ROKUROU ᴍᴀʟᴇᴠᴏʟᴇɴᴛ ᴅɪᴄᴋ RANGETSU (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
swordhardy) wrote2021-03-18 09:35 pm
swordhardy) wrote2021-03-18 09:35 pmEntry tags:
NOCT OVERFLOW
OVERFLOW & EVENTS
swordhardy) wrote2021-03-18 09:35 pm
sɪx: "the way that her hair fell down around her face, and I recall my fall from grace"
A godling's sleep that hadn't influenced a daemon before strikes deep now, its jagged blade cutting deep into weak flesh and charred bone. Spiraling, turning its brutal edge and scraping up, going for the core and dragging out the worst in dribbling ruby and cracked onyx. Colors branded into his flesh, marking him as half a creature and half a man—but different now, spreading bloodink fingers over previously untouched plains. Their reach has no end,
Black and red stain tanned skin, print across a weathered page. Leathery dark breaks that don't quite match the blight that cakes half his face; wings crack from jerking shoulder blades, burning their way past fresh gaping wounds, transformation unkind and terrible in spades. Blunt nails sharpen, go black as the rest. Normally sharp teeth are a mockery of the wide spread of razor behind freshly pale lips, cruelty behind the beauty of visage, human half of his face still stately as ever. Hair gone thicker, it piles heavily in waves, long and down around his back and shoulders. Silky, as though a blessing God hadn't deigned to take away.
Daemon and devil knotted together as one, luring in the innocent with a lovely golden eye and thick drooping lashes before sharing the bite of a monster's maw. He aches, feels the weight of something cursed settling upon his flesh, but that's nothing new. Just different now, a devil's weight different than that of a daemon. Yet they're monsters cut from the same cloth: selfish, brutal, and damned. From in the soul to out, he can feel it. All the cravings a monster has, all the aching to touch what he can't have. Wanting wanting wanting. Wet hunger soaking in his mouth. Craving something that lacks a word, mind too muddled with unrestrained desire to properly find it.
Only one bubbles to the surface amid the firestorm, throbs along with every ache, each starved pang, brilliant as a stubborn heartbeat when all else fails: Xing.
Xing Xing Xing Xing Xing. Where is he? Where is he?!
Rokurou wants him. Needs him. Needs to taste that strong body, run his forked tongue across scars and sculpted muscle, sink his teeth into every spot he can find to mark him as one dragged along to hell for the ride. Memories flash across his mind's eye—strong legs spread wide, muscular core flexing with labor, hard dusky nipples against a backdrop of scars, pursed mouth with the prettiest cupid's bow, narrow nose, little beauty mark beneath his eye begging to be licked, soft downy hair—it all goes straight to his cock. Fuck, and those eyes. The loveliest shade of purple. Delicate lilac framed by handsome, dark lashes.
So beautiful. There's nothing about the erune he doesn't like. If he could, Rokurou devour every little piece. Worship him from his ankles to his thighs to his belly and up, leaving no part unscavenged. He's never needed religion when the only thing he wants to believe in lies between Xing's thighs, laced in his pleasured sighs, found the way he groans and gasps and shivers when he comes and then falls into sweet afterglow. A mouth that demands to be kissed, a body that begs to be loved.
Groping along his cock to jerk off, mind filled with nothing but Xing, Rokurou notices that that's changed too: thicker, bigger, curved in a way that almost hooks, barbs ribbing the base just ahead of his balls. Strange to the touch, an uncomfortable chafe against his palm and fingers as he pumps, panting, tearing into his own bottom lip until it bleeds because Xing isn't here. Not here, by his side, where he should be. It's unacceptable. Cold. Lonely, so lonely—he can feel every inch of the damned mark that encompasses his body, singing him out as a thing not meant to be loved. It doesn't mean he doesn't want it, craving for Xing and everything he can give only getting deeper.
The orgasm that comes isn't good enough. It rings hollow without being dumped heavily into Xing, sweet form caught beneath his embrace, trapped so that he can't ever escape. The image of his lover twisting beneath him, panting and exhausted and filthy, isn't enough to satisfy more than this—something the devil realizes as he wipes his hands clean, another pang of hunger almost dropping him to his knees. It hurts. It hurts.
Xing. Manna. Xing. Manna. He's had enough Manna built up to get by and yet somehow he's starving for it, bloodied mouth growing wetter with saliva with the thought of dragging it from the erune. Parched, starving, Rokurou stumbles for the door and breaks through haphazardly, ignoring his lack of dress—nothing matters but finding him.
