure underneath. Nobody has yet taken his rose. He has no idea how it feels...until now, perhaps, teased by a man who seems more cruel by the minute.]
[Lovecraft hisses - the noise comes from inside of him, like the release of gas from a sieve, an entirely inhuman rumble following as he grasps the nape of the man's neck, pulls him back for a moment to truly stare into his eyes with his own.]
[His pupils are so blown as to be black holes.]
Do you wish to...take it?
[Comes the darkened murmur like from some abyssal tomb. Though, even though it is a challenge, he's not running away. He simply waits.]
[Cruelty defines him— not as truth, but as mask. It's only need dressed as malice, the endless hunger to be validated because he cannot validate himself.
He is no comet blazing trails in the sky, but a hollow gravity well, pulling and pulling and never filled. It's easier to pretend otherwise, to surrender to fleeting fantasies like this one. To imagine that in taking, he might finally be.
Their gazes lock, abyss to abyss, and in that instant Nishi catches his own reflection in Lovecraft's eyes. The recognition chills him. Has Lovecraft always known this same yawning emptiness?
He wrenches composure back with force, stealing a kiss between words.]
No. You'll beg me for to claim it.
[And if Lovecraft will not surrender willingly, then all of this was meaningless.]
[He cannot be stopped. What has been put into motion is simply moving further into the pit where no sunlight lies. It's where they belong, don't they? This man seems bright, but his eyes are anything but.]
[His lips are captured. Lovecraft grunts, unable to prevent him from staking his claim. His hands grasp, nails scratching over wet skin.]
Beg...
[He manages to choke between kisses. A folly of a word. As if he would do such a thing, and yet-]
[Didn't he just before say he would trust the man? That he would give himself, and he wouldn't make him regret it?]
[His breath rattles. He moves a little decisively, nipping over the man's jaw as his fingers stroke and grasp through his hair. Everything feels so...overheated.]
[Make me.]
oh yeah this is completely nsfw, beware ye who scroll here
[Begging for release isn't shameful. If anything, there's a kind of liberation in it— in being safe enough to surrender, to hand yourself over completely.
That's a desire they both should understand. One they should share.
Maybe that's why Nishi knows he hasn't earned the rose just yet. The sharp exhale that slips from him when Lovecraft's teeth graze his jaw is admission enough, but after a beat he lowers, tongue tracing the cusp of that gaping void.
He would tear the rose free with his teeth if he could. Wouldn't that be the truest form of surrender? To let another devour you, to give yourself over entirely. He'll give that to Lovecraft— but not yet. But only once it's earned.
For now, his hand drifts lower, seeking the man's cock to give it an exploratory tug.]
[Living is already so much. Hell, even breathing is a chore. And this, on top of it, where this man seeks to push the limits of this gaunt body to places he feels he hasn't touched in years, almost threatens to unravel him. The hand finds what it wants, the tongue dips and encircles that area of sheer vulnerability. His soft spot. Like finding the underbelly of an animal.]
[Again, he doesn't remember the last time he had this kind of encounter. Memories feel so fluid, like a draining oil-like splatter that he can't define. He is...twenty-eight. He remembers it from his ID. But doesn't it feel like there are things he should recall from decades ago, hundreds of years ago? No. How impossible.]
[There's a sudden splotch of color in his face that mars his pale skin. How impossible.]
Gh-
[He can't make his tongue utter words. His breath hitches, and he's now returning the favor to scrape his teeth alongside his head, nails truly digging into his shoulders to keep him where he is. Daring him not to pull away.]
[To see if he would dare to sink more than his hand into him to be devoured.]
[Men have lost their minds for less.]
inevitably someone's going to make that when pcs unlock
[Lovecraft's nails pierce his skin, his teeth threaten to incise, and Nishi doesn't flinch. If anything, the desperation pinning him in place only enlivens him, his body a live wire thrumming with the latent threat Lovecraft poses: Pull away. I dare you. As if he would, tangled in him and only seeking to entangle himself further.
His lips brush the petals of that rose, a fathomless purple recalling the deepest reaches of outer space, a memory so precious that Nishi actively yearns for it, teeth snapping around a petal, tearing it from the stem.]
