Copper Kisses

[Nathandiel]

*****WARNING ADULT STUFF****

"You sing so well, I think the being naked part helps." Nathandiel said, smiling up at the younger man on his lap. He reached up to brush his dark curls from his brow so he could see the pretty blue eyes again.

"I think wine helps." Pascal said, ignoring Nathandiel's compliment and reaching to the side table to refill his glass. He brought it to his lips and the crimson liquid left a new stain there, mixing with the natural pink to make a very kissable ruby colour.

"You look like a tart." Nathnadiel said.

Pascal batted his lashed and puckered his lips several times, then returned to his wine. When he put his glass back on the table their bare chests came together. Nathandiel wrapped his arms around the other man, holding him tightly and trapping him. Pascal swatted at him, but was giggling. "You're crushing me! I'm little!"

"You're not that little." Nathandiel responded, maneuvering his lover into a kiss before releasing him. Pascal was on the thin-side, but he was hardly slight. "Now sing for me some more . . . please?" He brushed the curls aside again, but his touch was far gentler, adoring even.

Pascal shook his head, his eyes closed and his chin in the air. He stopped and then cracked the lid of one eye, a mischevious smile curling his lips. ". . . are you going to be good?" He asked. "And by "good," I mean let me finish this time?"

"You finished." Nathandiel said, popping his brows.

"Shut up!" Pascal swatted him agian and it smarted. They both laughed and Nathandiel held onto Pascal as they swayed in the wingback chair, shifted by their giggles. Pascal tipped up Nathanidel's chin and kissed him, pressing their foreheads together, their eyes meeting. "Do you promise to be good?" He asked in a whisper. "I'll sing if you promise."

Nathandial slipped a hand between them and drew an 'X' over his heart. He'd be good.

"Good boy." Pascal proclaimed before he plunged his fingers into Nathnadiel's hair, holding him in place so that he could plant a smacker of a kiss on his cheek. He then slid off of Nathandiel's lap and wandered towards the turntable, picking up his discarded robe on the way and slipping into it, hiding his naked body from view. The robe billowed gently behind him as he walked, a series of red waves, like poured wine into a glass.

Nathandiel fingered his lips as he watched the other man move, eyes narrowing as he took him in -- drank him in.

So pretty . . . prettier every year. They had known each other since they'd been at school; that had given Pascal a lot of years to get as pretty as he was right then.

Pascal lifted the needle and looked back at Nathandiel as he held it above the record, hesitating. "Remember. You promised to be good." Nathandiel nodded silently, and Pascal set the needle down.

Pascal closed his eyes as the melody began, moving slowly as the piano and kit came together to make music out of their rhythmic stutter stepping. He stepped away from the table and swayed slowly, tying the sash at his waist in long draws that were, in themselves, melodic. Pascal was a lovely to watch as he was to listen to.

Nathandiel brought the ankle of one leg to the knee of the other and then reached for his cigarettes. He tapped one from the carton and lit it, inhaling deeply and settling in for the show. He'd taken his eyes away from Pascal just long enough to miss the opening notes -- and they froze him.

No boy has business singing along with a woman that well. . . .

Perhaps not, but Pascal did a grand job of challenging that notion.

He turned his neck slowly, his bangs in his eyes as he looked upon the soloist in his parlour. Pascal began to rotate his hips as if he were mixing something, but there was nothing vulgar about it. Nathandiel had been in enough dens where naked women thrust their vulvar property at him to know that it was far easier to ignore the subtleties of a showing a slip, or a delicate gait. Allure was in the lining, not the garment itself -- Pascal wore himself well.

There was a little bounce to his shoulders as he moved away from the table further and opened his eyes finally, settling them on Nathandiel. The lyrics that had been written were not particularly deep, but the way Pascal looked at him, and the way he crafted them with his lips--

--his mouth

They were deeply, deeply moving.

Pascal approached him and took short, measured steps as he moved, a smile blooming as he soaked up Nathandiel's unbroken attention. He was blushing, but he wasn't at all shy as pulled the sash free and opened his robe, baring himself again before he leaned over Nathandiel, staddling his lap and taking up his previous perch.

He plucked Nathandiel's cigarette from him and brought it his own lips when the instruments were given their solo. Even the smoke the came from Pascal's mouth was beautiful, prompting Nathandiel to reach up and try to catch it, curling his wrist in the bluish-gray snake that coiled up towards the ceiling. But like the slip of a man on his lap, it was too pretty to hold onto.

Pascal took Nathandiel by the chin, the grip of his fingers a hard contrast to the smooth notes that flowed unrestrained from him. Whatever the diva on the record sang about was lost on Nathandiel; the words didn't matter, Pascal's eyes said far more. He could have been putting the ingredients for mutton into song, and it would have stirred Nathandiel. Pascal punctuated the end of a stanza with a kiss that was deep and tasted like wine, cigarettes, and very much like the comfort of familiarity, The Known and all the appeal that could be found therein.

Nathandiel broke his promise and didn't let Pascal finish the song. Instead he picked him up, carrying him like a child, and took him upstairs to their bed.

Pascal did not complain.

[Nathandiel]

"I had somewhere else I wanted to be tonight." Nathandiel said softly, drawing the file down the liston knife as he looked down at the woman. "I had planned on spending the evening in the presence of lovely, respectable women . . . but here I am . . . with you." He huffed. Her green eyes watched the blade, and her upper lip twitched into a shaky, nervous sneer each time the file cut the air with that awful, distinct sound that was music only to the ears of butchers and swordsman -- Nathandiel was neither.

Some call us butchers. Some say sawbones. How fitting.

