<Grey Weston>
The night was a mild one. Although his breath still escaped in a curl of vapor, its shape like a cursive twist of smoke, it was thinner, almost anemic. The streets were quieter. Every so often snatches of sound spilled onto the streets. The rasping growl of heavy bass, the noise gritty and as insistent as the pulse of the city behind closed doors. Scattered bursts of laughter from further up ahead or behind. For the most part, however, the streets were hushed. It wasn't comforting. It held a tension, as if the scattered handful of people who still loitered the streets held a collective breath. Or maybe it only felt that way because he did. He'd abandoned his apartment an hour before, restless. And not particularly paying attention to where he was going.
<Kaspar>
Kaspar felt the tug of unwelcome thoughts plaguing his mind, his hand twitching to knock ash from the end of his cigarette, putting it between his lips once more. He'd been home for the evening, but as family had settled in to sleep the man went out to stalk the night. Headphones blocked out most of the city sound, blaring music that spoke to his mood. He stared at the pavement, watching his boots stamp up dust, catching a glimpse of his red jacket. He didn't know why he'd chosen the piece of clothing, he was half convinced he'd tossed the jacket out, after all it had belonged to the guy that had accidentally killed him. His head shot up, looking around a corner to check his direction, it was at this time his shoulder collided with someone. "Scheisse! Sorry, I..." He paused, frowning as he realised he knew the man who he'd barged into. "Grey?"
<Grey Weston>
He reacted instinctively, one hand lifting to grip Kaspar's shoulder. Not to compensate for the temporary unbalancing, but to anchor the man in place, an apology half-forming on his lips, breath escaping in a self-conscious start of laughter. It was a warm sound; sheepish. "Are you o--?" He began. His name registered before Kaspar's face did. He started to release him, but something in the other man's expression gave him pause. "Kaspar. This is getting unhealthy."
<Kaspar>
Kaspar discarded the remainder of the cigarette, stomping it out before he managed to burn one of them with it. "Uh, hey, yeah... I suppose it is." He gave an uncertain laugh, his own hand had taken hold of the man's bicep, ensuring he didn't go sprawling. "I'm usually more graceful, I swear, just not entirely with it today." There was a vague pain still in his left leg, finding himself shifting his weight to the right to compensate and steady himself. He'd managed to lose majority of the limb in an attack and the damn thing still felt strange even though it was once more intact. "Sorry." He repeated, releasing the man’s arm, though not stepping back, just pushing his headphones off so he could hear any reply Grey chose to give.
<Grey Weston>
The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It was subdued, shy thing. He sobered quickly, gaze trailing from Kaspar's face to the fingers curled around his arm. It was a wryly pointed gesture. Even so, he didn't attempt to pull away, stilling under the touch. "If the symptoms last longer than a week, get back to me." Despite the attempt at a deadpan delivery, his voice cracked slightly. "We can compare notes." He reached up a moment later. The motion was abrupt. There was a violence in the gesture; frustration. That restless gnawing at the edges of his thoughts that spiked into something shrill and deafening. And then muted, once his palms cupped either side of his face. He drew him forward in a sharp tug, fingertips gently tracing the curve of his jaw as he locked their gazes.His own was intense. Searching. "Okay." The word was soft.
<Kaspar>
He followed the movement of those eyes, curious as to where his guide might lead him, watching his own hand where it rested listlessly, now empty and idle. He pushed it a little too fiercely into his pocket, resisting the urge to bite at his lip under the intense watch of one Grey Weston. "Notes? Hmm, yes I suppose we can." His own words were spoken with a certain caution, something about the man seemed wild tonight, a crack in his voice that spoke of some struggle to remain even. It wasn't a huge surprise when the hand rose up, Kas instinctively flinching, expecting a hit to the face. Perhaps he was annoyed at something Vienna had blown out of proportion and declared he'd done? Instead he found himself trapped between palms, curiousity causing his body to bow towards the man, to lean in. "Okay?" He repeated, echoing the quiet, aware of tension between them that he wanted to sink his teeth into, to tear away.
<Grey Weston>
The flinch hadn't gone unnoticed. Grey's scrutiny was a little bit animal. It hovered between a quiet yearning - a flash of vulnerability that he fought to suppress - and a yawning hunger. But that was the problem. It couldn't be sated. Pacified, for a while. If he allowed himself to concentrate, to lose himself in some distraction. But while his stare had been predatory the night he'd locked eyes with Adley, it was curiously absent. In its place a muted frustration. He didn't remark on the way Kaspar'd braced against a blow. Instead, the pad of his thumb dragged along his skin. Even that was hesitant. It was...out of character, for a man who lived so aggressively from one moment to the next. His lips parted wordlessly a second later. He wasn't sure what he meant. So instead he offered a nod. "You wanna get out of here?" He said finally.
The Grey Scale ((Grey Weston and Kaspar, Closed))
-
Kaspar
- Posts: 377
- Joined: 15 Mar 2016, 08:40
- CrowNet Handle: SonOfTheDawn
The Grey Scale ((Grey Weston and Kaspar, Closed))
"How you have fallen from heaven, Morningstar, son of the dawn"
-
Grey Weston
- Registered User
- Posts: 134
- Joined: 04 Jan 2015, 06:48
- CrowNet Handle: Nyctophilia
Re: The Grey Scale ((Grey Weston and Kaspar, Closed))
<Kaspar>
A slow moving shiver crept up his spine, a little puff of air parting his lips, falling between them yet not quite forming the sigh it hinted at. What the hell was going on? He felt captured, trapped and yet here he was leaning into it, allowing himself to be held still and pinned. His brow furrowed, tongue pressing against the roof of his mouth to hold back questions, surely Grey would make his point when he was ready. "We are outside, Grey..." His tone remained soft, with an edge of uncertainty, "Would you like to go inside? There is a club nearby, dark and not my favourite, but it's warm and has big private booths where you can hide if you need."
<Grey Weston>
"Are we?" He countered. The words were hushed, still holding a hazy quality. That in itself wasn't unusual. He was focused, but not entirely present.His grip relaxed a second later, hands falling away from Kaspar's face. "No ****." The statement lacked any sort of mockery. It was conversational; sounding closer to a 'huh' in its inflection. He studied Kaspar in silence for a moment, breath hovering between them in a thin fog. A visible sign of life that only sharpened the contrast between the pair. "I don't." He said flatly. "I've been doing that for months, Kaspar." He faltered then, the uncertainty returning to his gaze. "I don't," he repeated. "Not so sure about you."
<Kaspar>
Kaspar hummed a thoughtful little sound, reaching out to brush a hand up Grey's side. "It sort of comes with the territory doesn't it? I hide in plain sight myself, in public places with a smile that says "I got this, I own this". Come on then, you." He pulled the man closer, pivoting so that he was flush to his side, the taller male gripping around his slender waist. His steps lead them towards the mentioned club, it was just around the corner and he just wanted to be off this street, to be out of the moment that left him feeling like his knees wanted to give out. If they stayed there much longer they might just slip into cracks of the pavement, the world swallowing them. His head lowered, mouth pressing against the top of Grey's head. "I've got you." He murmured into his hair, not sure why he said it, but feeling it was needed.
<Grey Weston>
The brush of Kaspar's hand caused a shift. There was something anchoring in the way his fingertips pressured just underneath the curve of his ribcage. It lessened the paranoia that had scored its teeth along the valves of his heart for weeks on end, leaving them stiff with hairline fractures. He exhaled sharply; the noise escaping in a low, exhausted note. He wasn't sure what to make the honesty. He almost felt guilty, as if the admission were something he shouldn't have been privy to. He didn't resist as he was pulled to his side. Didn't struggle. There'd been one already; mute and brief. He tensed, just briefly, at Kaspar's words. An echo. He didn't respond verbally; just pressed a hip more snuggly into Kaspar's own.
<Kaspar>
The pressure of a hip settling in closer, the lean of a body needing a little extra support spurred him on and he picked up pace, leading them towards an open doorway. Music was pouring onto the street along with a hazy wave of heat that emanated from within, and Kaspar couldn't deny he felt drawn towards it. A nod of his head to the bouncer had them granted entry, the man raising a fist to knock to Kaspar's as they went on by. He ignored the brief look over his companion, hoping Grey wasn't bothered by it. It wasn't unusual for Kaspar to appear at any number of clubs, bars and pubs in the city accompanied by some pretty young thing or three, but people still looked and took their measure.
Hel's tall frame slowed, hip angled so that he could slide behind Grey, leading the man forwards towards the back of the place with a gentle pressure of chest to back, one arm still looped around his waist. "Let's grab a seat, mm? Then you can tell me what's up, or you can just kick me under the table or pull my hair until you feel better." There was smirk tinting the words, a playfulness that spoke of a lift in his mood already. He slid the other broad palm to Grey's shoulder, a secure hold but supportive more than demanding, leading as if it were some intricate dance. Wasn't that exactly what it was between them? A dance, a push and pull.
<Grey Weston>
He wasn't bothered. That much was clear by the way he allowed Kaspar to take the lead; responding to his light touch and guiding pressure without question. Almost. He lifted a hand as they made their way towards the back, fingers curling inwards to tangle themselves in his hair. He tugged gently; enough for pressure to build against Kaspar's scalp without ever quite crossing the threshold into pain. A pointed reminder that he was conceding the lead, for the moment. "You're right. Amazingly therapeutic," he remarked. He released a second later. "You first." The words, though soft, were unflinching in their lack of compromise.
A slow moving shiver crept up his spine, a little puff of air parting his lips, falling between them yet not quite forming the sigh it hinted at. What the hell was going on? He felt captured, trapped and yet here he was leaning into it, allowing himself to be held still and pinned. His brow furrowed, tongue pressing against the roof of his mouth to hold back questions, surely Grey would make his point when he was ready. "We are outside, Grey..." His tone remained soft, with an edge of uncertainty, "Would you like to go inside? There is a club nearby, dark and not my favourite, but it's warm and has big private booths where you can hide if you need."
