❧ oh but you taste exquisite

[reposing]

[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.]

Comments

[distaster]

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?

[reposing]

[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.

[distaster]

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?

[reposing]

[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.

[distaster]

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.

[reposing]

[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.]

[distaster]

[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 —