Easy now... or you'll break before I do.
[His grip lingers, steady and deliberate, coaxing rather than rushing. Every stroke is precise, every brush of his tongue a reminder that surrender will come, but only when Nishi dictates. His grip tightens, and he feeds into Lovecraft's arousal in increments, bidding him to come undone.]
[He's removed other's roses, saw their reaction. He has never had this done to him in return. He was curious as to what could make them utter such strange little noises when his hand grasped the prize inside.]
[Here, Nishi's teeth find the rose inside, snap off a petal, and Lovecraft feels sick. Truly sick. Like a fire that is now burning deep inside, causing his limbs to tremble. A fire that licks him, hurts him even, but doesn't destroy him.]
[He always thought the end would be cold.]
[Perhaps it is something more like a heated little death.]
Hah-
[Unbearable, the attention of that hand down below-! There's more energy in his body than there has been for years. His hands are cracking, oddly, as they squeeze the man's shoulder and neck, one gaunt leg jerking upward like a reflex. It's too much. It's so much.]
[He doesn't even know this man's name.]
I-I won't...
[Even as his statement of defiance ends in a low whimper.]
[Until you can't. Until begging is your only recourse.
Cruelty and tenderness dovetail so easily. Nishi's touch unrelenting but warm, callouses rough against delicate flesh, deliberate in the way his fingers seek to unravel Lovecraft into pleasure through firm, unrelenting strokes.
His own needs don't factor in, if he pays any mind to them at all. What matters is the stinging press of kisses scattered across Lovecraft's chest, carving reminders that this is no cold, unfeeling monster before him, but a man starved of touch.
So Nishi will touch him, inside and out, again and again, until it's too much. Until he begs for it to stop— because surely, at some point, he'll want it to stop. Won't he?]
[His breathing is heavy - like the air here seeks to drown him. In a way, he always feels drowned, a fish out of water, and here he almost feels like he should pass out. But he can't. His body wants it all - the fire, the stroking, the kissing. There's a real and honest greed that's been reined in, pulled to the surface in all of its ugly glory. He's so swollen that its almost painful, so close to the peak that he should dive off of.]
[He exhales the word into the man's scalp, teeth scraping there like he means to tear it off.]
More.
[Is this begging? His voice seems deeper now, louder, like it's coming from a throat of another man, another creature. There's something taking over him, like ancient instinct. There's a brief flicker of something in his head - candlelight in the darkness, people in robes, moans and babbling echoing in the air-]
[Tribute. Tribute. Tribute.]
[He's hugging the man so close as if he could subsume him into himself and become one.]
[—Ha. Haha. Nishi can't fight back the laughter that claws its way out of him, the latent danger seeping off of Lovecraft's every word threatening to drown him in the abyss.
Lovecraft reminds him of who he really is: a man who courts near-death like an old lover, who thrives with a blade at his throat. This is no different. The peril still riles him. Still thrills him. He still wants to drive headlong into certain doom and laugh when he breaks out the other side, cracked but grinning.
So he does. He ups the tempo, rough enough to border on sadistic, jerking at Lovecraft until the tension between them feels ready to snap. Nishi props himself between the man's hips, steadying his weight but making it clear he's hardly less affected, breath shaking with unhinged laughter.
There really is a monster lying dormant in him. In both of them. Two beasts in the deep, gnashing teeth and daring the other to bite first. Nishi's lips test the thorns of that rose, aching to snatch it and claim it for himself. But not yet. Almost, almost, almost—]
[He remembers Fitzgerald. A brilliant blazing man. Where Steinbeck was sunlight, he was gold in all shapes and forms. A spectacle. And in his eyes was something quite distinct, something Lovecraft feels he's seen time and time again.]
[Madness.]
[Those who have asked for him have always been mad.]
[He can't begin to understand why. Even he told that young child at home that he didn't understand what insanity looked like. And then he had unfurled, and-]
Ghk-
[Whatever mental image he was trying to put forward is interrupted by the mouth over his rose, nipping and teasing. ImHe has never seen it, but it must be a gnarled, inconceivable thing, thorny and uncomfortable. And this man wants it, wants to take it for his own.]