He closed his eyes a moment out of frustration. What luck. He'd been stuck in that awful desert of ice for months, his Drinn had gone away, and the one event he'd really been looking forward to had evaded him -- because of work. He stopped sharpening the knife and looked down at it. The light caught the blade and the refraction danced over the woman's cheek before skipping over her eyes, causing her to squint and look away.

Blinding her wouldn't be the worst thing that the blade would do.

"There was an auction on ladies tonight and I had intended to go. There was one lady I particularly wished to buy." He set the knife down on the instrument tray and stowed the file on the shelf below. He turned his attention to the anesthetics laid out on the table behind him. This one would get to sleep through her adjustments. Truth be told, he was glad for it. The screaming did get old, and heartless as one might have been, it got to whatever soul was left in a man of the one he'd been bestowed at birth.

Missing Drinn had made him miss Pascal, his lover from home, and he'd wanted very much to be distracted from the pain that his affections had brought him in their absences.

Just not like this.

He filled syringes and made notes on the prisoner's chart. He'd order pain control for her given that he was feeling generous.

"Her name is Shaelie." he murmured, scribbling and speaking to the elf on the table that surely did not care what he had to say. She was frightened and rightly so. She'd done a bad thing and now she was in he bowels of the Undercity. She hadn't been ordered dead for her infractions -- whatever they had been -- but she had been ordered changed. Judging by the order on the chart, the woman was either very dear to whomever she'd offended, or very despised. That Howard Phillip Glinn had signed the order only spoke to the severity of the woman's offenses.

"She's interesting, but she won't speak with me. We don't cross paths much and -- like everyone outside of this place that i spend my time with -- she thinks me a fool." He filled the last syringe. "I just wanted a reason for her to talk to me. She seemed like a nice lady to talk with. They have boats in the moat here and I thought I might take her there. But alas, I am here with you instead." He turned back to the woman and saw that she was crying.

At first he thought it was because of where she was and what was going to happen to her, but then he saw the wetness on her gown and the drip of urine on the floor, a yellowed rubber tube hanging limp from where it was taped to her thigh. "Oh dear . . . your catheter's come out." He frowned, wondering how that had happened. The balloons rarely failed. It must have been very painful for her.

"Not to worry my dear" He stepped around the puddle and snatched up the tube. He tore the tape from her thigh and detached the collecting bag. "We'll get you a new one of these, then I'll put you down for your dead nap, the nurse will come in to ventilate you and we'll get these off." He gave her ankles a squeeze.

"I promise, the catheter I install before you wake up won't be able to come out. This one was temporary." He waggled the rubber at her and then gave her a reassuring smile before going to fetch a replacement.

[Nathandiel]

The woman's feet had been pickled and mounted in jars filled with formalin. He carefully affixed the ribbons on the jars before setting in them their shipping container. He'd had time to admire her impeccable toenails when he'd washed the feet, whisking away the brown of iodine that had stained the pink flesh. She'd been fond of painting her nails it seemed, and while he'd never really noticed ladies' toenails before, he'd thought hers were capable of inspiring desire -- had their still been a woman attached to them.

I like that whore-red colour better on their lips, but it's nice on these toes.

Perhaps she could still paint her fingernails that colour.

As he sealed the box he wondered if the person she'd offended had been fond of her feet, and if that had been why they'd requested them returned while she recovered in hospital.

Amazing what I find myself wondering about down here. Someone ordered her feet amputated and I'm worried about why they want the feet back?

This made him smile. Silly how work could skew one's views.

He picked up the box and took it from his desk to the table by the door. The mail boy would be by later and he'd take the macabre package away. He'd already checked on the patient when he'd returned that morning and found her comfortably doped, legs elevated, and giant, thick bandages wrapped so liberally around each stump that it now looked like she had cotton boulders for feet. Men liked women's feet and often celebrated their deformation as parodies of beauty -- high heels, dancing slippers, small sizes -- but he didn't think he knew any men that would find stumps a pleasing deformation. But then he didn't know who he'd just sent the woman's feet to. Maybe the recipient had more use for her feet than for her.

His expression soured.

He went back to his desk and reached to open a new chart. The small, stuffed dog on the desk caught his eye and he smiled, feeling easy again. He picked it up and sat back in his chair to admire it.

He'd gone to The Filthy Animal after he'd missed the auction, and taken a bed. At some point he'd slept and woken from bad dreams -- to find a blue troll looking down at him, concern and kindness pasted absurdly on the long, tusked face. He couldn't remember the man's name even thought they'd met before, and he wished he could, if only to say that he was thankful for the kindness that the man had shown him.

The man had run fingers through Nathandiel's hair, held him, and told him he was alright. An elf had brought him a glass a wine, and as Nathandiel had fallen back asleep, the troll had covered him with his blanket and tucked a stuffed dog under his arm. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he'd been kissed softly as he'd traversed back into the land of sleep.

Pure, unadulterated kindness.

His eyes were drawn back to the package as he fingered the soft fur of the dog toy.

Gods, I miss kindness.

[Nathandiel]

She was already asleep when he'd come home from the battlefields. He'd left her at the after party to join Ley'ujin and his men. Cobrak's wedding had been important for Drinn, and Nathandiel wondered if that was why she'd come home finally -- to be there for a comrade. He didn't mind either way, he was just pleased to have her back. He was mad at her, surely, but it was hard to stay mad at her when she blatantly adored him public.

It's even harder when she's naked in our bed again.

He smiled at her, curled around the puppies amongst their bed furs, as content looking in her sleep as if she'd never left. She'd told him that she suffered from nightmares, awful things her husband Atticus had done his best to keep at bay, but Nathandiel had yet to feel her stir too badly at night. She said perhaps he was soothing to her.