<Grey Weston>
"Are we?" He countered. The words were hushed, still holding a hazy quality. That in itself wasn't unusual. He was focused, but not entirely present.His grip relaxed a second later, hands falling away from Kaspar's face. "No ****." The statement lacked any sort of mockery. It was conversational; sounding closer to a 'huh' in its inflection. He studied Kaspar in silence for a moment, breath hovering between them in a thin fog. A visible sign of life that only sharpened the contrast between the pair. "I don't." He said flatly. "I've been doing that for months, Kaspar." He faltered then, the uncertainty returning to his gaze. "I don't," he repeated. "Not so sure about you."
<Kaspar>
Kaspar hummed a thoughtful little sound, reaching out to brush a hand up Grey's side. "It sort of comes with the territory doesn't it? I hide in plain sight myself, in public places with a smile that says "I got this, I own this". Come on then, you." He pulled the man closer, pivoting so that he was flush to his side, the taller male gripping around his slender waist. His steps lead them towards the mentioned club, it was just around the corner and he just wanted to be off this street, to be out of the moment that left him feeling like his knees wanted to give out. If they stayed there much longer they might just slip into cracks of the pavement, the world swallowing them. His head lowered, mouth pressing against the top of Grey's head. "I've got you." He murmured into his hair, not sure why he said it, but feeling it was needed.
<Grey Weston>
The brush of Kaspar's hand caused a shift. There was something anchoring in the way his fingertips pressured just underneath the curve of his ribcage. It lessened the paranoia that had scored its teeth along the valves of his heart for weeks on end, leaving them stiff with hairline fractures. He exhaled sharply; the noise escaping in a low, exhausted note. He wasn't sure what to make the honesty. He almost felt guilty, as if the admission were something he shouldn't have been privy to. He didn't resist as he was pulled to his side. Didn't struggle. There'd been one already; mute and brief. He tensed, just briefly, at Kaspar's words. An echo. He didn't respond verbally; just pressed a hip more snuggly into Kaspar's own.
<Kaspar>
The pressure of a hip settling in closer, the lean of a body needing a little extra support spurred him on and he picked up pace, leading them towards an open doorway. Music was pouring onto the street along with a hazy wave of heat that emanated from within, and Kaspar couldn't deny he felt drawn towards it. A nod of his head to the bouncer had them granted entry, the man raising a fist to knock to Kaspar's as they went on by. He ignored the brief look over his companion, hoping Grey wasn't bothered by it. It wasn't unusual for Kaspar to appear at any number of clubs, bars and pubs in the city accompanied by some pretty young thing or three, but people still looked and took their measure.
Hel's tall frame slowed, hip angled so that he could slide behind Grey, leading the man forwards towards the back of the place with a gentle pressure of chest to back, one arm still looped around his waist. "Let's grab a seat, mm? Then you can tell me what's up, or you can just kick me under the table or pull my hair until you feel better." There was smirk tinting the words, a playfulness that spoke of a lift in his mood already. He slid the other broad palm to Grey's shoulder, a secure hold but supportive more than demanding, leading as if it were some intricate dance. Wasn't that exactly what it was between them? A dance, a push and pull.
<Grey Weston>
He wasn't bothered. That much was clear by the way he allowed Kaspar to take the lead; responding to his light touch and guiding pressure without question. Almost. He lifted a hand as they made their way towards the back, fingers curling inwards to tangle themselves in his hair. He tugged gently; enough for pressure to build against Kaspar's scalp without ever quite crossing the threshold into pain. A pointed reminder that he was conceding the lead, for the moment. "You're right. Amazingly therapeutic," he remarked. He released a second later. "You first." The words, though soft, were unflinching in their lack of compromise.
-
Kaspar
- Posts: 377
- Joined: 15 Mar 2016, 08:40
- CrowNet Handle: SonOfTheDawn
Re: The Grey Scale ((Grey Weston and Kaspar, Closed))
<Kaspar>
A low growl of warning, or perhaps it was something else, rumbled in his chest, the blonde nipping his teeth down over Grey's jaw barely glancing skin. "Glad I can be of use, Grey." He huffed, pausing their steps once the booth was in sight. "Me first? In what regard, liebchen?" He slid into the booth, nestling back into the vast expanse, one arm resting atop the back of it as the other placed hand on the table. Fingertips tapped, and his feet wanted to follow, to follow a rhythm in his head but he fought it. He was a fidget at the best of times, having an instrument or pen in hand gave him something to do but tonight they were idle and they wanted to be occupied. Damn it.
<Grey Weston>
The response that Kaspar might have hoped to elicit with the low, guttural sound was dormant. The tremor that thrilled along his spine wasn't fear. There was no flight-or-fight; no bid for self-preservation. Perhaps that wasn't unusual in a man who had spent the better part of four years gradually disassembling himself; stripping himself to the bone. It wasn't about recreation. It wasn't about "finding" himself; not when there were roadmaps inked into his veins, a confusion of lines that always brought something new. Self-destruction for the thrill of it. Grey. It was the fourth time he'd heard his name come from Kaspar's lips, and it left nerve endings raw. Sparking. He didn't speak until after they were seated. "I know that look," he said finally. He didn't elaborate. There shouldn't have been a need to.
<Kaspar>
Kaspar tried hard to look away, to find interest in the room around them, in the humans that danced and drank but none were particularly captivating. The mess of a man who joined him in the booth was far more Kas's speed, a hungry creature scarred and wounded by the world he sought to devour. What was it about him? He could be dismissed as a delusional junkie, hellbent on tearing himself to pieces before anyone else could, a potentially discarded lover of a man who Kaspar claimed in his bed frequently. "What look?" The comment caught him off guard, his eyes narrowing as they met Grey's, bristling slightly at the hint of accusation behind his words.
<Grey Weston>
The ultimate sleight of hand in an addict's arsonal was the ability to let others see what they wanted. Someone to shelter. Pity. Revile. At their core they were cannibalistic. They dazzled because they burned with more intensity than most. "Like you've spent too much time in your own head." The words were hushed. He didn't mention how it felt like choking, if you were fortunate. If you didn't want to scrape yourself hollow. He returned the narrow-eyed look with a curious one of his own. "Like you've got me all figured out." He concluded. He drew abruptly closer then, invading the narrow space between them. There was no aggression in the gesture. "You don't. A suggestion? Stop trying." He paused. His next words were prayer soft. Hoarse. "Stop running."
<Kaspar>
It wasn't like Kaspar hadn't heard it before, in fact just the day before it had been spoken to him before he'd succumbed to the offers of care from Adley and Indigo. He wasn't wrong of course, but inside his head Kaspar had some semblance of control and he liked that, who was Grey to comment? If Kaspar wanted to drown in his own mind, then so be it, in there he could gasp and flounder desperately where no one would see. The surface was calm, the battle to breathe raged beneath and it suited him just fine. There were few who got to see him cut to the core, to know what really made him tick or the truth behind how little he could care if they did.
On one hand he hated being misunderstood, misinterpreted and on the other he worried what most might say if they knew the reality in which he lived. Not that it impacted his opinion of himself, rather he didn’t want them making false accusations or assumptions. Kaspar had kicked one leg up on the seat, knee bent towards the back of it the other slouching comfortably so that as Grey shifted towards him he had the urge to sit up straight, to close the gap between his thighs and block entry into his space. On the surface he gave a coy smile, a brow raising and posture shifting as if to casually readjust. Inside? He was clawing, clambering and running. Stop. The word had his expression closing off, all hint of of smile fading. Stop running."Why don't you?" His voice held no waiver, words clipped. "Stop."
A low growl of warning, or perhaps it was something else, rumbled in his chest, the blonde nipping his teeth down over Grey's jaw barely glancing skin. "Glad I can be of use, Grey." He huffed, pausing their steps once the booth was in sight. "Me first? In what regard, liebchen?" He slid into the booth, nestling back into the vast expanse, one arm resting atop the back of it as the other placed hand on the table. Fingertips tapped, and his feet wanted to follow, to follow a rhythm in his head but he fought it. He was a fidget at the best of times, having an instrument or pen in hand gave him something to do but tonight they were idle and they wanted to be occupied. Damn it.
<Grey Weston>
The response that Kaspar might have hoped to elicit with the low, guttural sound was dormant. The tremor that thrilled along his spine wasn't fear. There was no flight-or-fight; no bid for self-preservation. Perhaps that wasn't unusual in a man who had spent the better part of four years gradually disassembling himself; stripping himself to the bone. It wasn't about recreation. It wasn't about "finding" himself; not when there were roadmaps inked into his veins, a confusion of lines that always brought something new. Self-destruction for the thrill of it. Grey. It was the fourth time he'd heard his name come from Kaspar's lips, and it left nerve endings raw. Sparking. He didn't speak until after they were seated. "I know that look," he said finally. He didn't elaborate. There shouldn't have been a need to.
<Kaspar>
Kaspar tried hard to look away, to find interest in the room around them, in the humans that danced and drank but none were particularly captivating. The mess of a man who joined him in the booth was far more Kas's speed, a hungry creature scarred and wounded by the world he sought to devour. What was it about him? He could be dismissed as a delusional junkie, hellbent on tearing himself to pieces before anyone else could, a potentially discarded lover of a man who Kaspar claimed in his bed frequently. "What look?" The comment caught him off guard, his eyes narrowing as they met Grey's, bristling slightly at the hint of accusation behind his words.
<Grey Weston>
The ultimate sleight of hand in an addict's arsonal was the ability to let others see what they wanted. Someone to shelter. Pity. Revile. At their core they were cannibalistic. They dazzled because they burned with more intensity than most. "Like you've spent too much time in your own head." The words were hushed. He didn't mention how it felt like choking, if you were fortunate. If you didn't want to scrape yourself hollow. He returned the narrow-eyed look with a curious one of his own. "Like you've got me all figured out." He concluded. He drew abruptly closer then, invading the narrow space between them. There was no aggression in the gesture. "You don't. A suggestion? Stop trying." He paused. His next words were prayer soft. Hoarse. "Stop running."