[Only someone who was mad would do such a thing.]
[He, too, is mad for allowing him to do it.]
[The pace is too much. Gasping, gaping, and sending pitched little moans into the air, he feels it coming. Lovecraft pushes the man's head as far as it can go, to grab what he sought for. What he gave.]
[A gift from monster to monster.]
Please-
[And he feels himself bowl over, eyes almost rolling back from the intensity of the release shooting over the man and his hand. There is no name to moan. Simply a wordless, guttural cry that comes from deep within.]
[Lovecraft nearly overwhelms him. Nearly. It's the pressure he exerts on Nishi when pushed to his limits that urges Nishi to heed his call— sunk into his depths, blinded, but hardly lost.
The rose fits neatly between his teeth. Its thorns prick at his lips, drawing beads of blood to the surface. In one deft motion, the rose is pulled free from Lovecraft's chest, and he leans back to show off his quarry— an almost animal instinct.
It's a simple matter to rinse his hand clean, simpler still to take that rose in hand and twirl it by the stem, the color of it entrancing him.]
...Beautiful, like the sky at midnight.
[When he says this, he's looking at Lovecraft, not the rose.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
insistence) wrote2025-08-18 04:41 pm
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...A horrible person.
[Delivered straight, it's impossible to know whether Nishi meant that earnestly or not.]
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Do you not wish to be?
[John struggled with that day in and day out. Humanity eroded over time for the sake of putting food on his family's plate.]
[People, Lovecraft finds, break themselves a lot over things like that.]
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It's his turn to act. Easing forward into Lovecraft's space, Nishi's fingers frame the sharp line of his cheek.]
No one with any humanity left in them wants to be the bad guy. You simply... become what the world needs you to be.
[What it expects you to be.]
But it's not impossible to break free from what everyone expects from you. In your case, I truly believe that.
no subject
[But the touch isn't rough, or painful, and he lets the tension ease even as his pupils seem to grow a little wider.]
Why...in my case? You don't know me.
[As if a stranger could simply understand. As if a....he lost his train of thought, suddenly, like he tripped. He doesn't know why. Breathing out through his nose, he slides the cloth over what was washed, the corners of it tickling over his skin.]
Shouldn't you free...yourself...?
no subject
He feels similarly about people in Lovecraft's situation, so used to the familiar bars of their cage that they've forgotten what the way out looks like. No, he doesn't know Lovecraft, but he knows what it feels like to be trapped. To bend until you become the perfect monster others imagine.
His fingers sink into the dark shock of hair that spills over so much of Lovecraft's body. For a moment, it looks like he might guide him closer, close the last of the space between them. But his hand stills before he dares. Instead, he lets the closeness suggest something unspoken, his breath brushing the line of Lovecraft's jaw, his words pitched low enough to feel like a confession.]
How do you think people get to know each other? It starts with a gut feeling. Intuition.
[That second question is one he can't touch. If Nishi thought freedom was possible for himself, he would have found it by now. So he does what he always does: he offers it to someone else instead.]
Join me. I don't know where or what, but I'll find a space for you. Somewhere you can live your life on your own terms.
no subject
[But here, they're close. Too close. It makes the itching under his skin more potent, like he could simply rip it off to reveal...what? Its been plaguing him ever since he came here. Something he should know, but he can't as much as he can try. He wants to say it. Warn him. But warn him of what?]
[If it was something bad, would it matter? Would this man even care, relying on his intuition?]
Didn't answer...my question.
[He says, muttering, but he knows already its a fool's errand. This man wants him by his side. Sees something in him. Potential, possibility. Maybe he would use him as a tool just like the others.]
[But it is tempting to hear. Respect for what he wants. He wouldn't want to work all the time, and as much as this sounds like another cage, it feels bigger, freer than before.]
[He turns his head, nose brushing against the other- his hand still, cloth pressed over where the man's heart is. He almost feels he can hear it beating so restless in his chest.]
If I do...will you continue to give me more? Offer me...more?
