sleepytimejunction | ❧ oh but you taste exquisite

❧ oh but you taste exquisite

[The Adrestian Empire's victory seems to be looming on the horizon. There will still be losses on both sides inevitably, but the tide of the war appears to be obvious to most. Yet, there is that lingering concern of whoever is slaughtering their troops out in Faerghus. Not simply killing, but maiming out of pleasure, leaving a bloodstained battlefield.

And so it is that the latest small army is investigating out by House Rowe's territory from the latest encounter.

This time, they arrive with a man in tow, a thick metal collar around his throat and arms bound in chains. He's led along as if he were an animal to be paraded around.

C'mon. Sniff him out.

A deep, beastly growl escapes the man, but he tips his chin up, sniffing the air.]

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[The hand in his fur is... not unpleasant. Adrian lets out a huff of air, leaning against it slightly. The kindest hand he's had in years, to come from a beast not unlikel himself.

He only pulls away so that he can transform freely, back to his body of a man, deceptive in all ways.]

I will be fine. There is blood to be had, and it will strengthen me.

When this battle is through, you must advise me further about your needs.

[Perhaps Adrian won't want to, but maybe that's just all the more reason to ask it of him. Besides, the candor will make it easier to adjudicate his loyalty later. There must be trust, before he can offer trust in return.]

Now that we are allies, any vulnerability of yours is one of mine as well, is it not?

[For a moment, Adrian peers at him, his gaze a clear scowl. However... for as much as Adrian has offered him an olive branch, so Dimitri does the same in his way.

A unit is only good if they can protect each other's weaknesses.]

After the battle then, I will answer your questions.

Then let's be off.

[His eyes narrow slightly, his expression taking on a similar appearance to the one he'd worn back in the glade — focused, cunning, and perhaps even a little aroused.]

These rats defile this place every second they spend inhabiting it. It's time they atoned with their lives.

[The expression tells Adrian what he must know about this man, how allured he is to the prospect of bloodlust. At that part, they are hardly different; there will always be that part of Adrian who would gladly bathe in the bodies of his foes.

His claws extend and he tilts his head.]

I am with you.

[It is hardly surprising that thieves would be eager to find ways to make coin off of the sufferings of others. This is no different as they prowl and loot off of a place that is very likely beloved to Dimitri.

Adrian has no home to truly return to, but he thinks that if he had he would relate to that prospect.

He skulks around the walls, his nails digging into brick as if it were nothing. When one thief strays too close, Adrian yanks him up onto the wall with him and tears out his throat promptly. The bandit tries to scream, only able to gurgle on his own blood before drowning in it. The flesh matters not to Adrian as he indulges in burying his face into the wound and drinking heavily.]

[Walking the old familiar campus of Garreg Mach changes something in Dimitri, as it always does when he returns here. Cold, ruthless killing takes on a new character, for once lit with a strangely passionate fury. He was happy here once, for a time; he had a professor who supported him, a house that looked up to him, a dream of restoring Duscur to prosperity and acquitting them of their alleged crimes. The future was never bright and sunny, but it was a distant star to follow — a hope, a belief, a wish for better.

Look at it now. Crawling with bandits and blackguards like a corpse attracting flies. And with each one he kills, the more he hates them, the more he wants them to suffer for ever daring to set foot here, where part of him still believes that Byleth might return someday, while part of him still pretends she lives at all.

The first two, he kills with his lance; it breaks in the third, from being thrown too hard, but it's all the more satisfying to switch to close combat and simply brutalize the renegades with his hands. There are so many ways to kill men with just his hands and the strength afforded by his Crest; he can rip their limbs from their bodies, he can crush their throats and let them die strangling. He can cave their faces in. He can drive his fist through their hearts. After a while, all notions of strategy are gone. He simply kills, anything he finds, anything that moves, anything that breathes.

Soon enough, there are no others left, and he is bloodstained up to his elbows, stains of it in streaks across his face, rivulets of it running like raindrops down his armor. He is filthy with it, run red like the grass in the glade, and he stands across from Adrian, dripping with it, and takes silent stock of how his companion fared.]

[Adrian is no cleaner; he has relished himself in his prey, and it can be seen all over his person. Once more, his hair is stained crimson with blood running down his chin and arms. Fortunately, his clothing was hardly anything of note to begin with, so the sticky red means nothing to him.

When he looks at Dimitri, his eyes are glazed over with lust. The blood on its own had been enough for him, but to see the prince just as covered--

Adrian approaches him, sighing in pleasure.]

Marvelous...

[He does not ask; he reaches out for one of Dimitri's hands, sliding his tongue over his gauntlets.]

[There's so much blood; the amount spilled makes the air reek of it, copper and hot amid the fallen corpses that will soon bloat and turn rancid as they begin to rot in the sun. There's so much of it, they're soaked with it, and his mouth falls slightly open as Adrian approaches him with a gaze so potent, so hungry, that he can't look away.

How good it felt to kill; how unfortunate that there weren't more of them to slaughter with his bare hands. But it's almost as satisfying to watch Adrian's long pink tongue snake along his wet black gauntlets, filthy and indecent in the way he laps at the residual blood.