<Kaspar>
It wasn't like Kaspar hadn't heard it before, in fact just the day before it had been spoken to him before he'd succumbed to the offers of care from Adley and Indigo. He wasn't wrong of course, but inside his head Kaspar had some semblance of control and he liked that, who was Grey to comment? If Kaspar wanted to drown in his own mind, then so be it, in there he could gasp and flounder desperately where no one would see. The surface was calm, the battle to breathe raged beneath and it suited him just fine. There were few who got to see him cut to the core, to know what really made him tick or the truth behind how little he could care if they did.
On one hand he hated being misunderstood, misinterpreted and on the other he worried what most might say if they knew the reality in which he lived. Not that it impacted his opinion of himself, rather he didn’t want them making false accusations or assumptions. Kaspar had kicked one leg up on the seat, knee bent towards the back of it the other slouching comfortably so that as Grey shifted towards him he had the urge to sit up straight, to close the gap between his thighs and block entry into his space. On the surface he gave a coy smile, a brow raising and posture shifting as if to casually readjust. Inside? He was clawing, clambering and running. Stop. The word had his expression closing off, all hint of of smile fading. Stop running."Why don't you?" His voice held no waiver, words clipped. "Stop."
"How you have fallen from heaven, Morningstar, son of the dawn"
-
Grey Weston
- Registered User
- Posts: 134
- Joined: 04 Jan 2015, 06:48
- CrowNet Handle: Nyctophilia
Re: The Grey Scale ((Grey Weston and Kaspar, Closed))
<Grey Weston>
He paused for a moment. A twinge of guilt rose to the surface as Kaspar's smile faltered, gradually dwindling. The absence might not have been noticed, if Grey hadn't been so intent. He didn't attempt to force himself into that space; to crowd against Kaspar's frame. The air between them seemed heavier; dense with the hushed 'okay' remained unspoken. He leaned, instead; one hand lifting. His fingertips brushed gently against Kaspar's knee. It was tentative; fingernails circling in tense, tight spirals, rasping against the fabric of his pants. He shoved abruptly a second later, forcing the man's foot to settle onto the floor. He slid until they were side by side. His hand remained raised, suspended and motionless for a brief second, before it settled into Kaspar's hair. He used the leverage, twining a handful of the loose strands around his knuckles, tugging just enough to coax Kaspar's head to turn, face inward towards the crook of his neck. He released a split second later, fingers gently running through his hair."I'm right here." He inhaled then. "Just waiting for you to catch up."
<Kaspar>
Breathing was in the grand scheme of things not a necessity and yet Kaspar's had grown shallow in those weighted moments between contact, noticeable perhaps only by the fact that it hitched audibly when Grey's hand found his knee with teasing scrapes of nails over his jeans. "Grey..." It was intended to have a note of warning, a suggestion, but it came out breathy and strained. The shove of his leg from the seat had Kaspar wincing, both in alarm and pain, it was his bad leg the man had forced to the ground so abruptly and it hit with a bone jarring force. His hand at the back of the booth slid down as the man came to settle beneath it, automatically draping over shoulders to bring Grey closer. The encouragement was light, fingertips trailing a path down the side of his companion's neck, dripping casually over a shoulder and yet it had Kas cursing himself in his head.
Again a hand hovered near him, though his time he did not flinch; it was left there so that he could acknowledge it and he did with a nod, allowance. He was a sucker for hands in his hair, Kaspar's eyelids shuddering to a close as a muscle ticking in his tensed jaw gave testimony to the fact that he was indeed affected. The gentle tug amongst his golden mane was rewarded with turn of head, and hoarse whisper."What do you want from me?" His mouth lowered, lips fluttering his question across Grey's throat.
<Grey Weston>
The hitch to his breath was a subtle one. Something came unmoored; left him sinking. He did nothing to discourage the trailing path those fingertips took; did nothing to quiet the shiver that wrenched itself along his spine. By they reached his shoulder, no barriers remained. The motion of his own wrist slowed; fingertips gently kneading into Kaspar's scalp, allowing the surface of his blunt nails to lightly score across his scalp. The question - less asked than breathed - left him conflicted. But only for a moment. His fingers tensed, pressing more insistently against the back of Kaspar's head. "Stay."
<Kaspar>
The sensation of nails moving against his scalp left him somewhere between a shiver and the urge to flinch away. The touch brushing the place where once a wound had opened, the skin split and his life bled from him. Ended, only to be returned with the kiss of blood and whispers of promise. No scar remained, but it was a memory that couldn't be shaken. He had returned, he was alive in the only way he could be and why should he not enjoy that? Why should he run from company, even company that Kaspar knew could be no good for him. "Is that all?" The words came out, barely, he felt the familiar itch of fangs but that wasn't what he wanted. Not really. "Jesus, Grey..." He nudged a kiss against his adam's apple, tasting the salt of skin against his parted lips. A thought crossed his mind, of Jay so dismissive and yet he wondered if the man would be annoyed to find him here, curled in a booth under the attentions of something, someone, that had been only his.
<Grey Weston>
His fingertips didn't falter over the echo of that wound. His touch slowed for a moment, as if he might recoil. Instead, the touch returned, though somewhat lighter than before. His fingers traced over skin; mapping. Speaking for him, as they had countless times before when he found himself voiceless. "You first." He said. The words were a sigh. A sly reminder that the game had hardly been won. It was not all. But he felt as if he might break apart entirely, and he had already allowed too much. "Mm?" He ventured, breath escaping in a heated, shallow exhale at the sensation of lips against his skin.
He paused for a moment. A twinge of guilt rose to the surface as Kaspar's smile faltered, gradually dwindling. The absence might not have been noticed, if Grey hadn't been so intent. He didn't attempt to force himself into that space; to crowd against Kaspar's frame. The air between them seemed heavier; dense with the hushed 'okay' remained unspoken. He leaned, instead; one hand lifting. His fingertips brushed gently against Kaspar's knee. It was tentative; fingernails circling in tense, tight spirals, rasping against the fabric of his pants. He shoved abruptly a second later, forcing the man's foot to settle onto the floor. He slid until they were side by side. His hand remained raised, suspended and motionless for a brief second, before it settled into Kaspar's hair. He used the leverage, twining a handful of the loose strands around his knuckles, tugging just enough to coax Kaspar's head to turn, face inward towards the crook of his neck. He released a split second later, fingers gently running through his hair."I'm right here." He inhaled then. "Just waiting for you to catch up."
<Kaspar>
Breathing was in the grand scheme of things not a necessity and yet Kaspar's had grown shallow in those weighted moments between contact, noticeable perhaps only by the fact that it hitched audibly when Grey's hand found his knee with teasing scrapes of nails over his jeans. "Grey..." It was intended to have a note of warning, a suggestion, but it came out breathy and strained. The shove of his leg from the seat had Kaspar wincing, both in alarm and pain, it was his bad leg the man had forced to the ground so abruptly and it hit with a bone jarring force. His hand at the back of the booth slid down as the man came to settle beneath it, automatically draping over shoulders to bring Grey closer. The encouragement was light, fingertips trailing a path down the side of his companion's neck, dripping casually over a shoulder and yet it had Kas cursing himself in his head.
Again a hand hovered near him, though his time he did not flinch; it was left there so that he could acknowledge it and he did with a nod, allowance. He was a sucker for hands in his hair, Kaspar's eyelids shuddering to a close as a muscle ticking in his tensed jaw gave testimony to the fact that he was indeed affected. The gentle tug amongst his golden mane was rewarded with turn of head, and hoarse whisper."What do you want from me?" His mouth lowered, lips fluttering his question across Grey's throat.
<Grey Weston>
The hitch to his breath was a subtle one. Something came unmoored; left him sinking. He did nothing to discourage the trailing path those fingertips took; did nothing to quiet the shiver that wrenched itself along his spine. By they reached his shoulder, no barriers remained. The motion of his own wrist slowed; fingertips gently kneading into Kaspar's scalp, allowing the surface of his blunt nails to lightly score across his scalp. The question - less asked than breathed - left him conflicted. But only for a moment. His fingers tensed, pressing more insistently against the back of Kaspar's head. "Stay."
<Kaspar>
The sensation of nails moving against his scalp left him somewhere between a shiver and the urge to flinch away. The touch brushing the place where once a wound had opened, the skin split and his life bled from him. Ended, only to be returned with the kiss of blood and whispers of promise. No scar remained, but it was a memory that couldn't be shaken. He had returned, he was alive in the only way he could be and why should he not enjoy that? Why should he run from company, even company that Kaspar knew could be no good for him. "Is that all?" The words came out, barely, he felt the familiar itch of fangs but that wasn't what he wanted. Not really. "Jesus, Grey..." He nudged a kiss against his adam's apple, tasting the salt of skin against his parted lips. A thought crossed his mind, of Jay so dismissive and yet he wondered if the man would be annoyed to find him here, curled in a booth under the attentions of something, someone, that had been only his.
<Grey Weston>
His fingertips didn't falter over the echo of that wound. His touch slowed for a moment, as if he might recoil. Instead, the touch returned, though somewhat lighter than before. His fingers traced over skin; mapping. Speaking for him, as they had countless times before when he found himself voiceless. "You first." He said. The words were a sigh. A sly reminder that the game had hardly been won. It was not all. But he felt as if he might break apart entirely, and he had already allowed too much. "Mm?" He ventured, breath escaping in a heated, shallow exhale at the sensation of lips against his skin.
-
Kaspar
- Posts: 377
- Joined: 15 Mar 2016, 08:40
- CrowNet Handle: SonOfTheDawn
Re: The Grey Scale ((Grey Weston and Kaspar, Closed))
<Kaspar>
A hand moved, lifting much in the same way as Grey's had so many times that night already, a warning or an offering, before it came to cup the man's cheek. Thumb trailed a line against a cheekbone as Kaspar studied the plane's of the man's face, his eyes taking in the features more closely. "Me first?" He let his nose brush down to Grey's, the arm around him flexing, tightening to press the man to him. Tentatively he let his lips brush his jaw, slipping up to nudge against his chin in that little dip beneath the lower lip. He wasn't thinking anymore, he wasn't asking if it was wrong, a bad idea. He'd deal with the consequences, because right now he just wanted to find out what it would be like to breathe him in. "Jesus, Grey." He repeated, letting his lips find purchase upon the other man's, a fleeting tease of a kiss, a pressure that begged for further exploration.