He undressed and went to the washroom to clean himself. The puppies appeared, sluggish from sleep but happy to see their Dad. He grinned down at them as he washed his underarms. "Yes, I'm home. You would like my stink, but I don't think your Mum would." Linna began to yip and he hushed her. "Don't wake Mum." He said sternly and held a finger to his lips; she hushed. She also sat down. Drinn's dog was confused about her commands.

He brushed his teeth, shaved, and changed his clothes. When he pet the dogs he could smell that they'd been bathed -- with rose shampoo, Drinn's favourite. He frowned as he ruffled their manes. "Pointless. Like putting perfume on pigs." He kissed each of them and went to the hearth. He ate bread and cheese, drank pulpy juice and then crawled carefully into bed with his Drinn.

He curled around her, finding his fit with her and kissed the back of her head. The pups leapt up onto the bed and piled on top of them. Nathandiel knew that she could be gone again in the morning -- they'd discussed nothing. So he endeavoured to enjoy the moment's peace, even if that's all it was -- a moment.

[Drinn]

Bright. White.

That was the problem living in an arid waste of snow, it was blinding when the sun was at it’s peak.

Drinn groaned. Her lips curled into a natural sneer as she cursed the light that cut rays through fur coverings of a single window. She rolled over and tucked in, her face hidden in the curve of a neck. The sleep that addled her senses slowly began to wash away as she inhaled. Soap, and the scent of the familiar. Nathaniel.

Her sneer slowly turned into a hidden smile and toes curled. Small, fury lumps began squirming, sensing that one of them was close to being awake. She wiggled her toes again, intentionally catching fur between them before sitting up. Drinn’s eye narrowed, squinting against the light that had woken her. Nathaniel’s part of the Grim compound was set apart and more a hovel than a garrison. He had proven himself worthy of better living arrangements when he had become the Executioner. She didn’t understand why he hadn’t taken the upgrade. He was more liked than he assumed. It was true, the others didn’t have a clue what he was like, what he was really like. They would have liked more. She did.

Carefully she snaked her way out of his arms and slid off the bed, not bothering to dress as she padded across the worn wooden floor. The fingers at her side wiggled and Linna lifted her head and slinked off the bed as carefully as the Elf. Drinn had taught her pup the subtleties of Silent Speak and responded well to the simple gestures. Castor, the more boisterous of the two, bounded off the bed after his sister.
She had to turn her head when she cracked the door to shield her eyes as the pups tumbled out into the snow.

She did like him. Maybe that’s why she came back. Her lips twitched at the corner lifting into a lopsided smile as she looked to the bed. Nathaniel was still sleeping. His forelock fallen over one eye. His body still folded as if he were tucked around something. Drinn had taken care not to wake him when she got out of bed but now she found herself nearly prancing before bounding onto back into bedding like one of their pets, rolling the male to his back. Nathaniel blinked, his lips parting in confusion. She grinned as she loomed down at him, waggling a plush dog she had found tucked near the pillows in his face and making little ‘arf’ noises at him.

He was why she came back.

[Nathandiel]

"Arf! Arf-arf!" Drinn waggled the dog toy at Nathandiel, the one that the nice troll had given him.

She's still here.

And she's naked. On top of me. Fuck. Yes.

"That was a present you know. . . ." He said cooly, looking up at her, his hands on her hips. She was skinny -- too skinny, even, and her hip bones were like handles. In the back of his head where his brain cells were still working he made a note to stuff her full. Of food. He like Syreena and all, but skinny, skeletal broads did little for his dick.

Her though . . . she's still got it where it counts.

He closed a hand over one small, delightful breast as he smiled up at her.

She shrugged at his comment and dropped the dog toy, discarding it. Her long, black hair was unbrushed and tumbled down over her shoulders in thick, unruly locks. A tuft of it sprang up over one of her ears, like a bear's ear, bowed and floppy. He reached up and picked it straight, smoothing it down the curve of her skull. She had a good, strong skull. He liked it very much and thought that if she died, he would clean it and mount it and keep very close for the rest of his days.

She shook her nice skull back and forth, raven locks swaying, the longest parts tickling his tummy and making him laugh and squeeze her.

Her hands became claws on his chest and she looked down at him, jewel-like eyes blazing. She smiled, and it was the true kind of smile where her little, white teeth peeked out, revealing her very slight over-bite, and making her cheeks into taut, pink apples that made him . . . attentive.

"I think you and I are supposed to have a fight." He said, caressing her gently but still touching on something important. Her smile faded a little and she looked down at his chest, her claws blunting and then softening as she beacme solemn, like a child awaiting a mandatory talking-to.

"I said some awful things. . . ." he offered. She nodded, petting the light smattering of hair he had on his chest. "And I'm sorry I said them. . . ." She was quiet and still -- then she pinched and tugged at his nipple, baring her teeth and nodding at him. He cried out in pain and suprise, but as she released the tender bud of flesh he found himself laughing. "Alright! Okay! Yes, I deserve that!"

His Drinn looked like a cuddly little ragamuffin, but she stung like a red hot scorpion.

She nodded, and swooped down, tucking her hair behind her ear as she did , in a manner that was far too polite for a creature like her. She drew her tongue over him, and then kissed his offended nipple, one, twice, then she bit at it, catching it between her teeth.

He held his breath, his lips parted and his muscle stiff.

She eyed him, holding his tender bit hostage, her eyes giving nothing away.

". . . I was jealous and frustrated and mad and I did a very, very bad thing for which I am very, very sorry?" He offered as quickly as he could spit it out. He trusted her, but he also thought she was perfectly capable of nipping off just a bit of him if it so suited her.

Her breath was hot against his skin, her teeth barely felt after he'd been tugged so hard. Her childlike brutality made him want her more. The shine in her eyes made him want to forget about all the pain she had caused him.