Leathery wings beat hard. Tacky blood leaks down his naked spine, slick across callous skin. It weaves down all of his limbs, a patchwork make of creature and man, marking him as other amidst the crowds of the downtrodden and flora-wearing. Other gembonded have turned as well; some have luring scents, beckon to him with curled fingers and tilted mouths, promising that they can slake the hunger that drives him as long as he plays his part and satisfies theirs ... but he turns away, frenzied in his search, desperation mounting to a breaking point until it finally tickles his nose.
A delicate scent. Lovely, fine, like the sweetest perfume. A touch of earthiness, like freshly cut grass or a crisp morning dew. A feminine draw, velvety petals falling from stalks in shades of purple and blue. Geraniums and lavender. Coaxing, potent blend that he would know anywhere; a rush of heat sluices through his body as he turns heel, following the thread of that aroma because he knows, instinctually, that it will lead him to where he needs to be. To who he needs, a little piece of salvation broken off from the rest that's meant for Rokurou and Rokurou alone.
It leads him to a garden. A hidden alcove of blooming flowers, neon specks against a backdrop of emerald. Hidden away in Eden—Rokurou should have known that's where Xing would be. Though it's hardly a private place, with other patrons mulling about quietly, Rokurou makes no heed of them. They don't exist. Not in his tunnel vision, not as he follows the red string of fate toward his other half. For all he sees, they're perfectly alone in their own cut of heaven.
Xing is calling for him. Everything laced into the erune's scent begs for Rokurou to find him. Cloying, dizzying, a sweet honey cultivated just for him. The irritation that welts along the devil's skin doesn't fade, but the knowledge that his lover is signaling a beacon for him to find soothes his ire somewhat. The pining only grows.
When he finally finds Xing set against the flora, the devil wastes no time. Desperate for contact, he winds muscular arms and clawed fingers from behind the other man, already dirtying his ethereal glow with viscous, merlot ichor. A snare that will never relent, tight in the clutch of possessive sludge that pushes through his veins.
If there was ever a question of their fated affair, finding Xing knotted up into something so celestial cinches it. Two halves of a whole: dirty monster stained by sin and darkness latching onto beauty that he should never touch. Marring it with his essence, quick to press a bloody kiss against white hair, tickling his nose into its thickness and inhaling deeply. He's always loved Six's scent, but something about it now is especially addicting. So thick, so rich, so inherently Xing that it goes straight to his head ..... and his cock, which is already twitching back to life, hard shape pressed into the curve of his lover's ass. Wanting Six to know how horny he is already, Rokurou ruts his erection into the cleft of those plush cheeks, grinding his exposed dick over clothes.
You can't drop a ravenous man in front of a banquet and expect him to behave. ]
So this is where you've been hiding. [ his comment comes as a guttural sound, all broken glass and scattered rubble. ] You should always be by my side.
[ Dragging nails catch on the front of Six's shirt, ribboning fabric in their slow downward drag. Tucking his mouth in, his hot breath tickles the erune's cheek, the edges of his shark-sharp teeth a warning brush. I'm starving and only you will satisfy me. ]
Because you're mine. Did you forget?
no subject
the godling named malachite falls into slumber and thus allows for a series of (un)fortunate events to happen, just like dominoes carefully placed next to each other, one piece collapsing into next until there's nothing left. a sharp pain radiates from a pale, exposed back, sounds of bones breaking, skin tearing, all grotesque noises that can't cover up the fact that something is beating its way free from beyond its prison of flesh.
beautiful, ethereal feathery wings of white, stained in bright red blood, spread wide open like they've always meant to be free, scattering pieces of itself all over the empty space in a flurry that's almost reminiscient of powdered snow. if it isn't for the mess it left behind on body it belongs to, one can almost find this breathtaking, surreal — a striking sight that you can't just look away from no matter how hard you try.
xing (six—) barely looks affected by the metamorphosis he's slowly going through, downy hair somewhat longer now, silkier, frames his face so well until the ends of it sit right by the small of his back. velvety ears seem much larger, fluffier and easily catches the light coming from the sun. almost like a halo, crowning him as the sacred creature he's always been. the only things that look out of place are the clothes he wear, belts upon belts constricting his legs, not at all matching the aesthetic of someone who belongs to the blue skies above.