<Grey Weston>
"You've asked first every other time." He pointed out. All the same, there was no real annoyance in his tone. An affectionate amusement, at best. He leaned into his palm; cheek tucking close against it as Kaspar's hand rose to cup it, eyelashes ghosting over his skin. His head half-turned in response to the cool breath that flirted against skin. The absence of heat did nothing to dispel the gradually mounting pressure between them; a pang of anticipation, perhaps. The end result is that his own breath mingled between them; half-held. Until it was stolen. The oxygen rushed from his lungs a second later, responding to the barely-there kiss with a barely tempered sense of urgency. He hardly seemed to notice when his lips parted underneath Kaspar's own.
<Kaspar>
The part of lips was sweeter than he had anticipated, he was unaware of how much he'd been hoping for it, waiting for it until he felt the exhale of breath. He breathed in sharply, letting it fill his lungs to compensate for the absence of life within them. A slow shudder took up residence under his skin, a tremble that let Grey know just what he was doing. They walked that fine line, there was time to pull away, to laugh and go to grab a drink but Kaspar stayed, he stayed and closed the space between Grey's lips with his own.
<Grey Weston>
The moment came and went. If there was a question of repentance - something the pair would need to attone for later - Grey would have happily paid whatever cost was asked. He didn't draw away; didn't recoil. He felt the way the other man trembled against him, and as if that alone were worth whatever risk might come from it, he found himself pressing against him, a mixture of heat and urgency cresting between them. His lips shoved against Kaspar's, his tongue briefly tracing the seam between them. Coaxing. Pleading.
<Kaspar>
Kaspar yielded without complaint, answering the man's gentle pleading with a firm nip to that teasing tongue that tried to invade and conquer him. If he still had the ability to create heat within himself he knew he'd be burning against Grey, lips parting further, presenting a firm brush of his own tongue in offering. Yes. I'm here, it said, take what you want. The man had the potential to destroy if he wanted, he knew to twist and wring out, to bleed dry.
<Grey Weston>
The sting was a dull one; a sharpness that only seemed to fuel the unspoken need edged into every line of him. The tip of his tongue became briefly warmer; damp as the familiar taste of blood flooded his mouth. Very little, in the end. Enough to satisfy in the form of a smear, Grey's focus narrowing into yet another sensation that spread gradually into a feverish kind of pleasure. He took with a kind of hunger that suggested that he wouldn't have known how to stop even if he'd tried. His tongue rubbed firmly against Kaspar's own. Every shallow breath was fed back to Kaspar. He relented after several seconds; slowing to give back some measure of control.
<Kaspar>
Hands smoothed over the man as if he could brush away those hard edges, blur the lines they’d drawn. Digits slipped to caress the nape of his neck, pulling him in as the man's hunger seemed to elevate. Kaspar wanted to feed it, desire stirring somewhere deep within the pit of his stomach, a rolling sensation that had his breath shuddering on exhale and tongue meeting the pressure that Grey had begun to build. When a slower rhythm seemed to take hold of them he accepted the reins back with ease, dominance not something Kaspar was unfamiliar with; even when he bent to others will it was often by his own hand, his own choice. There was no denying he could have kept going, kept pushing but he relaxed instead, enjoying the embrace for what it was, for the moment it existed in until all that was left was feather light brushes of lips, a murmur of contentment and affection. “Goddamn, liebchen. I wasn’t kidding when I said I could eat you up.” He referred to their first meeting, to his teasing words that now seemed a premonition.
<Grey Weston>
Minutes dragged. It was difficult to say how many. The detail seemed painfully trivial, in the grander scheme of things. It was only once the pair has broken apart - Grey's chest heaving a bit as oxygen starved lungs refilled - that it seemed to matter. He remained still for a split second - chasing gently after Kaspar's lips - before he settled against the other man's chest. "I wouldn't exactly stop you."
A hand moved, lifting much in the same way as Grey's had so many times that night already, a warning or an offering, before it came to cup the man's cheek. Thumb trailed a line against a cheekbone as Kaspar studied the plane's of the man's face, his eyes taking in the features more closely. "Me first?" He let his nose brush down to Grey's, the arm around him flexing, tightening to press the man to him. Tentatively he let his lips brush his jaw, slipping up to nudge against his chin in that little dip beneath the lower lip. He wasn't thinking anymore, he wasn't asking if it was wrong, a bad idea. He'd deal with the consequences, because right now he just wanted to find out what it would be like to breathe him in. "Jesus, Grey." He repeated, letting his lips find purchase upon the other man's, a fleeting tease of a kiss, a pressure that begged for further exploration.
<Grey Weston>
"You've asked first every other time." He pointed out. All the same, there was no real annoyance in his tone. An affectionate amusement, at best. He leaned into his palm; cheek tucking close against it as Kaspar's hand rose to cup it, eyelashes ghosting over his skin. His head half-turned in response to the cool breath that flirted against skin. The absence of heat did nothing to dispel the gradually mounting pressure between them; a pang of anticipation, perhaps. The end result is that his own breath mingled between them; half-held. Until it was stolen. The oxygen rushed from his lungs a second later, responding to the barely-there kiss with a barely tempered sense of urgency. He hardly seemed to notice when his lips parted underneath Kaspar's own.
<Kaspar>
The part of lips was sweeter than he had anticipated, he was unaware of how much he'd been hoping for it, waiting for it until he felt the exhale of breath. He breathed in sharply, letting it fill his lungs to compensate for the absence of life within them. A slow shudder took up residence under his skin, a tremble that let Grey know just what he was doing. They walked that fine line, there was time to pull away, to laugh and go to grab a drink but Kaspar stayed, he stayed and closed the space between Grey's lips with his own.
<Grey Weston>
The moment came and went. If there was a question of repentance - something the pair would need to attone for later - Grey would have happily paid whatever cost was asked. He didn't draw away; didn't recoil. He felt the way the other man trembled against him, and as if that alone were worth whatever risk might come from it, he found himself pressing against him, a mixture of heat and urgency cresting between them. His lips shoved against Kaspar's, his tongue briefly tracing the seam between them. Coaxing. Pleading.
<Kaspar>
Kaspar yielded without complaint, answering the man's gentle pleading with a firm nip to that teasing tongue that tried to invade and conquer him. If he still had the ability to create heat within himself he knew he'd be burning against Grey, lips parting further, presenting a firm brush of his own tongue in offering. Yes. I'm here, it said, take what you want. The man had the potential to destroy if he wanted, he knew to twist and wring out, to bleed dry.
<Grey Weston>
The sting was a dull one; a sharpness that only seemed to fuel the unspoken need edged into every line of him. The tip of his tongue became briefly warmer; damp as the familiar taste of blood flooded his mouth. Very little, in the end. Enough to satisfy in the form of a smear, Grey's focus narrowing into yet another sensation that spread gradually into a feverish kind of pleasure. He took with a kind of hunger that suggested that he wouldn't have known how to stop even if he'd tried. His tongue rubbed firmly against Kaspar's own. Every shallow breath was fed back to Kaspar. He relented after several seconds; slowing to give back some measure of control.
<Kaspar>
Hands smoothed over the man as if he could brush away those hard edges, blur the lines they’d drawn. Digits slipped to caress the nape of his neck, pulling him in as the man's hunger seemed to elevate. Kaspar wanted to feed it, desire stirring somewhere deep within the pit of his stomach, a rolling sensation that had his breath shuddering on exhale and tongue meeting the pressure that Grey had begun to build. When a slower rhythm seemed to take hold of them he accepted the reins back with ease, dominance not something Kaspar was unfamiliar with; even when he bent to others will it was often by his own hand, his own choice. There was no denying he could have kept going, kept pushing but he relaxed instead, enjoying the embrace for what it was, for the moment it existed in until all that was left was feather light brushes of lips, a murmur of contentment and affection. “Goddamn, liebchen. I wasn’t kidding when I said I could eat you up.” He referred to their first meeting, to his teasing words that now seemed a premonition.
<Grey Weston>
Minutes dragged. It was difficult to say how many. The detail seemed painfully trivial, in the grander scheme of things. It was only once the pair has broken apart - Grey's chest heaving a bit as oxygen starved lungs refilled - that it seemed to matter. He remained still for a split second - chasing gently after Kaspar's lips - before he settled against the other man's chest. "I wouldn't exactly stop you."
"How you have fallen from heaven, Morningstar, son of the dawn"
-
Grey Weston
- Registered User
- Posts: 134
- Joined: 04 Jan 2015, 06:48
- CrowNet Handle: Nyctophilia
Re: The Grey Scale ((Grey Weston and Kaspar, Closed))
<Kaspar>
His hands continued find interesting dips and curves, running beneath a collarbone, touching against a pulse, around to the base of his spine. "I know you wouldn't, but i'm not here to kill you. That is what that would mean, you comprehend that don't you? What I could do to you? What too much of a good thing can become?" He couldn't help himself from leaning in to take that lower lip, suckling it gently into his mouth, letting the man feel teeth against the plump flesh but not quite piercing. Not yet, at least.
<Grey Weston>
He couldn't quite get his pulse to settle. It drummed against the hollows of his wrist, standing out starkly in the curve of his neck. Even so, it didn't appear to be a response born of fear. "I know." Some part of him had always known. Not known, precisely. But suspected. It was almost a relief, in a strange sense. "Shhh." He soothed. The word was hushed. "Let me worry about that." It was a small thing. Premature absolution, if Kaspar should ever need it. As it was, a low groan of appreciation slipped from his throat at the feel of that slow, teasing suck, a shudder rolling through him in response to the unspoken threat of his teeth.