He caressed her cheek gently, killing her with the kindness that had won her over in the first place -- genuine kindness, that thing he'd been wanting more of. He was happy to heap it upon her. Kindness and flattery had gotten him everywhere with Drinn Sel'Quar, contrary to what other's had said he could expect of her. She had been hard on the outside, but pink and soft as fresh fruit on the inside -- a hurt soul that had need some love.

"Fight later?" He suggested softly, his eyes and his touch really saying "I love you." It scared him a little that he was going to say that soon and that he was going to mean it, no matter what she did to him.

She released him and sat up again, drawing her tongue along her teeth as she regarded him. She nodded slowly, and a genuine grin bloomed on her face as she leaned down, held his cheeks, and blessed him with a heart felt kiss that became an embrace, her slender body coming against his own.

He took hold of her and flipped her, getting her on her back and pinning her there. He popped his brows at her when she frowned. "Or we could fight now." He teased. She snarled and wrangled him, pulling him to her and reaching between them to bring them together.

They had each other, the entanglement somehow as tender as it was brutal. Their efforts brought them to a mutual satisfaction that left them panting, spent, and unable to do anything but hold each other under the covers, rubbing noses and stealing kisses while the grounds outside froze. They didn't come out from under their blankets for a long time, content to stay in their tiny little space in the great big world while their pups played in the cold, cold snow.

[Nathandiel]

"She's gonna die anyway." Nathandiel murmured, peeling open the prisoner's eyelids and fixing them in place. "And I have to practice on someone." The woman on his table had already been processed and she was slated to be put down with the next terminal batch. He'd selected her from the holding population based on her elven ethnicity, and her striking similarity to the pretty boy elf, Baalthemar. She also hadn't been altered too badly by her surgeons and her chart declared her healthy.

"Does this friend of yours intend to be fitted with a prosthetic once you've plucked out his eye?" Slenn asked, her tone indicating that she was clearly displeased.

Nathandiel looked up at the nurse, her blonde hair hidden under her skull cap and her elongated elven ears a touch pink from the cold of the operating theatre. She was pretty in a plain way, like many elven women she was pretty because she was generic. Elven women rarely transcended from pretty to beautiful, at least to Nathandiel.

Human women on the other hand. . . .

"You know, I didn't ask." he confessed, frowning. Slenn's frown mirrored his own and he felt her disapproval growing. He too disapproved of the prospect, but he had agreed to do it. "Look, the kid came to me and said he wanted to take out his eye and stick in in some statue and that if I didn't help him, he'd just do it himself. He needs it for some spell." He rolled his eyes at the end of the explanation.

"Magic. Magic creates more patients than swords and siege engines." Slenn said, lifting her chin. Even with a mask on, she had a regal look about her when she did that.

Nathandiel wasn't sure if that was true, but he didn't like magic either -- or what people did for it. Baalthemar's decision to remove his eye had been to appease his inquisitor, Ruuki, and to meet the requirments of his sacrificial trial as a supplicant hoping to enter The Grim. Nathandiel had skipped his trials, and thought them rather foolish things. People ate hearts, burned down homes, denounced marriages, and now removed body parts. How any of that made better soldiers to serve The Mandate Nathandiel did not know.

"Well you should have asked, how else will you know if he wants the ocular muscles to remain?" Slenn said, eyeing the anesthetized test patient.

"I intend to leave them there regardless." Nathandiel said. "This kid assumes that eyes just pop out and they don't. They're complicated, and attached to all sorts of shit. Given that he's decided to do this in the field with an audience, I'm only taking out the eyeball itself; In and out as quickly as possible. He also doesn't want to be anesthetized. . . ."

"Pardon me?" Slenn asked severely as she held out the tool tray to him.

Nathandiel picked up a pair of small scissors and fine set of forceps. He leaned over the patient's head, looking down into the green eye. With the lids pulled so wide the eye lost most of it's appeal, like a painting that lost it's punch without it's frame. He began to cut the tension capsule to separate the eyeball form it's housing, and was surprised at how little it bled.

"Yeah . . . stupid kid wants to feel it all, so I need to get very good at doing this quickly." He said as he snipped. ". . . don't worry Slenny, I'll paralyze him so he doesn't move. He wants the eye intact."

She snorted and her poised disapproval became plain, generic derision.

As he worked through the surgery, he noted that while it wasn't a complicated procedure, it certainly couldn't be done on one's own. The idea of slipping a spoon into the socket and popping out the orb just wasn't realistic, there were all sorts of muscle attachments and pressure gradients. The vessels and the optic nerve at the back of the ball were surprisingly thick, and once he'd cut them and removed the eye completely, he'd had to deal with the bleeding, and also with not allowing the vessels to retract back into the brain. A brain-bleed was what he worried about Baalthemar.

Baalthemar was a moron, but Nathandiel would help him. He'd still be pretty after the surgery, perhaps he'd show his poor doctor some grateful kindness. Even without an eye he would still have a pretty mouth and a flawless figure.

Oh Nath, you are a bad, bad man . . . .

[Nathandiel]

The men and women in the Undercity had become boring fare. They were plentiful and Nathandiel needed only to browse the population catalogues to pick one for his use when the mood so struck him. They had a plentiful variety and he'd found great satisfaction with those available, but there was something lacking about them, something that left him always wanting more.

They're boring. . . they're already here. They've been obtained for me.

The man he watched though, not only was he unobtained, but he was trying to obtain someone of his own -- a woman. He'd caught sight of the man in Warspear when he'd been leaving the auction house, drawn to him by his dark hair and impressive build. It had taken him a few twists and turns during the slow chase that they'd commenced after leaving the acution house to realize that the dark-haired man with the nice build was slowly chasing someone of his own; and she seemed none-the-wiser.