that suits him just fine, at least, because he's the furthest thing from pure. innocent. harmless. he might look the part, a picture-perfect representation of one of god's angels, but the blood on his hands, the crimes he committed in the past — these are things that can never be forgiven nor forgotten. these are sins that should have been showcased by a blight that stains his skin, marring the perfection it should have never been born with, but here he is, catching the eyes and attention of everyone else surrounding him.
it's not long before he's overwhelmed by the need to go. just go. anywhere is better than where he is right now, far away from where he truly wants to be. he takes flight almost effortlessly, following an invisible trail of red that leads him somewhere more secluded. appropriate. a garden of eden hidden away in the pulse of neon-bright signs and city skylines, a plethora of floral species that's brimming with life and vibrancy, to the point where he feels as though his presence shouldn't have been allowed refuge here in the first place.
his fingers reach out to caress the blossoms he can reach, wondering if it would be alright to cut its life short and crush its petals within his palms. there's something wrong with how stunning everything looks to him. is it because of the amethyst that has carved itself out on his frame that is causing this change in his perspective? is it similar to the way a lonely purple moon forced him to want so desperately that it's difficult to think of anything else?
he doesn't know. it's hard to tell.
but it's too late to figure it all out—soon enough, the sound of wings draw his attention away from the flowers, lilac eyes catching sight of mismatched ones, immediately drawn to the intensity of a daemon's gaze like a moth that has doused itself in gasoline, lured in by an open flame. xing doesn't even get a chance to say anything before the hard, solid shape of his lover's cock is pressed up against his ass, igniting an uncontrollable, terrifying desire from deep within him.
he wants it. he wants it, he wants it, he wants it.
he wants the daemon to fuck him so hard and deep until his mind blanks out, forcing him to think of nothing else but the shape of his cock, the way it feels deep inside of him. it doesn't matter how painful it'll be, doesn't matter if rokurou wants to rip him into shreds from the inside-out — if that's what the devil wants, then this little lamb is offering himself up for slaughter. ]
If I've forgotten...
[ there is an airy lilt to his voice, so far away from its usual low and neutral cadence. it's almost melodic in a way that doesn't quite suit him but it matters less and less as he turns his body around, delicate hands reaching down to grasp the large cock in their grasp, squeezing at the base. he doesn't give a damn when his fingers start to bleed, pinpricked by a sharp feature that delights him just as much as it scares him. ]
Then is it not your responsibility to make sure it never happens again?
[ defiant as he always is, at least that's one thing that hasn't been taken away from him.
rokurou might be making quick work of his shirt but he makes no move to help the process along, wanting to see if it'll irritate the daemon in a way that might draw out a more volatile reaction. the ones who happen to be milling around the garden are now slowly filing out, bothered by the presence of an angel and demon who have clearly forgotten about the rest of the world. ]
no subject
Ernesto de san Rockenfall has had a terrible trip. A native to Sumarlok, he had left for Primavera to pursue his artistic passions. Only the Welkin train had been a hell ride; most of his tubes of paint and charcoals had been destroyed while traversing wild land, leaving him with only a pencil and pad to sketch with. A sign that trying to continue his career in the arts might not bode so well.
Trying to sell his paintings at market had bombed. Uninspired they had sniffed, looking down their long noses with derision. Hardly unique the teacher had commented when he took a painting class, wondering why his work suffered so. He had thought a call from his girlfriend would cheer him up, but that too had ended poorly—she was leaving him for a man named Raymundo who ran a popular chain of coffee shops back home. He's successful and you're not! she had finally cried when he begged to know why, since he had given her so much time and devotion.
Downtrodden and alone, Ernesto wandered, dumb luck landing him at the edge of the lake and nearly snapped up by the siren. Close to murdered and exhausted, he dragged himself back to the trains, only to find that the lines were paused. With no place to sleep and no money, he had staggered into the gardens, finding refuge beneath a bench where no one could usher him away for taking up space. He's been here for three days, curled up in his coat, with only a sketchpad and pencil to keep him afloat. He had gotten so hungry this morning that he had begun to eat the blank pages.
But now. Now! He sits astounded on his bench as two beautiful muses tumble right into his lap. A creature of darkness and a creature of light, a tantalizing blend of white and black with tacky crimson smearing between them. Aesthetic. Social commentary. Bold strike at religion. Imagery. Shades of passion and brutality. Love. Sex. Debauchery. This ... is .... AAAAAAAAART!
Pencil whipping, the native draws furiously onto his pad, inspiration born from two dudes fuckin' in the grass.