<Kaspar>
He considered arguing, on trying to tell the man to gain some self-preservation but ultimately decided it was pointless and not his place to worry. Those were circles he was tired of running in, an endless niggling complaint that got no one any closer to happiness or healing. Besides he didn't want to care enough to try and stop him, he couldn't... Could he? It was too much to take on, too much to try and work through, surely. Kaspar bit back the thought against his own tongue, splitting the morsel to free a stream of his own blood. With reckless abandon he bathed Grey's inner lip with it, urging the man to take from him, Kaspar giving a gift that few would ever receive.
<Grey Weston>
It would have been a circular argument, regardless. He'd had numerous people attempt to drag him from the pit through his youth. Kaspar was one of two who'd ever thought the solution was to climb into it to reach him. He didn't want the clarity. The chance to hesitate and reconsider. He seized onto the offering with both hands. The thin trickle of blood was enough to whet a different sort of hunger. Tease with a sluggish kind of anticipation that left his breaths quick and shallow. He responded in kind; his own tongue lifting to chase the taste of him, sucking the flesh clean. Slower than before; savoring. As if to suggest he understood the rare thing it was. The exchange was slower than he’d expected; unhurried. It was only once his tongue had swept the taste of him from every corner that he drew back. Grey was the sort who alternated between reveling in his mortality and holding it at bay, fingers curled around its throat, grip tightening until it asphyxiated.
It wasn’t that he lacked self-preservation. It was the false assurance that bolstered him. He escaped death. Again, and again. It couldn’t last. Case in point was the belief that it couldn’t touch him, even with one of its paler shadows arms wrapped around him in an easy embrace. “If it comes to that, then you’ll know. We’ll know. Until then…” He trailed off, his free hand dropping to drape lightly over Kaspar’s own. “I won’t break.”
<Kaspar>
He forgot to breathe, forgot to make his lungs fill and empty in that human way, as if it was stolen by Grey's urgency. He welcomed it, knowing how quickly the fount would dry, his wound would heal and that the dose was measured. Safe. He'd been warned about his actions, to caution himself even when he wanted to be reckless, and that wasn't often so hard for Kaspar to do. He eased back, with a reluctant sort of sound as Grey slowed and broke the entanglement, settling once more in his arms. Kaspar feared he could ride this rollercoaster for hours, the extreme highs and plummeting lows of blood, of touch and anticipation; of barely maintained constraint. "Hmm? Know what, exactly, Grey?" His nose nudged to the man's jaw, tracing the line of it until his lips were in reach of an earlobe, capturing the softness in a sharp snap of teeth, a soft tug. "You are a problem waiting to happen, aren't you?"
<Grey Weston>
It didn't take long. It never did. The hum that slid from his throat was soft in its frequency; a mixture of disappointment and gratitude all at once. He took what was offered, and that was all. He was almost subdued as settled against him once more; his cheek pressed against Kaspar's chest. It was silent, in sharp contrast to his own. Not that it kept a smug half-smile from forming. "When you run out of patience." It was much more likely that his restraint would be the first to fray. His chin angled upwards slightly; giving ground freely, for a change.A soft noise escaped him as Kaspar's teeth settled over the sensitive skin of his earlobe, breath hitching in a soft hiss of anticipation. The pressure crested, and then subsided. "I don't know what you're talking about."
His hands continued find interesting dips and curves, running beneath a collarbone, touching against a pulse, around to the base of his spine. "I know you wouldn't, but i'm not here to kill you. That is what that would mean, you comprehend that don't you? What I could do to you? What too much of a good thing can become?" He couldn't help himself from leaning in to take that lower lip, suckling it gently into his mouth, letting the man feel teeth against the plump flesh but not quite piercing. Not yet, at least.
<Grey Weston>
He couldn't quite get his pulse to settle. It drummed against the hollows of his wrist, standing out starkly in the curve of his neck. Even so, it didn't appear to be a response born of fear. "I know." Some part of him had always known. Not known, precisely. But suspected. It was almost a relief, in a strange sense. "Shhh." He soothed. The word was hushed. "Let me worry about that." It was a small thing. Premature absolution, if Kaspar should ever need it. As it was, a low groan of appreciation slipped from his throat at the feel of that slow, teasing suck, a shudder rolling through him in response to the unspoken threat of his teeth.
<Kaspar>
He considered arguing, on trying to tell the man to gain some self-preservation but ultimately decided it was pointless and not his place to worry. Those were circles he was tired of running in, an endless niggling complaint that got no one any closer to happiness or healing. Besides he didn't want to care enough to try and stop him, he couldn't... Could he? It was too much to take on, too much to try and work through, surely. Kaspar bit back the thought against his own tongue, splitting the morsel to free a stream of his own blood. With reckless abandon he bathed Grey's inner lip with it, urging the man to take from him, Kaspar giving a gift that few would ever receive.
<Grey Weston>
It would have been a circular argument, regardless. He'd had numerous people attempt to drag him from the pit through his youth. Kaspar was one of two who'd ever thought the solution was to climb into it to reach him. He didn't want the clarity. The chance to hesitate and reconsider. He seized onto the offering with both hands. The thin trickle of blood was enough to whet a different sort of hunger. Tease with a sluggish kind of anticipation that left his breaths quick and shallow. He responded in kind; his own tongue lifting to chase the taste of him, sucking the flesh clean. Slower than before; savoring. As if to suggest he understood the rare thing it was. The exchange was slower than he’d expected; unhurried. It was only once his tongue had swept the taste of him from every corner that he drew back. Grey was the sort who alternated between reveling in his mortality and holding it at bay, fingers curled around its throat, grip tightening until it asphyxiated.
It wasn’t that he lacked self-preservation. It was the false assurance that bolstered him. He escaped death. Again, and again. It couldn’t last. Case in point was the belief that it couldn’t touch him, even with one of its paler shadows arms wrapped around him in an easy embrace. “If it comes to that, then you’ll know. We’ll know. Until then…” He trailed off, his free hand dropping to drape lightly over Kaspar’s own. “I won’t break.”
<Kaspar>
He forgot to breathe, forgot to make his lungs fill and empty in that human way, as if it was stolen by Grey's urgency. He welcomed it, knowing how quickly the fount would dry, his wound would heal and that the dose was measured. Safe. He'd been warned about his actions, to caution himself even when he wanted to be reckless, and that wasn't often so hard for Kaspar to do. He eased back, with a reluctant sort of sound as Grey slowed and broke the entanglement, settling once more in his arms. Kaspar feared he could ride this rollercoaster for hours, the extreme highs and plummeting lows of blood, of touch and anticipation; of barely maintained constraint. "Hmm? Know what, exactly, Grey?" His nose nudged to the man's jaw, tracing the line of it until his lips were in reach of an earlobe, capturing the softness in a sharp snap of teeth, a soft tug. "You are a problem waiting to happen, aren't you?"
<Grey Weston>
It didn't take long. It never did. The hum that slid from his throat was soft in its frequency; a mixture of disappointment and gratitude all at once. He took what was offered, and that was all. He was almost subdued as settled against him once more; his cheek pressed against Kaspar's chest. It was silent, in sharp contrast to his own. Not that it kept a smug half-smile from forming. "When you run out of patience." It was much more likely that his restraint would be the first to fray. His chin angled upwards slightly; giving ground freely, for a change.A soft noise escaped him as Kaspar's teeth settled over the sensitive skin of his earlobe, breath hitching in a soft hiss of anticipation. The pressure crested, and then subsided. "I don't know what you're talking about."
-
Kaspar
- Posts: 377
- Joined: 15 Mar 2016, 08:40
- CrowNet Handle: SonOfTheDawn
Re: The Grey Scale ((Grey Weston and Kaspar, Closed))
<Kaspar>
Kaspar scoffed, the sound soft, so close to his ear, lips nuzzling a kiss at a spot beneath it, soft skin nestled under a firm jaw. "Mmph. I call ********, ja? Whatever, it doesn't matter does it?" He hovered there, comfortable in that place, content to pick up his breathing pattern again, the familiar rise and fall of his chest that made him feel human. A hand stroked over Grey's hair, nails trailing firmly as they slipped over the back of his neck and back around in a pattern of varying pressures and sensations designed to make shivers break across skin. "I think I might be more patient than you think, i'm ok with playing the long game. I thought that's would this would be, maybe it still is."
<Grey Weston>
Kaspar's assessment was a fair one. Even in the years before addiction left it's imprint across every line of him like garish lipstick on an ironed collar, he'd always played the role of best kept secret. He wasn't the sort of boy that could be taken home, fresh-faced, to one's parents, and had never campaigned as such. He was sort to bite his name into their skin; a smile hidden against the curve of their neck as he weathered the fallout. He was rewarded with a sigh; breath escaping him with the barest hint of a waiver. "Guess it doesn't," he agreed belatedly. It wasn't as if he could convince him to stay away, regardless. "Besides." He muttered a moment later, eyes slipping shut entirely, lulled by sensation of fingers running through his hair, "it gets you hot." The statement was matter-of-fact, though slightly ruined by the way his frame rose to meet the pressure behind those questing fingertips, nerves humming like the too-tight wires of an instrument. "Mm. Consider it an interlude."
<Kaspar>
His laughter was huskier, warmer than it had been, almost a sound of disbelief that usually followed teasing exasperation. "Does it now? Get me hot? I think you'll find i'm quite cool. Though, that is a good point." He carefully made move to disentangle himself from Grey, just enough that he could shrug himself free of the faded red letter jacket that ought to be on a man far broader than Kaspar. Tossing the item into the booth beside him Hel barely glanced at the name that was embroidered across the chest beneath the school logo. Luca. Yeah, Kaspar clearly didn't know when it was a good time to run. His brow rose at the remark; an interlude? Interesting. He wanted to press, but thought better of it. Keep it light. "I don't know what you're talking about, liebchen." An imitation of the man's earlier words, his own spin added to it and a smirk on his face as he spoke them. He didn't make a point of drawing the man back against his chest, or closing the space he'd created. He clearly wasn’t averse to it though, his body language speaking of a sort of open invitation if Grey decided he wanted more of that attention.