How he wants, suddenly, to hear him sigh like that again.]

What a creature you are.

[He feeds on blood, it's not natural, and yet witnessing Adrian's reaction to the carnage somehow leaves Dimitri feeling more understood, more known, than he ever has been before.]

Does it excite you?

[The blood of mongrels is hardly enough to satisfy him, but it is enough for what his body demands of him. He thinks, faintly, how Dimitri's blood must be so much more delicious. A Blaiddyd would be exquisite, but it isn't something he would ask for. He could not think to.

So he wraps his lips around the tip of a finger, sucking it off before he wetly pops off of it.]

Doesn't it for you?

[He says it, like it must be obvious for both of him.]

Yes.

[He can feel his heart beginning to race, his blood pounding in his ears at the obscene attentions Adrian pays to his filthy gloves. If only there were more of them, he thinks suddenly, as the notion makes heat stir deep in the pit of his stomach. If only there were more to kill, more lives to take, more blood to soak his hands. If only.

There is no one here to judge him for these feelings. No one here to feel ashamed before.]

I regret only that it was over so soon...

[It's terrible, isn't it? He could almost envision his mother's disappointed gaze, horrified at what her own son has become. She was so kind and beautiful, wanting only to help others. Here is her son, thrilled and excited with the prospect of bloodshed, sharing that with another who understands in his own way.

He drags his tongue over his other fingers with a sigh.]

As do I.

How fragile flesh is. Too easily, it rips like tissue paper beneath our hands. A fleeting moment of joy.

How beautiful you are when you kill.

[He turns his hand slightly, opening his palm to better allow Adrian to reach, and when he next allows one of Dimitri's fingers close to his lips, Dimitri presses it past them, taking liberties.]

Did those who took you alter your appearance along with your appetites, or were you always so beautiful?

[Instead of being offended, Adrian's eyes go hazy, and he sucks on the fingers in his mouth gladly, inviting. Absently, he scrapes his fangs over the gauntlets, letting them scratch.

He pulls back, a bloody strand of spit lingering from his lips to the fingers.]

You flatter me. My face... has always been mine.

It takes no particular skill to recognize beauty where it is surrounded by atrocity.

[How pretty, that shining strand that keeps them connected. A pity to sever it, however necessary to do so as he hooks those same fingers beneath Adrian's chin and lifts his face as if to appraise it.]

Blood clings to me elsewhere than just my hands.

[His voice is breathless, anticipatory.]

Or have you had your fill already?

[With a slow sigh, Adrian lets his chin rest in Dimitri's grip, a touch-starved beast delighting in the contact. He slowly licks his lips.]

I can always have more. And it is sweeter off of you.

[Adrian smiles, fangs revealing themselves behind his lips.]

Please.

Come and sample it, then.

[He moves a step forward, drawing closer into Adrian's space, his lone blue eye fixed on the blood smudged around the other man's lips. There's a glint of sharp teeth behind them that he hadn't altogether noticed before, not until his lips part and he bares them; they must have been made for ripping and tearing, like a wild thing's, and abruptly he recalls the way something had scratched on his gauntlets when Adrian had been sucking his fingers, a passing sound he hadn't really paid attention to until now.

Careless of him. He should pay much, much closer attention to this beautiful creature's mouth, and all the wicked danger hidden within it.]

Clean my armor with your tongue.

[Lips part once more, and he leans in, slowly sliding his tongue over a splatter of red across the prince's breastplate. It's terribly wonderful, to debase himself and chase after the hunger and lust he has, not just the blood.

So he laves at cold metal, tracing over the shape of the armor as he cleans it away. It takes him down a bit lower, lapping away at his torso, chasing after every drop he can find. It leads Adrian to kneel before him, appropriately.

Carefully, his hand cups under Dimitri's knee, encouraging him to lift his leg and trust him to hold it, to let him work there too.]

[He had thought, truly and earnestly, that arousal was beyond him now. In a war-torn world without Byleth, haunted by ghosts and reeking of filth and corpses, pleasure had become something relegated only to distant memories with no place in his bloodsoaked world. Killing had become the closest thing he felt to it; the pounding lust and boiling arousal were the same, but always only things that resulted in savage satisfaction, not...

Not this.

Not Adrian's long tongue dragging across the metalwork that protects his chest, not the way it dips methodically into ridges and creases like he's determined to collect every last drop of it. Not the sounds he makes as he works, so faint as to almost be inaudible. Not the sight of him sinking to his knees like he's eager to suck more than just the blood from Dimitri's fingers.

They're so close to the cathedral. This place should be holy, and he knows full well he is anything but.]

More still?

[He doesn't mean to sound as hoarse as he does. But Adrian shows no signs of stopping, and even bids him to move his legs as though he intends to continue his careful work further down, and he thinks wildly that he should stop Adrian, that it would be wrong to let him take this so far, that letting anyone lick the boots he wears feels like it must be some sort of blasphemy —

But goddess, he's had no interest in sex in so long that he'd almost forgotten how it feels to be this hard, and he can't make himself take his gaze off of Adrian for even a second as he pants, ragged and harsh.]

Don't stop — don't stop — I want to watch —

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❧ oh but you taste exquisite

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