I wonder if someone is following me, and if we've formed some sort of silly, homicidal dancing line. This thought made him grin. He flipped up his collar as he followed the duo down a narrower, lesser-travelled street. It was quieter there, and when he strained he could hear the woman humming, lost in her own thoughts as she was unknowingly pursued.

It occurred to him how truly delicious and pleasing it would have been if the woman was known to him, if she were his accomplice, perhaps if it were Drinn. How amazing would that be, to close in on the hunter from both sides just as he thought that he was doing the closing?

He licked his lips at the thought.

He followed the two until the man with the dark hair and the lovely build made his move, grabbing the woman by her hair and dragging her into an alleyway. She let out a strangled cry, getting off half a second's signal of distress before the man covered her mouth and her cries of alarm were muted, blunted like the beating of her hands on the man's overcoat. And just as useless.

Nathaniel came upon the allyway and peeked around the corner with one eye, watching. From where he stood he could see that the man was on her. He had her on her front and he was trying to mount her, but she was proving to be an uncooperative mare. Their upper bodies were blocked from view by a stack of discarded crates and the detritus that had found its way into them, but the struggle was evident from the way their legs tangled.

The man cursed and insulted the woman, but still she fought. Personally, Nathandiel didn't relish the fight, rather he savoured the final submission. The man though, he was loving the fight.

When she failed to keep him at bay, Nathaniel approached. Quick, silent, and as lithe as a spectre. He'd wanted the man, but my how his prospects had changed!

He mounted the man, but not for the purpose he had orginally intended. He didn't actually cut the man's throat until Nathandiel had pulled him off the crying woman; she'd had enough trauma, bathing her in her rapists blood would do her no good. She was still crying, face-down and quivering, undergarments around her knees when he cast the man with the dark hair and the nice build aside. He was done and could finish dying on the ground.

"Shhhh." Nathandiel whispered and hitched up her undergarments, making her scream again. "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you." He promised and smoothed down her dress, restoring her modesty. "It's alright now." He assured her, swaddling her with reassurances as he took off his coat and wrapped her in it. He picked her up and she beat at him at first, but when she looked at him and he favoured her with his best smile -- his physician's smile -- she pressed her face to his chest and cried.

He held her, petting her hair. It was reddish and soft as cotton. "It's alright now, let's get you somewhere safe, let's get you home."

She couldn't see him smiling, but he was. From where he stood he could see the rapist, and the surprise on the face of the man with the dark hair and the attractive build was so pleasing he couldn't help it.

Took your bitch didn't I? Whose the bitch now?

When the life finally faded from the rapist's eyes, Nathaniel took the poor girl into his arms and carried her away. Later, when he was cleaning her up, she asked him "why" it had happened to her. He offered her the truest answer he had, "This world is full of monster's miss. . . they're where you least expect them."

[Nathandiel]

"You invited a boy back to our rooms?" Drinn asked, fingering her lower lip absently as she regarded him. ". . . and he didn't accept the invitation?" At this she scoffed and returned to picking at her food. "I think you've taken a liking to him."

Nathandiel turned and peered at her over the rims of his spectacles. There she sat, in his bed, atop their furs and picking at a plate of cheese and fruit. She still had a dark stain on one cheek, a smudge of dirt on the back of one hand. She'd been out hunting their supper and hand not yet bothered to bathe. Her perspiration, mixed with the scents of the woods, was somehow clean. It aroused him, but he would let her finish her snack before he became a bother to her.

"It's that silly one that needs a haircut and wants you to cut out his eye?" She asked, studying a grape as if it were as worthy of interest as a lost artifact.

He nodded but said nothing, still watching her. Baalthemar had been loopy the last Nathandiel had seen him. He'd said that all he'd had was some wine from Ul'Rezaj -- surely something he should not have ingested, but the boy was a bit silly. Nathandiel had invited the boy home to sleep safely with him and Drinn. Given his state, Nathandiel had thought it best, but Baalthemar had written to decline, asking instead to come another night.

Missed the point completely. . . .

"Bit of a moron." She declared and popped the ball of fruit into her mouth, pushing it to one cheek so that it bulged, squirrel-like. She looked at him and he couldn't help but chuckle at how young she looked, silly even. "What?" She asked, the question distorted by the grape. "Why're you laughing!?" She demanded and reached over to punch his shoulder when he did not answer her.

The pain was sharp but it only made his chuckle into actual laughter. "You're just so sweet." he said finally.

"Sweet?" She repeated this after swallowing the grape. She looked offended.

"Sweet." He affirmed, nodding.

"You're sweet." She retorted, darting a grape spitefully at him. "Sweet on the dumb boy."

Nathandiel only shrugged.

Her face split into a grin, her eyes becoming predatory as she lowered her chin. She pounced him, toppling over her plate of nibbles. She straddled him and got hold of his wrists when he tried to fight her off. He thought he could have kept her at bay but--

--why in the world would I want to?

When he smiled up at her, pleased with her, she slapped him. Her palm kissed his cheek painfully but it was as welcome as her softest touches. She leaned down, pinning his wrists above his head, and kissed him. She was brutish about it, forward and demanding like a man. He could soften her, he had before, but part of why he liked her so much was this part of her, the hard part. It excited him.

She bit his lip and he hissed when he felt it split, the coppery tang of blood mixing with the sweet traces of fruit from her mouth. She released him and sat up, her chin stained with red. She reached behind herself to fondle him and raised her brows when she found that his status was alert. She clucked her tongue at him.

There was a moment of apprehension, when he wasn't sure if she'd tear it from him or caress it lovingly. Niether would have surprised him from Drinn; she was traveller between the poles of the extremes. He thought that too was part of why he loved her, at least a little.