<Grey Weston>
"I have those sometimes." The smile that settled into place was borderline sweet; unguarded, as if whatever previously haunted him had been outpaced. He braced against Kaspar's chest as he shifted; drawing away as he shrugged out of his jacket. His eyes tracked it for a moment, taking note of the careless way it was left to crumple beside them. His gaze lingered on it for a moment, curious but unwilling to pry. "Do you hear yourself?" He muttered. There was a part of him that hungered to ask more; to question where he'd been. But that would have given voice to several uncomfortable truths that he wasn't willing to bring screaming into the light. Not yet. He leaned slightly; pressing into Kaspar's side once more.
<Kaspar>
The smile was almost a surprise, Kaspar studying the expression briefly before he once more allowed Grey to find a place to curl against him. "Seriously, who the **** are you?" The words weren't harsh, rather they came out in sort of an easy drawl of disbelief. His head shook, blonde locks shifting with the motion as hand returned to it's previous activity of teasing the nerves over Grey's scalp and neck. "So... Are we going to talk about why you were out wandering the streets? Were you going somewhere? Or just going?" His own head rocked back to rest against the cushioned booth, letting his eyes close to the world, focusing only on the man beside him and any words that left the lips he fully intended to taste again that night.
<Grey Weston>
I used to know. He bit back the words, his teeth sinking into the side of his cheek until the familiar trickle of warmth flooded his senses, creeping to stain teeth and coat the back of his throat. "You know my name, Kaspar. What, you want my dental records, too?" It wasn't what the man meant, and he was well aware. "...Couldn't sleep," he offered at last. It was a lie, but an easy one. Though perhaps not entirely a lie. As adept as Grey was at quieting the minds of those around him, it never quite worked for himself.
Kaspar scoffed, the sound soft, so close to his ear, lips nuzzling a kiss at a spot beneath it, soft skin nestled under a firm jaw. "Mmph. I call ********, ja? Whatever, it doesn't matter does it?" He hovered there, comfortable in that place, content to pick up his breathing pattern again, the familiar rise and fall of his chest that made him feel human. A hand stroked over Grey's hair, nails trailing firmly as they slipped over the back of his neck and back around in a pattern of varying pressures and sensations designed to make shivers break across skin. "I think I might be more patient than you think, i'm ok with playing the long game. I thought that's would this would be, maybe it still is."
<Grey Weston>
Kaspar's assessment was a fair one. Even in the years before addiction left it's imprint across every line of him like garish lipstick on an ironed collar, he'd always played the role of best kept secret. He wasn't the sort of boy that could be taken home, fresh-faced, to one's parents, and had never campaigned as such. He was sort to bite his name into their skin; a smile hidden against the curve of their neck as he weathered the fallout. He was rewarded with a sigh; breath escaping him with the barest hint of a waiver. "Guess it doesn't," he agreed belatedly. It wasn't as if he could convince him to stay away, regardless. "Besides." He muttered a moment later, eyes slipping shut entirely, lulled by sensation of fingers running through his hair, "it gets you hot." The statement was matter-of-fact, though slightly ruined by the way his frame rose to meet the pressure behind those questing fingertips, nerves humming like the too-tight wires of an instrument. "Mm. Consider it an interlude."
<Kaspar>
His laughter was huskier, warmer than it had been, almost a sound of disbelief that usually followed teasing exasperation. "Does it now? Get me hot? I think you'll find i'm quite cool. Though, that is a good point." He carefully made move to disentangle himself from Grey, just enough that he could shrug himself free of the faded red letter jacket that ought to be on a man far broader than Kaspar. Tossing the item into the booth beside him Hel barely glanced at the name that was embroidered across the chest beneath the school logo. Luca. Yeah, Kaspar clearly didn't know when it was a good time to run. His brow rose at the remark; an interlude? Interesting. He wanted to press, but thought better of it. Keep it light. "I don't know what you're talking about, liebchen." An imitation of the man's earlier words, his own spin added to it and a smirk on his face as he spoke them. He didn't make a point of drawing the man back against his chest, or closing the space he'd created. He clearly wasn’t averse to it though, his body language speaking of a sort of open invitation if Grey decided he wanted more of that attention.
<Grey Weston>
"I have those sometimes." The smile that settled into place was borderline sweet; unguarded, as if whatever previously haunted him had been outpaced. He braced against Kaspar's chest as he shifted; drawing away as he shrugged out of his jacket. His eyes tracked it for a moment, taking note of the careless way it was left to crumple beside them. His gaze lingered on it for a moment, curious but unwilling to pry. "Do you hear yourself?" He muttered. There was a part of him that hungered to ask more; to question where he'd been. But that would have given voice to several uncomfortable truths that he wasn't willing to bring screaming into the light. Not yet. He leaned slightly; pressing into Kaspar's side once more.
<Kaspar>
The smile was almost a surprise, Kaspar studying the expression briefly before he once more allowed Grey to find a place to curl against him. "Seriously, who the **** are you?" The words weren't harsh, rather they came out in sort of an easy drawl of disbelief. His head shook, blonde locks shifting with the motion as hand returned to it's previous activity of teasing the nerves over Grey's scalp and neck. "So... Are we going to talk about why you were out wandering the streets? Were you going somewhere? Or just going?" His own head rocked back to rest against the cushioned booth, letting his eyes close to the world, focusing only on the man beside him and any words that left the lips he fully intended to taste again that night.
<Grey Weston>
I used to know. He bit back the words, his teeth sinking into the side of his cheek until the familiar trickle of warmth flooded his senses, creeping to stain teeth and coat the back of his throat. "You know my name, Kaspar. What, you want my dental records, too?" It wasn't what the man meant, and he was well aware. "...Couldn't sleep," he offered at last. It was a lie, but an easy one. Though perhaps not entirely a lie. As adept as Grey was at quieting the minds of those around him, it never quite worked for himself.
"How you have fallen from heaven, Morningstar, son of the dawn"
-
Grey Weston
- Registered User
- Posts: 134
- Joined: 04 Jan 2015, 06:48
- CrowNet Handle: Nyctophilia
Re: The Grey Scale ((Grey Weston and Kaspar, Closed))
<Kaspar>
The familiar, coppery scent of blood hit his senses, a frown cursing his fair features. He'd set Grey off, somehow, with such simple words. His hand slipped around to grip at his jaw, gently, thumb and forefinger rubbing at the joints. "Relax... Yes. I know your name, no i'm not asking for... Look, don't give what you don't want to give. It's that simple. No need to beat yourself up on my account, hm?" The arm slumped over shoulders, Kas reluctantly opening an eye to peer at the man. “Do you want to sleep? I could walk you home? Or I can just be your distraction, if you want to stay awake.” He wasn’t entirely opposed to filling that role, though usually he preferred to be a main attraction. His stomach tensed, that clutching feeling of hunger or desire twitching to life with the thought. He wanted badly to make the decision for him, to lean over and taste the crimson in Grey’s mouth. Frustrating.
<Grey Weston>
His jaw loosened by degrees under the gentle press of Kaspar's fingertips. The tension unspooled slowly, the ache subsiding after a handful of heartbeats. All that was left behind was an echo of discomfort and the sting of torn flesh. The laugh that slipped from him was at once tired and self-deprecating. "It's not..." His words trailed, and he found himself licking his lips. "Ask." He finished. The word was soft, carrying a note of resignation. He started slightly at his next words. It was a generous offer. It would've almost been appealing, if sleep had been truly elusive. "I'll stay," he said, after a moment's hesitation.
<Kaspar>
Kas shrugged, a dismissive lift and fall of shoulders. "I honestly don't know what to ask, or what to say. I'm not sure what you want from me tonight, Grey. Why you came with me." He'd leaned in unintentionally, eyes following the path of his tongue as it pressed between lips to moisten. Kaspar didn't hesitate to keep leaning in, hell he was already there, mouth knocking against Grey's in a fierce little kiss, a hint of impatience behind it. Not demanding, no, just impatience. He licked his own lips, tasting the faint hint of Grey that lingered there. "You're looking for something, or maybe it's the opposite. Trying not to look for something. Has he come back lately?"
<Grey Weston>
He exhaled another sound against Kaspar's lips. Not quite laughter; it was too defeated for that. "Because I wanted to." The honesty was blunt. Unexpected. He could give him that much, at least. He didn't recoil when Kaspar's mouth once again found itself against his own. He could appreciate their softness and the spark of pleasure that roused despite the lack of heat. A soft, startled noise slipped from him; swept away by the intensity. He didn't offer a fight, all the same. It was an easy surrender. "No." He spoke without meaning to. "People who are gone that long don't come back, Kaspar."
<Kaspar>
He flinched, as if he'd been slapped. Kaspar knew he shouldn't have asked, in reality he knew the answer but he was curious as to whether Grey did or not, had he acknowledged Jameson's indifference? When Kas had asked he'd barely gotten a response, Jay had casually asked how he was, but not seemed too intent on hearing the answer. How long before they were the same way? Was it the same? He had no idea, and at least he still had others. He wasn't alone, he'd be more disappointed than he'd like to admit, but he would have others who felt the same to discuss it with. To give care, and consideration to ease the pain of loss. "I would say sorry, but you've probably figured out by now that the emotion doesn't run deep in me. Just not wired that way. I'm not going to try to placate you, or cheer you up, or tell you it will be ok. That wouldn't be honest." He did care, he did, it's just that it wasn't that much. He understood it, but he didn't feel it. Grey deserved the truth, and he deserved not to be coddled. "But i'm here. I don't know how long for..."
