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[swordhardy]

« SWORDSSS » TEXT ✧ AUDIO ✧ VIDEO ✧ ACTION ROKUROU RANGETSU ✦ TALES OF BERSERIA (CRAU)
RESIDENCE ✦ RUBY UNDERGROUND
GEMBOND ✦ RUBY
INFO ✧ PERMISSIONS ✧ KINKLIST ✧ EXTRA

GAME DETAILS & STATS

HOUSING
↳ Ruby Underground studio with wray
↳ Frequent visitor at pushpin & formant's apartment

INVENTORY
↳ Wisteria-like potted plant
↳ Numerous weapons (Kurogane Stormquell, obsidian short swords, various knives)
↳ Usual outfit (kimono jacket, hakama, under armor, hard armor, soft armor, gloves, black under layer)
↳ Causal wear (sweatpants, t-shirts, boxers, slip-on sandals)

HAUNTS
↳ Bars in the Ruby Underground
↳ Parks during early morning for training

Comments

[pushpin]

No— Ah-Rou, no— augh!

[ attempting to dissuade him from the obvious trajectory isn't unlike trying to get a self-serving great dane to not do what it wants; hands go up in pacifism and wind up more like a brace for his landing, air unfortunately knocked from his lungs as he plummets to the shore. ]

Hrghk... [ a graceful sound that preempts a second robbing of his breath as he jerks and spasms at tickling, squirming and trying to pound his palms on that barreled chest. whining for mercy and choking on his own laughter, breathless and alive, cheeks near as flushed as the paint now matting his hair and gluing them together in tackiness. it doesn't stop him from jerking at the bite — or scolding him for his own lack of foresight. ]

And now whose fault is that, ah! [ retaliation comes in a cruel pinch and twist: namely, two sets of fingers on Rokurou's exposed nipples, a la Purple Nurple. ] Geddoff'a me, off!

[ he's having fun. ]

[swordhardy]

[ HIS NIPPLES..... what an animal?!

The noise the daemon makes when fingers find his nipples and twist isn't like any he's ever made before. High-pitched, alarmed, like a teenager's voice cracking when his balls drop. Not because it feels good—ain't a nipple man—but because it genuinely catches him off guard. ]

H, hey! [ in one of the few, seldom, rare times, his face feels hot for making such a stupid noise—good think it's dark and covered in paint. ] You freak!

[ Assault his man tits? This. Means. War. ]

Lil shit, that's gettin' you a Rangetsu special. [ Guanshan might be longer, but Rokurou's heavier; he uses that to his advangage to roll 'em over again, slapping his palm against the back of red scruff to shove his head down toward the sand, ] Heeeere it comes.

[ Is he going to grind Guanshan's face into the wet, sticky, neon covered shore? You bet he is. #bestboyfriend ]

[pushpin]

How d'you have a Rangetsu special for this?!

[ a rhetorical question that has the benefit of Rokurou's lack of self-reflection, in moments like this. try every way that he might to squirm and fuss his way out of the swordsman manipulating his body how he wants, once he has a determined goal, he's helpless against that superior strength. ]

[ there are more grunts — of realization, of Guanshan putting his palms in the now gritty paint to try and buck against him and prevent the ineviable... but when his face plants into that shallow puddle, his incredible wit only surfaces in an onslaught of air bubbles, drowning out what is undoubtedly a slew of colorful curses. fuck, it's up his nose — how is he ever going to get that out? will his baby nose hairs just be stuck together forever?! ]

[ when he rears out of the muck, he oozes vermillion and stained stand, fingers swiping his face to free room to breathe. it makes the whites of his eyes look starker, the pissed expression deepening the furrows the paint was too thick to seep into. his kicking heels aim at Rokurou's crotch, slamming brutally into inner thighs at the very least — but his attempts are repeated, not unlike a threatened horse's rearing hind legs. ]

I take it back, I'm choppin' it off instead'a lickin' it clean.

[swordhardy]

[ Raucous laughter crackles on the edge of the daemon's shit-eating grin, full-bodied and straight from the chest. It's a gleam of teeth that doesn't fade when heels thrash down; Rokurou grasps out wildly, trying to catch both ankles in hand but misses, lacking his usual on point hand-eye coordination courtesy of knocking back a bottle before hitting the road.

Doesn't keep him from trying, again and again, when each new kick comes. Just a little closer, slower, c'mere c'mere c'mere— ]

Tell me somethin' I'll believe! My dick's your favorite thing about me.

[ Ain't nothing like diligence. Eventually he nabs a knobby ankle, and then the other one with triumphant hoot. Fingers cuffed and secured, he glances back over his shoulder toward where water foams against the shore—only a few feet away—before turning mirthful gaze back onto the redhead. ]

Sorry, sorry. I'll clean you up.

[ Sliding back on his knees, Rokurou drags Guanshan by the ankles slowly toward where the sealine, a neon-wet slog like drawing a bloody corpse to its watery grave, complete with manic serial killer smile. ]

[pushpin]

No— stop it!