Perhaps it was the softness behind his eyes as he gazed her then that spooked her, but she was up and off of him before he could reach out to grab her arm. "Cook my dead pig for me; I'm going to take a bath." She informed him and slammed the bathroom door behind her.

Shocked and aching a little, he gripped himself. "...oh you cunt." He breathed. She really had just left him like that.

Why is that more arousing than frustrating?

He really did love her, and it was becoming more than just a little.

[Khorvis]

[[ It's 2am, I've got a bowl of popcorn and my scotch. Reading my Copper Kisses like some trashy reality TV. ]]

[Nathandiel]

((oh Khorvis. You flatter me--Don't forget to take a Khorvis break.))

Baalthemar had remarkably soft lips for such a tough young man. Nathandiel ran a finger over own lips, remembering how the other man had tasted, how he'd trembled, but also how he'd pushed back. There was fight in the younger elf. The pretty creature had boasted a back covered in scars--Nathandiel had blessed all of them with kisses, enjoying their tougher, smoother feeling as much as he'd liked the warmth and softness of Baalthemar's other unblemished parts.

What a boy.

He stepped into his own home with Drinn and the pups ran to meet him. He crouched down, ruffling their manes and letting them smell him, letting them snuffle at him and smell the other man on him and the blood from that day's kills. "Yes. Daddy had a long day, and long night." He told them. Castor was excited, but he didn't pee on himself. Drinn must have let them out recently.

He stood up, looking towards the bed. Drinn was still in it, her back to him, buried under blankets, only her long hair there to signify that she was under their fur collections. She slept so much lately. Ever since she'd come home, she'd mostly slept. She hadn't had any interest in going out, not even to hunt really--something she used to bother him to do.

He frowned. Her sleeping made him mad even as it made him worry. He didn't know what had happened to her while she'd been away, or what was still happening to her now that she was home. She told him nothing, only brushed aside his inquiries and distracted him with sex. He was a sucker for that.

She is the tactician.

"Good babies. Go lie down and keep Mum warm." The pups looked up at him, tails wagging, but went to the bed and piled onto Drinn when he snapped his fingers. They watched him as he moved across the room towards the washroom. He'd have liked to take his clothes off and crawl into those furs with the scent of Baalthemar still on him, he thought he still had the stamina to pleasure himself once more before sleep and reliving what they'd done together would satisfy him. But he needed to bathe before he tucked in with Drinn. He didn't think she'd object to him being with the boy, especially since had been meant to give the boy something to remember before he lost his depth perception, but just in case . . . well he was going to be clean for her.

He bathed quickly, soaping his body and relishing the feel of his own physique. It wasn't 'perfect,' as some would say, but it was his and he was satisfied with it. He knew what it could do, for him and for others.

To others. He corrected himself. This made him smile. He hoped Baalthemar had liked what he'd done, he could be a rough lover at times but he had wanted to please the other man. With all that talk during drinks about asphyxiation he'd wanted to give him just a tiny taste, just a hand around the throat, nothing real. He wanted the other elf to have his own memories to satisfy himself with. He'd been hard, but soft too. There was something sweet about the boy who wouldn't get his hair cut and wanted to pluck out his own eye.

He liked Baalthemar. He thought he was an idiot for taking out his eye, but that was part of why Nathandiel liked him. He was silly and he believed in the Grim and it's mandate whole-heartedly. He was foolish in someways, but not in others. He also inspired a desire in Nathandiel to be good to him. He would bring Baalthemar back with him after the trial's ritual, keep him fed, medicated, and make sure his wound was clean. Drinn had helped him furnish the cot with new furs and comfortable bedding. It had been a project she'd actually seemed interested in, speculating about what the boy would need and what he just might like to have around while he recovered. She'd even hung sheer netting about the bed in case Baalthemar wanted something sort of pretty.

He rinsed and dried himself, still savouring his nakedness and remembering how Baalthemar's body had felt against his own. The elicited a low groan. What a boy. What a treat.

He climbed into bed with his dogs and his woman, putting an arm around her and holding her close. She fit him perfectly as a little spoon, like they were made for each other by a Godly silversmith. It felt good to be home with her, even if she just slept. He was falling asleep when she spoke. "You had him." She whispered. He smiled and nodded into the crook of her neck. "Dick." She said, but he could hear her smile. He grinned and kissed her shoulder, glad to be home and to be home with her.

"Yes I did dear, and he was very good. You'd have enjoyed it. Go back to sleep babe, let's go have a dream together."

She wiggled back into him and groaned her approval. "Yes Doctor. Whatever you say."

[Baalthemar]

************************!Warning Adult themes!*****************


Baal smiled to himself as he lay in his bed, still sweating from the night’s exertions, Nathandiel had indeed given him some wonderful memories, to think about.

Baal sighed and got to his feet, his hair was a mess, and his body ached in places he didn’t know existed, but he felt happy for the first time in a very long time.

Because of him.

Baal grinned. And thought about the night's events. Vivid images of Nathandiel’s lips kissing his neck and firmly pulling on his hair, the feeling of his warm body against him, filled his mind’s eye.
Baal felt a fresh wave of lust wash over him at these thoughts.

Groaning Baal grabbed a robe and his grooming kit, and headed to the lake behind his herb garden. The cold air calmed him down as it bit at his skin, he walked quickly to get into the warmth of the lava heated lake.

The cold snow and rocks sent shivers up his legs as Baal headed to the water giving a distraction form the lewd thoughts coiling in his head.
Disrobing he jumped in, and letting himself sink deep into the water, clearing his mind.

He looked up at the rippling surface. And thought of Nathandiel. His body was like polished bone. Hard but smooth, a small grin crept into the corner of his mouth. And surprisingly flexible he would give him that.
And all his hard work to banish his lewd thoughts was undone.