[He is greedy. Offerings need to be made to keep him satisfied.]
no subject
More. As much as I can give, you'll have it.
[His voice is low, steady, though his heart betrays him under Lovecraft's hand, thrumming like a trapped bird beating its wings against a gilded cage. He doesn't look away. If greed is the price of freedom, then let it be greed that binds them.]
But you'll have to take the risk of trusting me first. Can you do that?
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[Is this man one of such instances? He's so sure. He's so ready to rise to the occasion. He could have nothing. This could be a bluff. Words, words, words. He's never liked people. They always have their own paltry desires.]
[Lovecraft heaves out a low, rumbling sigh.]
[An offering is an offering. In the end...tribute. Yes, tribute is tribute.. What a fitting word.]
Very well. [He will take the risk, because in the end, he is a man guided by simple, endless wants. Hunger, thirst, sleep. He will take all of this, and more.] I will trust you. But do not...make me...regret it.
no subject
Nishi closes the last fraction of space, lips meeting Lovecraft's with a deliberate force. It's brief at first, staking his claim, but there are limits to a man's self-control. Nishi is no exception.
His hands move with practiced ease, one at the small of Lovecraft's back, the other brushing through his long dark hair. Anchoring, guiding, asserting. Every movement is measured, but the heat in his chest pushes urgency into the motion, a quiet insistence as he sets the pace.
Nishi doesn't pause for consent this time— the trust Lovecraft offered is enough. He deepens the kiss, tilting his head, pressing closer, letting the energy between them swell without losing the careful control that defines him. Breath mingles, his heart kicks into overdrive, and the world beyond them falls away.
Even as he takes and takes, Nishi is attentive. Every twitch, every inhale, every subtle shift guides him. Nishi leads, commands, and protects this fragile line of trust, letting desire and control coexist.]
no subject
[It continues. Not simply one, but many, as if to steal the breath out of him. Nishi is taking...or is he giving? No, he must be giving this to him, too. He said as much, didn't he? He would give him all he wants, and more. He didn't think he wanted this...does he want this, too? It seems like a fuzzy thing - warmth from hands through his hair, heat between their bodies, cold from the water, all boiling together into one overwhelming mess of sensation.]
[He's relaxing into it, though - Lovecraft drops the soap and cloth as to grasp at the other's body like an anchor. Nishi's heart pounds in his ear. How fretfully alive. He, who walks like a dead man, can't help but be a little obsessed.]
[Lovecraft ekes out a little noise, a half-groan, as his slender fingers press over the other's spine.]
no subject
One kiss bleeds into the next. Frenetic, messy, driven by the raw impulse to chase sensation. There's a thrill for his ego too, the challenge of riling such a dispassionate man. No one's blood runs truly cold.
He shares the heat of his tongue with Lovecraft's without hesitation, while the remaining distance between them collapses. Lovecraft's back is pressed into the shower wall. Nishi could finish his task here, take what he came for, but he hasn't had his fill. Not even close.]
no subject
[And it seems, his own self-imposed rule has been tossed away. He's seen his face, and then some. The uncertain young man of before seems like a vicious fire, now. Lovecraft winces a little as his back hits the shower wall, but the attack continues. He could simply let him have his way, but Lovecraft is a well of sins, it seems. Sloth, gluttony, and of course, pride.]
[So yes, he still can be stubborn, even if he follows orders. Murmuring, he's pressing back a little, tongue pushing between lips as if it can dive deep into him. His hands slide lower, his spine cracking slightly as he bends down closer - he's smaller than him, and yet he holds such strength.]
[What a brilliant little light. How very unlike him at all.]
no subject
Perhaps he's doomed to forget himself over and over, or maybe that's the fate he is meant to suffer. At any rate, it hardly matters now. His hands are a crawling inferno, scaling the vertebrae of Lovecraft's back, commanding, demanding. Fire burns within him, a reminder of the assertiveness built under duress, of the confidence forged from nothing.