Not that Rokurou notices him. Xing's hand is on his cock, giving it a stroke—fuck, it feels good. So good, especially against the barbed base that proves to be especially sensitive, touch shooting brilliant sparks along the devil's spine. A sensation that he channels into the fury of his nails, ripping apart more of Six's clothing—it's already pissing him off, so busy with belts that try and assuage him, but there's nothing that will stop him from having Six. Not even trendy bondage fashion.
Sharp nails make quick work of the erune's shirt, bearing his chest and nipples quickly. The belts, however, take more time (especially with Six making him do all the work, you lazy slut). With a snarl he throws the other man down into the flowerbed just behind them, diving on top as an airy balloon of petals falls around them. Pinks, reds, purples, all soft floral shades too gentle for how the devil yanks open each buckle with prickly impatience. ]
Too many damn ... [ he mutters, snapping one of those belts by accident and tossing it aside carelessly; it flops sadly in the grass. ] I'm going to lock you up and keep you naked all the time.
[ Something that later, when back to his proper senses, he won't do.... but the grit in his tone now promises that it's a truthful swear. Clothes do a disservice to Xing's beauty—the sight of him lain out and fully nude in crumpled flowers is breathtaking. Long white hair, pale skin, strong body.... the devil snaps his hands over the angel's knees, prying his legs apart so he can get a look at the whole of him, without a stitch left to cover him up. ]
With your legs spread wide and ass ready to take my cock. Just like this.
[ Foreplay? What's foreplay? Maybe it was jerking off alone, or the thrill of the chase ... right now, there's no such thing. Patience already worn down to the barest, Rokurou grabs Six's thighs and drives his cock forward, head piercing the erune's asshole and forcing it to stretch with only the slick from his precum to help ease the friction. All that matters is getting inside of him to the base—Rokurou groans as his balls slap against Six's taint, cock fully devoured by his hole, sharp barbs keeping them locked in place.
The hooked shape of his erection is different, probably unfamiliar, but he doesn't have the capacity to wait for Six to adjust to him. Fucking hard, he gasps, wings stretching out behind him and devil's tail whipping wildly as he thrusts in again again again. Every sound and word is emphasized with the lustful smack of their bodies as Rokurou takes what he wants. ]
So I can fuck you [ jerk—slap! ] over, [ slap, ], and over, [ slap, ] and over.
no subject
but it's not like any of that matters.
what matters right here and now is how rokurou reacts to the way six strokes his cock. it spurs the daemon on to go much faster than he already is, haphazardly tearing through the remainder of six clothes way before the erune's back hits the bed of flowers underneath them. a soft gasp escapes from delicate lips, breath held back as he allows rokurou to get exactly what he wants: six is completely naked, his wings and hair spread out from beneath.
his own cock twitches at the implication of being like this all the time, even more so when rokurou spreads his legs wide open, exposing him to the daemon's eyes and the daemon's eyes alone (and ernesto's too, but who cares about him). if he was more aware of other curious eyes looking their way, he likely would be more embarrased over this, but instead, desire and arousal take over and urge him to pull rokurou closer to him. ]
Who's stopping you?
[ he certainly won't.
if his lover wants him naked all the time, then that's how it'll be.
he cries out loud when rokurou forces his way in, his devilish cock piercing him straight to the core so deliciously that his mind blanks out completely. there's a flash of white hot pleasure as the pain spikes, blood accompanying every furious jerk of rokurou's hips. the barbs and the hooked shape of that length make it difficult for six to catch his breath, but he doesn't want rokurou to stop, lets him know how badly he wants this by dragging his nails down the daemon's back.
red angry lines follow the trail of his fingers, even more so when they dig into tanned skin, tearing into flesh just as brutally as rokurou is doing to him from deep inside. he lift his legs to wrap them around his lover, keeping them both locked in place as their pace hits a frenzy he can barely keep up with. incoherent noises are all he can muster at this point, but he doesn't care at all when it feels this good. ]
Ro— [ he moans lowly, right next to the daemon's ear. ] Please...
[ the tight squeeze of his body says it all: please make it hurt. please claim me. please, please, please— ]
no subject
Clawing nails hurt, long red tallies buuuuurn. Rokurou groans his pleasure of it. That delicious pain melding with the heady pleasure derived from the clench of Six's body around his piercing cock. An all encompassing feeling of being wrapped up in the erune that feels right; careening his head suddenly to the right, Rokurou jaw practically unhinges before he snaps his teeth down into pale skin in a furiously hard, possessive bite.