Lazily Baal floats back to the surface and over to his grooming kit.
Pulling a hair brush out from it, he combs his hair.
*You’re swooning.* a voice warned from the back of his mind.

It was right, he needed to be careful to keep Nathandiel at arm’s length or he could damage what he and Drinn had.
Caution then. He thought to himself. Few would be comfortable about what he had done to Hendrick but Nathandiel seemed fine with it, and it would be a shame to lose Nathandiel because he had driven a wedge between him and his lover.

Baal finished with his hair and relaxed against the wet stone bank of the lake.
He closed his eyes and he could still feel a soft but firm hand on his throat.
Baal quickly opens his eyes and looks under the water. "Ugh..Damn it, You are poison Nathandiel. you've gotten in my veins."
Sinking lower into the lake Baal is forced to deal with a new and aching problem.

[Nathandiel]

The love making was savage and violent. Drinn bit him all over his body, marking him. Poor Baalthemar had made the unwitting mistake of nipping Nathandiel's chin after he'd kissed Nathandiel--and Drinn had taken exception.

He winced as he twisting in the bed, feeling her bites over the pleasant soreness of his daily activities, and his exciting rendezvous with Baalthemar the night before. He laid on his back and ran his palm over his chest, catching one sore nipple. Good God his Drinn had teeth. He tugged the taut nub of flesh, hissing. It hurt but it was delightful to know that she favoured him so much. Sometimes he had his doubts.

Wherever she's been and whatever she's done, she feels deeply for me like I do for her.

He smiled, massaging the oval of offended flesh to soothe it, staring up at the ceiling of their garrison. Next to him Drinn slept, naked and half on her belly, hugging a large pillow. She was peaceful, no nightmares and there was even a hint of smile on her pretty face. Linna and Castor slept at their feet, entwined with each other like an ornate medallion of the Frostwolf Clan. They were good dogs, Drinn was a good woman to mate with and even though they he still had questions for her, he was so pleased to have her home that he was willing to wait to get the answers for them.

She'd felt up to going out that night and they had met Baalthemar at the Wyvern's Tail. Nathaniel had been pleased to see him and relieved that the other man hadn't shied away after their night together. He hoped they would have another night like that, there were things he still wanted to do to Baalthemar, less gentle things.

Now I don't want him to cut that hair. If he cuts it I can't pull it.

Pulling hair and bowing the spine of a lover beneath him was a singular favourite of his. It allowed him to reign them in and kiss their necks, nip their earlobes, and make his approval with them clear in their ear. Then he could release them and press his chest flush with their backs, love them more gently after having been so fierce. Long hair had it's pluses.

Thinking about Baalthemar stirred him and his hand drifted. Drinn kept him more than satisfied but he was insatiable. He took his time and his thoughts drifted to their conversation in the tavern, to the explanation Baalthemar had given about Hendrick, the Slug Man, and how he'd talked with such conviction about the Grim. He was an eager supplicant, a genuine one. There was devotion in the tow-headed man that Nathandiel hadn't yet seen from a Grim-hopeful. The Grim would do well to appreciate him.

But do they? He wondered. Something was wrong with Baalthemar, something that had been very apparent at the unveiling of Hendrick. Something about the way Baalthemar's eyes had sparkled and his skin had looked hot had made Nathandiel suspicious. The creature he'd created had been an appreciable bit of work, but the younger man had seemed. . . well he hadn't seemed quite right.

His tugs under the blanket were languid as he worked at the conundrum, his mind worrying the problem with a the same comfortable surety that he worked himself towards a climax; he'd get there, he'd work it out. Baalthemar had talked about wine, and he'd been drinking it when the Grim had arrived for the show.

And then there's what he did. How long would that have taken, de-boning a man and managing to still keep him alive?

"It was just like a big fish." Baalthemar had said, and he hadn't batted a lash at the statement. Drinn had been curious about the technique and she'd wanted details, but Baalthemar had only given her enough to entice her. She'd pounced him, played with him, and Baalthemar -- surprising creature that he was -- had played back. He had a monster of his own surely, but was that all that had driven him to create his "slug man?" Nathandiel wasn't sure that it had been the monster along.

No, there's something else. Something was happening then that wasn't just an artist's fervour for his work or a psychotic personality at play. I'm not wrong. Something is up.

He'd solved the problem so far as being certain that there was one and that it wasn't just Baalthemar's propensity for creative violence. He would question the younger man further.

Baalthemar had confided in them about a future work, and Nathandiel had seen how it had excited his Drinn. He bit at his lower lip as he thought about her excitement and how she'd sat on Baalthemar's lap, eyeing him. They had agreed to help with the next piece after Baalthemar's trial. He could find out more about Baalthemar and what was happening with him before then if he was lucky, but if not, working together would surely unearth the answers he sought. Drinn had sealed the deal with a kiss, then requested that that he and Baalthemar do the same.

And Baalthemar had reached for him; Baalthemar had kissed him. Thinking about that kiss made him forget the conundrum. The confidence behind it and even the little bite to Nathandiel's chin, the one that had set off Drinn's territorial reaction, and the way she had watched them together, took him through the threshold with great satisfaction. He grit his teeth as he held back his cry of release, his veins dilating and his skin becoming hot, warmth pouring over him like the embrace of a good bath. Or a good lover.

As the pleasure passed, he was comforted by the stings of Drinn's bites and the subtle fire of her claw-marks. He cleaned himself up, put on pants and than curled around Drinn, tucking into her and holding her tightly. She didn't need to bite him. He was in love with her. He hadn't been sure before, but there was no way he could go home so long as she was there. Not when she looked at him like she had when he and Baalthemar had kissed. Not when she took him with the fervour of a possessive man like she had when they'd gotten home.