His free hand hovers above Lovecraft's heart, teasing bare skin, threatening to penetrate, to slip in and claim the rose in his chest. Fingering the tethers of his soul, toying with it, leaving him unsure of what comes next. Nishi revels in keeping him on edge, a predator savoring the chase, intending to swallow him whole before the water runs cold. Has he always been so animalistic a man? How many times has he been in this position, commanding hearts as easily as he rends them?]
no subject
[This man seems like he wants to tempt him into it, though. He feels like he's suffocating a little. The fingers press over his gaunt chest, and he's opening his eyes with a little choked noise. So here it is. A claim for the treasure underneath. Nobody has yet taken his rose. He has no idea how it feels...until now, perhaps, teased by a man who seems more cruel by the minute.]
[Lovecraft hisses - the noise comes from inside of him, like the release of gas from a sieve, an entirely inhuman rumble following as he grasps the nape of the man's neck, pulls him back for a moment to truly stare into his eyes with his own.]
[His pupils are so blown as to be black holes.]
Do you wish to...take it?
[Comes the darkened murmur like from some abyssal tomb. Though, even though it is a challenge, he's not running away. He simply waits.]
Shall...you claim it?
no subject
He is no comet blazing trails in the sky, but a hollow gravity well, pulling and pulling and never filled. It's easier to pretend otherwise, to surrender to fleeting fantasies like this one. To imagine that in taking, he might finally be.
Their gazes lock, abyss to abyss, and in that instant Nishi catches his own reflection in Lovecraft's eyes. The recognition chills him. Has Lovecraft always known this same yawning emptiness?
He wrenches composure back with force, stealing a kiss between words.]
No. You'll beg me for to claim it.
[And if Lovecraft will not surrender willingly, then all of this was meaningless.]
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[His lips are captured. Lovecraft grunts, unable to prevent him from staking his claim. His hands grasp, nails scratching over wet skin.]
Beg...
[He manages to choke between kisses. A folly of a word. As if he would do such a thing, and yet-]
[Didn't he just before say he would trust the man? That he would give himself, and he wouldn't make him regret it?]
[His breath rattles. He moves a little decisively, nipping over the man's jaw as his fingers stroke and grasp through his hair. Everything feels so...overheated.]
[Make me.]
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That's a desire they both should understand. One they should share.
Maybe that's why Nishi knows he hasn't earned the rose just yet. The sharp exhale that slips from him when Lovecraft's teeth graze his jaw is admission enough, but after a beat he lowers, tongue tracing the cusp of that gaping void.
He would tear the rose free with his teeth if he could. Wouldn't that be the truest form of surrender? To let another devour you, to give yourself over entirely. He'll give that to Lovecraft— but not yet. But only once it's earned.
For now, his hand drifts lower, seeking the man's cock to give it an exploratory tug.]
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[Again, he doesn't remember the last time he had this kind of encounter. Memories feel so fluid, like a draining oil-like splatter that he can't define. He is...twenty-eight. He remembers it from his ID. But doesn't it feel like there are things he should recall from decades ago, hundreds of years ago? No. How impossible.]
[There's a sudden splotch of color in his face that mars his pale skin. How impossible.]
Gh-
[He can't make his tongue utter words. His breath hitches, and he's now returning the favor to scrape his teeth alongside his head, nails truly digging into his shoulders to keep him where he is. Daring him not to pull away.]
[To see if he would dare to sink more than his hand into him to be devoured.]
[Men have lost their minds for less.]
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His lips brush the petals of that rose, a fathomless purple recalling the deepest reaches of outer space, a memory so precious that Nishi actively yearns for it, teeth snapping around a petal, tearing it from the stem.]
Easy now... or you'll break before I do.
[His grip lingers, steady and deliberate, coaxing rather than rushing. Every stroke is precise, every brush of his tongue a reminder that surrender will come, but only when Nishi dictates. His grip tightens, and he feeds into Lovecraft's arousal in increments, bidding him to come undone.]
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[Here, Nishi's teeth find the rose inside, snap off a petal, and Lovecraft feels sick. Truly sick. Like a fire that is now burning deep inside, causing his limbs to tremble. A fire that licks him, hurts him even, but doesn't destroy him.]
[He always thought the end would be cold.]