Metallic tang floods his mouth. Salt and copper slick his tongue, which he grinds down hard onto chewed skin, greedily lapping up the flavor. Manna churns between them, a hard spin of static and electricity, and through their emphatic connection roll his emotions: frenzy, desire, hunger, keening need, and the sense that if he could get away with devouring Six whole? He would.
The pace picks up, going from quick to brutal with the devil's claws sinking down into Six's hips for support. His cock is a relentless pound and painful barb that can't draw out fully because of the way it's hooked. It doesn't stop Rokurou from the furious beat he's worked into, long strides and deep thrusts. He wants to plunge plunge plunge and dump his seed into the deepest part of Six that he can reach in a bit to claim him as much as he possibly can. ]
Tell me. [ voice husky and broken, gruff in his command, ] Tell me how much you need me.
[ Twisting, he flips their bodies, their tangle going on its head as his wings span out and crush down the pops of neon as he turns Six's belly (and, more importantly, cock) up. The new position demands his hands to sink and hook into thigh, dragging them up to keep the erune's legs spread wide to welcome the ram of his dick. ]
Don't make it sound like it's just me that wants it.
no subject
if rokurou wanted to devour him right here and now, six would let him. ]
I—
[ he's interrupted during the frenzied switch of their positions. the new one means it's so much easier to let gravity do its thing, aiding his body to completely bottom out on rokurou's cock. the sharp barbs latch onto his walls, the tip reaching far deeper than it's ever gone, touching places in himself that he didn't know was even possible.
he shudders violently against rokurou, collapsing against his chest, arms clinging to broad shoulders as he moans out loud. it might be the first time he's ever made this much noise, but he can no longer hold them back. he knows rokurou wants to hear him say that he wants this just as badly, just as desperately, but it's impossible when every thrust makes his mind goes blank. ]
I... I always want you, so please—
[ he clings to the daemon tightly, sharp nails digging in. ]
I need you deep inside me.
no subject
[ A lurid statement with a curled tongue and lidded eyes, though there's truth to it. Every thrust goes deeper than before in this position, Six effectively sinking down onto his cock and lodging it as far as it can possibly goes. It scrapes inside as it moves, refusing to draw fully out when he rocks and draws his length back before rolling up again. Hard.
Blood drips. Stains white, smears across black. The Manna that charges between them finally begins to feed that craving, that need, what had been a gaping empty hole that demanded satiation. The devil gorges himself on the feeling, groaning heavily through continued rapid thrusts. Claiming his angel, marking him, sullying what should be kept pristine and pure.
Everything that Six gives, Rokurou takes. Greedy and unrelenting, soaking up everything that passes between them as they Sync. Petals fly, an unfitting gentle cascade of pink and yellow.
Urgency guides his thrusts, frenzy creeping up river and heating his blood. It burns at his fingertips, builds heavily at his tailbone, squeezes at his gut and constricts over his lungs. Pleasure from the tight clench around his cock meets the sweet, biting pain of digging nails; he laughs, throwing his head back in the flowerbed in an inky flow of dark hair and leathery wings. ]
Come. [ a raspy command as his grip tightens on the angel's thighs, ] I wanna be deep in you when you finish.
no subject
[ what was once pure and pristine is now lost to the devil's debauchery, feathery white marked red and black. his blood drips down with every hard, painful thrust, but pleasure spikes up to incredible highs, pushing him further and further into this intoxicating mess. his gut is coiled tight, toes curling in as he moans rokurou's name again and again and again. just like a hypnotic chant, a whispered, desperate prayer, wanting to be saved from this when all that's left waiting for him is eternal damnation.
he knows he's fallen so far away from grace ever since he fell for one stupid (incorrigible) daemon. ]
I'm, I'm close— I'm so close...
[ his cock bounces with every thrust, the perfect synchrony between them making things feel ten times more pleasurable than ever. he's panting out loud because he can no longer muster up the energy to speak. just a bit more and he'll have reach the end of his limits— just a bit more and he's spilling all over the space between their bodies, sticky and messy white on their chests.
he's trembling almost violently with the aftershocks, thankful that he'd already collapsed against his lover or else he would have keeled over right here and now. yet despite tipping over the edge, he hasn't stopped moving, won't stop jerking his hips and clenching his walls tightly around rokurou's cock.
he wants to feel his lover's seed reach the deepest parts of him. ]
no subject
It's so damn saaaaaatisfying to stain Six. Downy white's crimped with crimson, fair skin's bitten and scratched and rubbed raw. Perfect wings crumple beneath the jostle of Rokurou's thrusts, cock digging deep over and over, tearing up his ass and making sure no other man can have it. Ruining him, dragging him down to fire and brimstone when he deserves so much better.