[ the wail of a tormented spirit reverberates on the ocean wind, made eerie with its erratic spray and, to the casual passerby, the deep and flooding claw marks that lead from small puddle to incomprehensibly large one. the increasingly wet sand offers no further purchase, and when the tips of waves crash into his digging fingers, he knows there are no other options but the drink. ]

[ the first wave crashes in over his head puts a brine-burn in his sinuses right between his eyes. it recedes with Rokurou's deepening footsteps, but the next one that crashes over his shoulders only drags them in deeper, water giving heavy bodies a buoyant pull. he's laying in Rokurou's wake instead of hanging over it as the water reaches chests, and every drowning flip-flop splish-splash would draw predators to him were he not already claimed by the biggest one for miles. ]

[ when it comes to let him go or let him die, there only inevitability is Guanshan springing back up right side out of the waves, wreathed in dead seaweed and some nocturnal aquatic creature with suckers shellacked to a cheek. spraying out the nautical sinus flush from his mouth is, of course, aimed right at Rokurou's face. ]

You're really such a fuckin' asshole.

[swordhardy]

Yeah.

[ Black hair spreads spilled ink fingers, plastered waterlog along angled jaw and cragged blight. A red-split gaze peers from between tangles and strands with that word, slanted grit on a crooked mouth, even when nasal brine splats against his cheek and trickles down into salt smear.

Scarred fingers pry the barnacle from Guanshan's cheek, suckers peeling with a wet pop before it's nothing more than a dot soaring toward the horizon off the end of a long-arm swing. Wordless when he twists them, pulling Guanshan's lank frame over his, heels digging into sinking sand beneath the surface while strapping his forearm over the small of his back.

Nose and mouth press into the crook of the younger man's neck, momentary quiet against the backdrop of the sea breaking against the shore. His lips are a cool touch, slow trace along sloshed neon paint and brine before it's gleam and gum, teeth digging down hard into flesh. A ringed print that won't wash away with soap or saliva. ]

It's 'cause I like you.

[pushpin]

[ untrusting, arms straighten and slack, giving Rokurou pure cheek as he moves in, fussy and moody and dejected as if it were a continued part of the play. pinned in his embrace and then bitten into another shape, Guanshan starts with a jolt, sparking life back through those still limbs. squirming only lasts as long as it takes those words to reach his ear, siren-calling a change in mood. ]

[ the liquor isn't enough to fight off the night ocean's chill anymore. fingers find the broad column of Rokurou's torso at either side, hooking there for support as the wave bounce them on a rhythm — and Guanshan folds to the temptation of giving in without further struggle, his head lowering pacifistically to rest on the daemon's shoulder. his feet stay afloat, relying entirely on the other man's support. trust restored so easily, so readily mollified. ]

Don't I fuckin' know it.

[ hands go up, loop broad shoulders and neck. he does know it, but damn if he can deny how good it feels to hear. can Rokurou detect his pulse tick up over the sounds of the surf, see his washed-out veins pulse in the silver light of the moon? he's given him enough compliments for the night, beguiled him here with promise and praise — and he's so damn greedy and vain, he shouldn't blow his head up like that. ]

It's okay. I know you'll take care'a me after.

[ but Guanshan's own hedonism is among the many reasons they work. ]

[swordhardy]

[ Dimming temperature, upticked pulse, coiled limbs—Guanshan is as known as a blade in Rokurou's hands. But he's a different kind of weapon though no less sharp, one that's taken the swordsman years of learning to grow comfortable holding. I made a lot of room in me for you, you know. Give and take between them has always been unfairly lopsided, but Guanshan managed to carve out an alcove where they shouldn't have been any give.

(We just have to find a place where we both can meet.)

Attention needles in on the soft fall of breath. The beat of a strong heart beneath wiry ribcage. The creak of joints, grind of teeth, flutter of pale lashes, stick of skin to wet skin—the moon is vividly bright and the night sky is cast with brilliant stars, but it's Mo Guanshan that he can't stop admiring. ]

You still want me to buy you that drink? [ water sloshes as the daemon stands, bracing arm tucked beneath long legs to draw them up with main weight leaned into his chest. doesn't matter how big this kid gets, Rokurou will still carry him. ] You feel cold.

[pushpin]

Yeah I still want the drink, [ announced with sibilant disdain, the same tone of voice he's brandished during requests for five more minutes when Rokurou tries to wake him up at some offbeat hour. it's true that he's easily content when it comes to this man's presence — ]

[ but it's also true that he has a brash stubborn streak that only gets amplified with inebriation. the liquor's tunnelvision had detoured to the arrival, irritation, and basking of the presence of his favorite person; as he now attempts to recalibrate, he overcorrects, practically throwing himself out of Rokurou's embrace and plunging back into the crashing waves. ]

[ he knows it'll tickle the daemon's prey drive, and so vows to race back to the shores away from him, splashing blindly at his back to slow the oncoming pursuit, aiming for the eyes. all cold really needs is a little action, sometimes. ]

If I beat you down there, I'm chargin' double!

[ now that Rokurou's painted pretty, he'll be allowed in. Guanshan may have knowledge of how the air bubbles work going for him, but how good is a daemon at swimming under water? he's about to find out. ]