<Grey Weston>
The admission seemed to rip something vital from him. It was an abrupt theft - one that left him helpless in its aftershocks. He'd been there before. He was no stranger to loss; to people taking a little more from him with each passing season. It had started as a boy. While most children kept imaginary friends, Grey'd had an imaginary father. It was easier than facing the constant disappointment when one of his mother's constant string of lovers faded out of their lives once more. Perhaps that was the root of the issue. His mother's love had been anemic; sickly. She'd starved him of it even as she'd forced dependency. It took years to break that cycle, and her hold. Years of playing the dutiful son. The husband. The steward. A bark of laughter escaped him then, sharp and bitter. "Why the **** would he?" He asked. The words rasped in his throat; half-gasping. There was a part of him that wanted to snarl. To tear into Kaspar's throat.To be free to hate. But something held him at bay, beyond the simple game they played. And he was so very tired. "I was leaving." He said flatly. "Not like there's anything left for me here." He added. Given the option, he'd return home. Carefully pack a needle. And fade into the abstract. Somewhere as gray as his name. Warm. "Stop acting like you don't have a choice," he said suddenly. "I don't know what the hell is with you, or why you want what you think you do, but you shouldn't wait too long if you're going to take it."
The familiar, coppery scent of blood hit his senses, a frown cursing his fair features. He'd set Grey off, somehow, with such simple words. His hand slipped around to grip at his jaw, gently, thumb and forefinger rubbing at the joints. "Relax... Yes. I know your name, no i'm not asking for... Look, don't give what you don't want to give. It's that simple. No need to beat yourself up on my account, hm?" The arm slumped over shoulders, Kas reluctantly opening an eye to peer at the man. “Do you want to sleep? I could walk you home? Or I can just be your distraction, if you want to stay awake.” He wasn’t entirely opposed to filling that role, though usually he preferred to be a main attraction. His stomach tensed, that clutching feeling of hunger or desire twitching to life with the thought. He wanted badly to make the decision for him, to lean over and taste the crimson in Grey’s mouth. Frustrating.
<Grey Weston>
His jaw loosened by degrees under the gentle press of Kaspar's fingertips. The tension unspooled slowly, the ache subsiding after a handful of heartbeats. All that was left behind was an echo of discomfort and the sting of torn flesh. The laugh that slipped from him was at once tired and self-deprecating. "It's not..." His words trailed, and he found himself licking his lips. "Ask." He finished. The word was soft, carrying a note of resignation. He started slightly at his next words. It was a generous offer. It would've almost been appealing, if sleep had been truly elusive. "I'll stay," he said, after a moment's hesitation.
<Kaspar>
Kas shrugged, a dismissive lift and fall of shoulders. "I honestly don't know what to ask, or what to say. I'm not sure what you want from me tonight, Grey. Why you came with me." He'd leaned in unintentionally, eyes following the path of his tongue as it pressed between lips to moisten. Kaspar didn't hesitate to keep leaning in, hell he was already there, mouth knocking against Grey's in a fierce little kiss, a hint of impatience behind it. Not demanding, no, just impatience. He licked his own lips, tasting the faint hint of Grey that lingered there. "You're looking for something, or maybe it's the opposite. Trying not to look for something. Has he come back lately?"
<Grey Weston>
He exhaled another sound against Kaspar's lips. Not quite laughter; it was too defeated for that. "Because I wanted to." The honesty was blunt. Unexpected. He could give him that much, at least. He didn't recoil when Kaspar's mouth once again found itself against his own. He could appreciate their softness and the spark of pleasure that roused despite the lack of heat. A soft, startled noise slipped from him; swept away by the intensity. He didn't offer a fight, all the same. It was an easy surrender. "No." He spoke without meaning to. "People who are gone that long don't come back, Kaspar."
<Kaspar>
He flinched, as if he'd been slapped. Kaspar knew he shouldn't have asked, in reality he knew the answer but he was curious as to whether Grey did or not, had he acknowledged Jameson's indifference? When Kas had asked he'd barely gotten a response, Jay had casually asked how he was, but not seemed too intent on hearing the answer. How long before they were the same way? Was it the same? He had no idea, and at least he still had others. He wasn't alone, he'd be more disappointed than he'd like to admit, but he would have others who felt the same to discuss it with. To give care, and consideration to ease the pain of loss. "I would say sorry, but you've probably figured out by now that the emotion doesn't run deep in me. Just not wired that way. I'm not going to try to placate you, or cheer you up, or tell you it will be ok. That wouldn't be honest." He did care, he did, it's just that it wasn't that much. He understood it, but he didn't feel it. Grey deserved the truth, and he deserved not to be coddled. "But i'm here. I don't know how long for..."
<Grey Weston>
The admission seemed to rip something vital from him. It was an abrupt theft - one that left him helpless in its aftershocks. He'd been there before. He was no stranger to loss; to people taking a little more from him with each passing season. It had started as a boy. While most children kept imaginary friends, Grey'd had an imaginary father. It was easier than facing the constant disappointment when one of his mother's constant string of lovers faded out of their lives once more. Perhaps that was the root of the issue. His mother's love had been anemic; sickly. She'd starved him of it even as she'd forced dependency. It took years to break that cycle, and her hold. Years of playing the dutiful son. The husband. The steward. A bark of laughter escaped him then, sharp and bitter. "Why the **** would he?" He asked. The words rasped in his throat; half-gasping. There was a part of him that wanted to snarl. To tear into Kaspar's throat.To be free to hate. But something held him at bay, beyond the simple game they played. And he was so very tired. "I was leaving." He said flatly. "Not like there's anything left for me here." He added. Given the option, he'd return home. Carefully pack a needle. And fade into the abstract. Somewhere as gray as his name. Warm. "Stop acting like you don't have a choice," he said suddenly. "I don't know what the hell is with you, or why you want what you think you do, but you shouldn't wait too long if you're going to take it."
-
Kaspar
- Posts: 377
- Joined: 15 Mar 2016, 08:40
- CrowNet Handle: SonOfTheDawn
Re: The Grey Scale ((Grey Weston and Kaspar, Closed))
<Kaspar>
He still had his arm over Grey but it had gone still, not offering comfort, not soothing. Kaspar wanted to shy back from the sharpness of the words, the way they sounded torn and ragged; pushed into existence when they'd rather have stayed inside. What the hell did he say to that? Leaving? Leaving the club or leaving the town? Home, he was probably just saying he was going home. To the empty place, where he no doubt would sink into something that made it feel better. "Fine." Of course he had a choice, and his fight or flee instincts were kicking in. One hand reached for his jacket, bunching the material in his fist, too tight but who cared if it tore. It should, he should force himself to rip it pieces some time and leave it on Luca’s doorstep to find. "Get up." He slipped his hand to the man's back, giving a little shove, edging him unceremoniously towards end of the booth with a nudge of hip and thigh, pressing his side in to hurry it along. "Move, Grey."
<Grey Weston>
He didn't want to move. He no more wanted to move than he wanted to love Jameson and the space he left in the shambles he'd made of their lives. Maybe it was wrong for him to push so hard; to question Kaspar's motives so openly. But he wasn't blind. Neither of them would bend as easily as they might have hoped, for different reasons. Grey, for his part, didn't want to waste more time. Didn't want to spend his nights trailing reverent kisses that burned with that silent 'stay.' He tensed as he was shoved back; spooked. Torn. But he slid back mutely all the same, sucking in a breath as he climbed unsteadily to his feet. An apology rested on his tongue like ash. But he stood mutely; watching warily.
<Kaspar>
He stood up a little too abruptly, not letting Grey get too far from him. Kaspar's hand clasped the back of the man's neck, a little too hard maybe, a move that might have been misconstrued as aggressive. "Just stop. And don't give the wounded puppy face. I can't take it, Grey, I can't." He softened, some of the rigidness that had held him taught easing away, shoulders stooping forward until his forehead rested to Grey's. ""Kommen sie hier, Dummkopf." He stroked a thumb against the side of the man's neck, brushing a kiss to his forehead and the tip of his nose, lips ending up hovering before his mouth, letting Grey choose whether to take them.
<Grey Weston>
He flinched as Kaspar's fingers closed around the nape of his neck. For a brief second, he was tempted to fight the hold. He didn't. He was conscious of where they were; what consequences causing a scene would bring. "Ah, ****. Sorry it's such an inconvenience for you." The words cracked; raw and yet, despite their sharpness, lacking confrontation. "Neither can I." He managed, swallowing roughly. There was an exhaustion behind the statement; a marrow-deep sort of weariness. He rounded on Kaspar a moment later, only to find that he was once again flush with the man, forehead tipped against his. He couldn't suppress the tremble that ran through him at the brush of his thumb. The too-gentle kisses that touched briefly. "Why do you want--?" He started. Then decided he didn't want to know the answer. Not tonight. His head tipped slightly, allowing his lips hover, so that they brushed teasingly against Kaspar's own as he spoke. "Don't make me regret this."
<Kaspar>
"You will, whether I give you cause to or not." He spoke in a breathy whisper, the words perhaps lost in the din of the place, but the intention was there, brushed over his lips. Kaspar let the anticipation build, a slow pluck of lips, pulling him in before releasing. He slipped that damn jacket back on, wanting his hands free to take hold of Grey. He stepped around the man just as he had earlier, chest to back, hand to shoulder and the other pressing to abdomen. Fingers splayed in a manner that showed his desire to claim, to posses the fine muscle that rested beneath shirt, Kas shoving the material up to trace skin. "Alley. Through that door, my car is a few blocks down."
<Grey Weston>
A part of him should have been dissatisfied with the response. But he'd never sought safety. He was tired of suturing invisible wounds, only for someone's fingers to trace them in half-seconds before they sank in to the knuckle. If the intent was to ruin each other, at least there'd be forewarning. At least there'd be some comfort in that one certainty. He made a slight face - nose wrinkling gently- but otherwise allowed that careful pluck. He didn't protest when he found himself once again pushed forward through the crowd, in part because he doubted his ability to stay upright under his own power. The hemline of his shirt rode high, exposing skin. His muscles shivered under the press of Kaspar's fingers, the slow slide of his palm. "Where are we going?" He asked lowly. Even as he asked, he realized he didn't particularly care.