[Perhaps it is something more like a heated little death.]
Hah-
[Unbearable, the attention of that hand down below-! There's more energy in his body than there has been for years. His hands are cracking, oddly, as they squeeze the man's shoulder and neck, one gaunt leg jerking upward like a reflex. It's too much. It's so much.]
[He doesn't even know this man's name.]
I-I won't...
[Even as his statement of defiance ends in a low whimper.]
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[Until you can't. Until begging is your only recourse.
Cruelty and tenderness dovetail so easily. Nishi's touch unrelenting but warm, callouses rough against delicate flesh, deliberate in the way his fingers seek to unravel Lovecraft into pleasure through firm, unrelenting strokes.
His own needs don't factor in, if he pays any mind to them at all. What matters is the stinging press of kisses scattered across Lovecraft's chest, carving reminders that this is no cold, unfeeling monster before him, but a man starved of touch.
So Nishi will touch him, inside and out, again and again, until it's too much. Until he begs for it to stop— because surely, at some point, he'll want it to stop. Won't he?]
Does it feel good? Does it hurt?
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[His breathing is heavy - like the air here seeks to drown him. In a way, he always feels drowned, a fish out of water, and here he almost feels like he should pass out. But he can't. His body wants it all - the fire, the stroking, the kissing. There's a real and honest greed that's been reined in, pulled to the surface in all of its ugly glory. He's so swollen that its almost painful, so close to the peak that he should dive off of.]
[He exhales the word into the man's scalp, teeth scraping there like he means to tear it off.]
More.
[Is this begging? His voice seems deeper now, louder, like it's coming from a throat of another man, another creature. There's something taking over him, like ancient instinct. There's a brief flicker of something in his head - candlelight in the darkness, people in robes, moans and babbling echoing in the air-]
[Tribute. Tribute. Tribute.]
[He's hugging the man so close as if he could subsume him into himself and become one.]
More.
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Lovecraft reminds him of who he really is: a man who courts near-death like an old lover, who thrives with a blade at his throat. This is no different. The peril still riles him. Still thrills him. He still wants to drive headlong into certain doom and laugh when he breaks out the other side, cracked but grinning.
So he does. He ups the tempo, rough enough to border on sadistic, jerking at Lovecraft until the tension between them feels ready to snap. Nishi props himself between the man's hips, steadying his weight but making it clear he's hardly less affected, breath shaking with unhinged laughter.
There really is a monster lying dormant in him. In both of them. Two beasts in the deep, gnashing teeth and daring the other to bite first. Nishi's lips test the thorns of that rose, aching to snatch it and claim it for himself. But not yet. Almost, almost, almost—]
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[Madness.]
[Those who have asked for him have always been mad.]
[He can't begin to understand why. Even he told that young child at home that he didn't understand what insanity looked like. And then he had unfurled, and-]
Ghk-
[Whatever mental image he was trying to put forward is interrupted by the mouth over his rose, nipping and teasing. ImHe has never seen it, but it must be a gnarled, inconceivable thing, thorny and uncomfortable. And this man wants it, wants to take it for his own.]
[Only someone who was mad would do such a thing.]
[He, too, is mad for allowing him to do it.]
[The pace is too much. Gasping, gaping, and sending pitched little moans into the air, he feels it coming. Lovecraft pushes the man's head as far as it can go, to grab what he sought for. What he gave.]
[A gift from monster to monster.]
Please-
[And he feels himself bowl over, eyes almost rolling back from the intensity of the release shooting over the man and his hand. There is no name to moan. Simply a wordless, guttural cry that comes from deep within.]
[All that he asked for.]
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The rose fits neatly between his teeth. Its thorns prick at his lips, drawing beads of blood to the surface. In one deft motion, the rose is pulled free from Lovecraft's chest, and he leans back to show off his quarry— an almost animal instinct.
It's a simple matter to rinse his hand clean, simpler still to take that rose in hand and twirl it by the stem, the color of it entrancing him.]
...Beautiful, like the sky at midnight.
[When he says this, he's looking at Lovecraft, not the rose.]
That was well worth the effort.
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