With a heady groan, the devil snaps his teeth over a silky shoulder. The imprint of his teeth finds its way across Six's body as urgency spikes and his thrusts hasten. Nails dig in harder, dragging Six's weakened body back toward himself so he can drive in deep, quicker harder faster—! ]
Hhn...!
[ In the throes of pleasure, Rokurou's body seizes, muscles constricting as his gut tightens. A heavy shudder with a quivering heart—slamming his cock in one final time, pressure finally breaks meter, glass snapping as balmy heat overcomes. He comes as deep as his cock can drive, spilling a heavy stream of semen inside of his lover. Enough that it begins to drip out despite how his dick is still buried inside, leaking down Six's taint and thighs.
The barb of his dick digs, hooking him in place. They can't move, locked together, bodies twisted together in smeared blood, sticky cum, and cooling sweat.
Exhaustion doesn't stop Rokurou from grapping Six's hip to shove him over, spinning them again so that he's the one on top, grabbing for the angel's chin and dragging his face up for a hard, demanding kiss. Tongue lashing forward, it's as though he's trying to choke his lover with it in that liplock, or trying to drink him dry of everything he can possibly get.
Who knows? Maybe he's doing exactly that. ]
no subject
once he feels so full to the brim, he clings onto his lover even more now that their positions have finally been switched. it takes a split-second before their mouths connect again, kissing rokurou back with just as much fervour as he's been given. the synchrony between them doesn't lie: it's a possessive one that simply says you're mine.
everything and anything rokurou could possibly want from him, six will give it all up, no questions asked.
exhaustion makes him unable to keep up with the daemon's demands, and eventually, his own grip slackens, barely hanging on despite how close they are. there's blood and cum all over where they're connected, but he doesn't want to move away from where they are.
it doesn't matter that the artist over there is still furiously sketching, inspired as he is by the way a devil and an angel made love. ]
... Mm, should we kick him out at some point?
[ he just has to ask. ]
no subject
[ The devil frowns, shifting so that more of his body covers Six's. It doesn't really matter if someone else sees him naked, but Six? No. This is all for him—and if there's one thing Rokurou doesn't particularly care for, it's sharing what's his. The idea of someone else looking at the angel's naked body pisses him off; if he weren't still balls deep, he would get up and slit the man's throat for having witnessed such perfection without permission.
Glowering, he thinks on how to dispatch this nosy artist without drawing his cock from the clutch of Xing's ass.
Poor old Ernesto, for his part, has finally seemed to sense the animosity rolling toward him in thick waves. He looks up from the edge of his sketchbook with a squeak, gathering his things quickly before he's literally murdered; he casts them one last desperate glance (there's so much more to sketch!) before running for the hills, book protectively drawn to his chest.
Rokurou sighs, allowing him to leave without too much fuss. Tending to his lover is more important. ]
Tired? [ it would be a surprise if he weren't; devils are selfish things, and Rokurou's been chugging all the manna for himself this whole time. ] You feel weak.
no subject
he nods his head once in response before nuzzling against rokurou, tucking himself right in. ]
Mm, a little, but it's nothing I can't handle.
[ all he really needs is to rest and he'll be just fine. the only problem is where they are and how public it is... ]
Should we head back?
[ not like he has any idea how he's going to get himself back, given how weak he feels, but he'll figure it out as he always does. it's not like he can make any attempts with rokurou covering him up like this anyway... so he'll wait until the daemon lets him go. ]
no subject
We should.
[ Yet he makes no moves to do so, still buried balls deep—though it's partially due to the fact that his cock has yet to retract, keeping them booked together with its barb. ]
... in a minute. You're comfortable.
[ It will be more than a minute—more than two or three or even twenty before Rokurou finally draws himself out and gathers Six's tired form in his arms. He's the one with all the strength between them, so it's nothing for him to carry Six in the cradle of his arms as he heads back to their shitty little studio. Curling up in bed is bound to be more comfortable than falling asleep on a flowerbed.
The flowers, though crushed and having lost some petals, are still alive. Only the stain of blood amongst the green and a few stray white feathers are proof that they had been there at all. ]