He still had his arm over Grey but it had gone still, not offering comfort, not soothing. Kaspar wanted to shy back from the sharpness of the words, the way they sounded torn and ragged; pushed into existence when they'd rather have stayed inside. What the hell did he say to that? Leaving? Leaving the club or leaving the town? Home, he was probably just saying he was going home. To the empty place, where he no doubt would sink into something that made it feel better. "Fine." Of course he had a choice, and his fight or flee instincts were kicking in. One hand reached for his jacket, bunching the material in his fist, too tight but who cared if it tore. It should, he should force himself to rip it pieces some time and leave it on Luca’s doorstep to find. "Get up." He slipped his hand to the man's back, giving a little shove, edging him unceremoniously towards end of the booth with a nudge of hip and thigh, pressing his side in to hurry it along. "Move, Grey."
<Grey Weston>
He didn't want to move. He no more wanted to move than he wanted to love Jameson and the space he left in the shambles he'd made of their lives. Maybe it was wrong for him to push so hard; to question Kaspar's motives so openly. But he wasn't blind. Neither of them would bend as easily as they might have hoped, for different reasons. Grey, for his part, didn't want to waste more time. Didn't want to spend his nights trailing reverent kisses that burned with that silent 'stay.' He tensed as he was shoved back; spooked. Torn. But he slid back mutely all the same, sucking in a breath as he climbed unsteadily to his feet. An apology rested on his tongue like ash. But he stood mutely; watching warily.
<Kaspar>
He stood up a little too abruptly, not letting Grey get too far from him. Kaspar's hand clasped the back of the man's neck, a little too hard maybe, a move that might have been misconstrued as aggressive. "Just stop. And don't give the wounded puppy face. I can't take it, Grey, I can't." He softened, some of the rigidness that had held him taught easing away, shoulders stooping forward until his forehead rested to Grey's. ""Kommen sie hier, Dummkopf." He stroked a thumb against the side of the man's neck, brushing a kiss to his forehead and the tip of his nose, lips ending up hovering before his mouth, letting Grey choose whether to take them.
<Grey Weston>
He flinched as Kaspar's fingers closed around the nape of his neck. For a brief second, he was tempted to fight the hold. He didn't. He was conscious of where they were; what consequences causing a scene would bring. "Ah, ****. Sorry it's such an inconvenience for you." The words cracked; raw and yet, despite their sharpness, lacking confrontation. "Neither can I." He managed, swallowing roughly. There was an exhaustion behind the statement; a marrow-deep sort of weariness. He rounded on Kaspar a moment later, only to find that he was once again flush with the man, forehead tipped against his. He couldn't suppress the tremble that ran through him at the brush of his thumb. The too-gentle kisses that touched briefly. "Why do you want--?" He started. Then decided he didn't want to know the answer. Not tonight. His head tipped slightly, allowing his lips hover, so that they brushed teasingly against Kaspar's own as he spoke. "Don't make me regret this."
<Kaspar>
"You will, whether I give you cause to or not." He spoke in a breathy whisper, the words perhaps lost in the din of the place, but the intention was there, brushed over his lips. Kaspar let the anticipation build, a slow pluck of lips, pulling him in before releasing. He slipped that damn jacket back on, wanting his hands free to take hold of Grey. He stepped around the man just as he had earlier, chest to back, hand to shoulder and the other pressing to abdomen. Fingers splayed in a manner that showed his desire to claim, to posses the fine muscle that rested beneath shirt, Kas shoving the material up to trace skin. "Alley. Through that door, my car is a few blocks down."
<Grey Weston>
A part of him should have been dissatisfied with the response. But he'd never sought safety. He was tired of suturing invisible wounds, only for someone's fingers to trace them in half-seconds before they sank in to the knuckle. If the intent was to ruin each other, at least there'd be forewarning. At least there'd be some comfort in that one certainty. He made a slight face - nose wrinkling gently- but otherwise allowed that careful pluck. He didn't protest when he found himself once again pushed forward through the crowd, in part because he doubted his ability to stay upright under his own power. The hemline of his shirt rode high, exposing skin. His muscles shivered under the press of Kaspar's fingers, the slow slide of his palm. "Where are we going?" He asked lowly. Even as he asked, he realized he didn't particularly care.
"How you have fallen from heaven, Morningstar, son of the dawn"
-
Grey Weston
- Registered User
- Posts: 134
- Joined: 04 Jan 2015, 06:48
- CrowNet Handle: Nyctophilia
Re: The Grey Scale ((Grey Weston and Kaspar, Closed))
<Kaspar>
He let the pressure increase, a firmer press of fingertips, a soft drag of nails from one hip to the other, a stray digit dipping dangerously to sink beneath the top of jeans as if the skin he'd claimed already just wasn't enough. He wanted it all. "I haven't got a clue." Kaspar muttered just loud enough to be heard over the crowd. The door came into view all too fast, hand pulling from Grey long enough to shove it open, ushering them out into the cool evening. "Wherever we want?" He moved to a safer hold, just arm over shoulders, leading them up the alley. "Car... Is a few streets over. Studio is a five minute walk. Alley is empty." He teased, laughing at the last one. "I'm kidding, please don't say we should hang out in the alley, i've had enough of mysterious men out the back of clubs and pubs."
<Grey Weston>
The drag of Kaspar's nails forced blood to rush to the surface, unseen. There was the heat, however, that followed that light scoring of nails. It was immediate, and a low hiss greeted that hungry touch. It wasn't meant to discourage. It was breathless, half-dizzy. His spine curved slightly, back arching away from Kaspar's chest just briefly. "Fine." He said after a second, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile as they stepped through the door. "Car it is, then."
<Kaspar>
No time was wasted, silence reigned as they walked, Kaspar keeping Grey steady at his side. True to his word the car took them a matter of minutes to reach, Kas fumbling in his pocket to tug out his keys to unlock it. Lips parted to speak but words didn't follow, the man hovering by the doors, unsure which to open. Did he just get in? Imply they might drive somewhere or open the passenger side, letting Grey in. The third choice made his mouth feel dry, the man running his tongue between his lips. The back door whispered to him, the handle so easy to pull upon. He didn't, instead he drew Grey closer, a gently urging of hands, nudging him towards the car. Decision given away, they walked a fine line, he knew he'd overstep.
<Grey Weston>
He was patient, despite Kaspar's fumbling. He arched a brow at the hesitation; curious but not impatient enough to interrupt. It was endearing, in a way. Endearing in the same way his brief college experience had been; full of students who'd hovered uncertainly outside of dorm rooms. He followed the urging of Kaspar's restless hands a moment later, backing up until his back fetched solidly against the side of it. "Relax," he muttered.
<Kaspar>
A brow raised in response, but he didn't comment, just taking the man's suggestion to heart. He shoved the keys back into his pocket, stepping in to close some of the distance between himself and the car. Palms came to press either side of Grey's head, leaning against the shining black vehicle. A Jeep, ridiculously gifted by his father as a family car, one he’d kept but not for that purpose. He tried to ignore the hunger that teased at his senses, he did not want to sink fangs into Grey, not now. Not here. Muscles flexed in his forearms, bracing as his weight leaned into them. A knee came first nudging between Grey's, a foot shuffling forwards along with it, boot used to push feet further apart without upsetting balance. Hips shortly followed, rocking to find a place to settle, pressing in abdomen and up to the sternum before arms tensed, holding him there. Comfortable, this was what he knew, actions easier than words.
He let the pressure increase, a firmer press of fingertips, a soft drag of nails from one hip to the other, a stray digit dipping dangerously to sink beneath the top of jeans as if the skin he'd claimed already just wasn't enough. He wanted it all. "I haven't got a clue." Kaspar muttered just loud enough to be heard over the crowd. The door came into view all too fast, hand pulling from Grey long enough to shove it open, ushering them out into the cool evening. "Wherever we want?" He moved to a safer hold, just arm over shoulders, leading them up the alley. "Car... Is a few streets over. Studio is a five minute walk. Alley is empty." He teased, laughing at the last one. "I'm kidding, please don't say we should hang out in the alley, i've had enough of mysterious men out the back of clubs and pubs."
<Grey Weston>
The drag of Kaspar's nails forced blood to rush to the surface, unseen. There was the heat, however, that followed that light scoring of nails. It was immediate, and a low hiss greeted that hungry touch. It wasn't meant to discourage. It was breathless, half-dizzy. His spine curved slightly, back arching away from Kaspar's chest just briefly. "Fine." He said after a second, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile as they stepped through the door. "Car it is, then."
<Kaspar>
No time was wasted, silence reigned as they walked, Kaspar keeping Grey steady at his side. True to his word the car took them a matter of minutes to reach, Kas fumbling in his pocket to tug out his keys to unlock it. Lips parted to speak but words didn't follow, the man hovering by the doors, unsure which to open. Did he just get in? Imply they might drive somewhere or open the passenger side, letting Grey in. The third choice made his mouth feel dry, the man running his tongue between his lips. The back door whispered to him, the handle so easy to pull upon. He didn't, instead he drew Grey closer, a gently urging of hands, nudging him towards the car. Decision given away, they walked a fine line, he knew he'd overstep.
<Grey Weston>
He was patient, despite Kaspar's fumbling. He arched a brow at the hesitation; curious but not impatient enough to interrupt. It was endearing, in a way. Endearing in the same way his brief college experience had been; full of students who'd hovered uncertainly outside of dorm rooms. He followed the urging of Kaspar's restless hands a moment later, backing up until his back fetched solidly against the side of it. "Relax," he muttered.
<Kaspar>
A brow raised in response, but he didn't comment, just taking the man's suggestion to heart. He shoved the keys back into his pocket, stepping in to close some of the distance between himself and the car. Palms came to press either side of Grey's head, leaning against the shining black vehicle. A Jeep, ridiculously gifted by his father as a family car, one he’d kept but not for that purpose. He tried to ignore the hunger that teased at his senses, he did not want to sink fangs into Grey, not now. Not here. Muscles flexed in his forearms, bracing as his weight leaned into them. A knee came first nudging between Grey's, a foot shuffling forwards along with it, boot used to push feet further apart without upsetting balance. Hips shortly followed, rocking to find a place to settle, pressing in abdomen and up to the sternum before arms tensed, holding him there. Comfortable, this was what he knew, actions easier than words.