Not when she sleeps so soundly in my arms like she is right now.

He kissed the back of her head and closed his eyes, tangling his feet with hers. He slept soundly when he was with her. He wasn't willing to give that up.

[Nathandiel]

"Five eyes, really? How many times did enucleation tickle your fancy?" Mharren asked. Nathandiel lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

"Five times, apparently." He answered.

She shoved the files towards him across her desk. She lifted a brow and tossed her white-blonde hair over her shoulder. She disapproved. "Don't be smart."

Female superiors; such humour.

"There's nothing that says that I can't take their eyes." He offered, sitting back and crossing one leg over the other. He squared his shoulders and lifted his own brow. Dr. Sil'Orah was good at what she did and, like several of their colleagues, she disapproved of the needless butchery that went on in prisoner processing. Still, she herself was very good at it.

She was silent and inclined her head, prompting him for further explanation.

He took in an exasperated breath. ". . . I was practising." He said, meeting her eyes.

"Oh . . . oh right. Practising. 'Cause that makes sense. You need to practise a procedure that, in a pinch, can be done on a kitchen table with a pair of scissors, a spoon and fifth of good booze. Yeah, I buy that."

He couldn't help but laugh. She had a point. Still, he really had been practising. Baalthemar's enucleation was coming up and he wanted to have sure hands. He'd made the mistake of getting involved with the other man and now he was nervous about botching the surgery. He didn't want to mess up, so for the prisoners that he'd been given to work on he'd taken the liberty of adding the minor procedure. He'd spent the previous night with Baalthemar and they'd had each other in the hot spring behind his home. He had been uncomfortably aware of how little time he had to enjoy both of Baalthemar's pretty eyes. Mharren could be mad at him, but he wasn't sorry he'd practised.

"It looks like pirates are invading the general population holding cells." Mharren said, opening her hands on the desk.

"Are they all stable?" He asked.

"So far. I mean . . . one isn't, but it's not because of the job you did on his eye. Infection was post-op and we're dealing with it."

"So . . . stable, still." He said.

She cocked her brow again. ". . . stable. still." She agreed, her voice flat.

He huffed, bored with the inquisition. He liked Sil'Orah well enough, but he had a list of prisoners to deal with that day and he wanted to get started. He wanted to go home and be with Drinn. He tilted his head as he peered at her. They were both silent for several moments until finally, she rolled her eyes "Fine. Go. I signed the charts."

"Excellent!" he declared and stood, straightening his theatre greens and his white coat. "Always a pleasure Dr. Sil'Orah, I'll be sure to give Drinn your regards." He headed for the door.

"Yeah. You do that. And Nathandiel . . . ."

He stopped at the door and looked back at her.

"Stop plucking out eyes, if for no other reason than it pisses me off."

He chuckled at this, took a deep breath and then drew himself up straight. "On my honour as a Sin'dorei." He put a hand over his heart. "I shall behave."

She shooed him away, gesturing with one hand. Even if the promise hadn't been empty he was done practising. He was ready.

[Baalthemar]

************************! Warning Adult themes! *****************

Baal brushed his hair, a habit he had taken to thanks to Nathandiel. It wasn’t the same as when he was having it done for him but it gave him time to think.

He hummed softly to himself enjoying the short moment of peace before he would head back out and start killing again.
It seemed like he no longer enjoyed the hunt like he once did, the thrill of a good fight had been lacking recently, ever since he ended Hendrick. Kills had become dull and routine, he would head to the battle front, and wet his blades but it was more like work than it once was.

Perhaps after his trial when he worked with Drinn and Nathandiel he would get the taste back.
He had talked with Nathandiel about how he felt, he was unsure if he got his message across, it was getting harder to think when he was around them, lust filled his mind like oil on water, it’s vivid image tainting everything it touched. Exploding into colour in his mind, it was wonderful and toxic at the same time.

Drinn was wild, a barely tamed wolf of a woman. And she used her feminine wiles as a weapon, an effective tool if he hadn’t see it before when he was younger.
Still knowing what she was doing and being immune to it was not the same thing, he would need to be careful around her.
To think she was so calm and relaxed when he had interviewed her for his second trial, she must have been playing the good girl. So that she didn’t scare off the little supplicant.

Baal stopped humming and laughed a little at the idea.

*Careful, you let them see through the cracks when you showed off Hendrick but only some could see the truth, don’t play your hand too soon, there is still much more to do* A soft voice whispered in his mind. He nodded to himself. As always the voice of caution and careful planning would see him through.

But his mind clung on the words “Through the cracks”. Nathandiel had asked him some very pointed questions before he had come swimming with him.

Questions that had painful answers. Questions than stirred up old feelings, and foul memories.

Why did he care? When he asked it seemed like he really wanted to know, not just to use the information against him, but because he wanted to know more about him?

Baal was confused, people used each other. That’s how he had survived this long, by using and being used, but there was little for Nathandiel to gain by learning more about him.

Something dark crept along in the back of his mind, whispering cruel things, after a while the whispers stopped and a low and sinister voice mocked him. *He doesn’t care, you are being used.*

Baal stopped brushing his hair and forced himself to focus on pleasant things, he let his mind wander back to the night’s events.
Images and feelings came to mind, little details that anchored the night to his memory, water dripping off wet hair into the lake, warm lips working their way down his chest, soft hands sliding down his thighs, the sharp tug on his hair followed but a gentle bite on the ear. The bite of a chin at the peak and the tender touch after.

Baal sighed, well whatever this was he enjoyed it, and didn’t want for it to stop, no matter how it played out at least he would have some good memories to take with him, even if he died in his trial.