Cerulean Cape is anything but safe

for the lovely @Vonn~

the progression along the coast leads him north to the cerulean cape that looks wildly exotic to the fiend. the territory itself is all grandeur and splendor with its crystal clear water and soft white sand beaches. a picture taken right out of a high end resort's colorful brochure. the sour expression on severin's face — full forced disillusion — isn't particularly aimed at the spectacular scenery but rather at the high, cold winds; giving new meaning to the term looks can be deceiving. there is no true escape from this winter wonderland hell. a low blow to the foreigner.

it wasn't like his adventure to the teekon wilds was exactly planned ( and maybe that's what he gets for running away ); instead of running south to warmer climates he'd ran north, subconsciously seeking a place that he'd heard of often as if it might offer him sanctuary. it offered him sanctuary, at least. just not exactly the 'sanctuary' he'd built up in his mind. severin's shoulders haunch against the wind, squinting against the sand as his ears taper back to slick against the crown of his skull as he stares dejectedly out at the deceptively beautiful sea.

”There is one escape, you know; for only a few hours, you can fall into the hot embrace of another.” The words were as sugggestive as the wanderer himself, who promptly sifted through the white sands to make his simpering entrance. Somehow, Vonn had been near enough to not only hear the other’s gripe through the winds, but to reply with relative ease. ”Thankfully, the only cost for knowing heaven is our time, no?”

A soft chuckle pranced about his words, and there was something of an observant prowl in his colorless gaze as he took in the male before him. ”As for knowing me, well,” his leering, curling lips only grew, and Vonnaruil canted his fine skull to one side, eyes glimmering impishly. ”I will have your name as payment, no?

severin does not expect an answer; when he receives one — to his startled surprise — he turns to face the owner of the voice that speaks out to him with lascivious words that earn the pale man a quirk of the fiend's brow and and an contemplative twitch of his ear as severin's moonbeam gaze takes him in slowly; appreciatively. ah, an angel promising salvation from frigid damnation... just when i was about to ask for a refund too.

there is a coquettish curl to his lips, a lower of his eyelids that accompany the slight rise of his muzzle. perhaps the day could still be salvaged, severin considers. severin. he surrenders his name, a hidden challenge born of curiosity.

Another laugh followed the words of the other, treading the definition of raspy. "My sincerest apologies for the delay. Despite that, I'm flattered that I am still considered such a miracle." How long had it been since Vonn had been regarded, for once? Either way, he reveled in that yearning look as he neared; letting the wanderer indulge in what brawn he had that surged under his porecelain pelt. The Rhaesuian was more lean and svelte, but unlike his twin, there was a heft to his shoulders, and perhaps in his loins; an illusory stockiness that belied his far-northern heritage.

"Vonnaruil," he hummed, an effortless thing. Still, he thieved Severin's name from winds, and the little smile, and the tipped chin -- and dared to smuggle away more. "But, please, you may call me Vonn; it is much easier to intone on the tongue." Especially for moments when one couldn't.

as you should be, severin 'tsk's haughtily at the apology for the delay in offering salvation, moonbeam gaze sparking with unfettered devilry. well, severin drawls. i'm going to need proof of your miracle work before swearing it before any altars, of course. words spoken like the strike of ink from a fountain pen upon a business deal. was that not what this was? a potential ( or talk of ) exchange of goods that the other wants? it appeals largely to the hedonist in the misfit.

vonnaruil, severin purls the pale man's name, tasting it, savoring how it sounds drawn out, rolling from his tongue in his deep, gravelly, opulent tone. a small quirk of a brow is given as vonn is offered as a shorter alternative. mmm, as delectable as it is to say vonnaruil, it isn't hard to imagine how the tongue might stumble, a pause is given, a wicked tilt to his lips. when the vocal chords desire to make a very different sound.

The words had been stolen right from him; snuck from his own lips as he distractedly remembered he was supposed to be breathing. The way Severin said his born name, let it meld upon his tongue, was one of the most erotic sounds he’d ever heard in quite some time. So he let the dark one’s words bed down into his ears, plush fur prickling along his lower spine.

As Vonn drew in ever closer, so close that their breath shivered and wreathed like impassioned limbs, he felt a thrum of molten pressure. The feeling ebbed, but settled itself stubbornly between his loins; his breath stuttered, trying to suppress himself. If his chords were meant to be strung like those of a harp, then he wanted to sing until he was hoarse.

Ah, a proposition of sorts needed attending to, first. Jaw working, he felt Severin’s breath murmur along his scarred cheeks. ”What would you have of me?” he inquired, tone husking into something low and appeasing. Vonn waited with a lowered head, patiently impatient; staring dolefully up into the sooty male’s impish face from beneath long, pale lashes.

severin watches with slow burning ardor as vonn comes closer, closer, closer until they are so close that their breath mingles. all it would take would be a slight shift of his muzzle and they'd be touching and though it was tempting there was a certain anticipation that creeps along his spine in slow, delighted shivers that is addicting and intoxicating. that anticipation stokes the low fire that has settled due south of severin's belly. the season of the year does not escape his notice and while he's too young to be producing any mini severins ( decidedly a good thing ) he's not too young to be inadvertently affected by it; but it's hard to tell if his desires are just heightened by the perfume that lingers in the air despite that there are no females around or if it's just because he's a hedonist.

so consumed by vonn and the tantalizing suggestions that the pale man has spoken is severin that the strong gusts of wind and chill go thoroughly unnoticed. vonn's question is low and husky and something rumbles, pleased and hungry in the fiend's chest. i do believe heaven for a few hours was promised by a hot embrace, a pause is given, a soft breath drawn in. impress me and i'll gladly sing you praises at altars. severin teases, coquettish and impish.

and i want to know if it is truly impossible to say vonnaruil, severin purls his full name, opulent and throaty because he likes saying it, because he wants to see how it affects the pale man. severin's muzzle shifts then, lips brushing feather-light against the pale man's velveteen ear. pull me into your embrace and bring me salvation. a plea? a command? perhaps both.

”wonderboys” just came on the tv & i cant stop laughing at the timing, omg

It was with an angelic simper that Vonnaruil did as he was bid, curving his elegant neck about his gloamy apostle, already shuddering with all the tension, the sensitivity. Regardless, he tugged Severin to him with a sound hook of his chin, with wintry lips tumbling over his nape. They moved erratically, as if they were trying to kiss everything at once; as if he were trying to sear his touch into Severin in a way that promised more; that promised to haunt, to ghost after him when all had been done and said.

It was in the way he nipped at his chin, his lips, the cut of his jaw until the skin blushed and swelled. It was in the way that Vonn wanted to leave Severin a mess of incoherent moans; in the way that no kiss lingered for long, if at all, because they always ended up turning into love-biting nips with tongue and teeth. It was in the way that the messenger sought out the more tender spots with ease, nibbling on them; punctuating each, heady suckle with fangs as he trailed down the inky path of Severin’s throat.

Only when Vonn was sure that Severin had forgotten there was another side of his neck did he withdraw, appraising the dark one before him with addled, feverish eyes of gleaming stars. ”Let us retire, first,” he murmured into the obsidian cut of jaw, his own breath mild compared to what the heat of his more salacious embrace would bring.

And then he was flitting away, nothing more than a phantom to be pursued. Whether Severin was impressed or no didn’t seem to occur to Vonnaruil; who seemed more than self-assured that the other male would follow, to see how the rest of him would be undoubtedly ravished.

Should Severin follow, he would find the phantom lingering within some lukewarm grotto — an unusual, rare find. But sanctuary from the howling winter winds, nonetheless. Vonn’s narrow chin canted invitingly to the side as he motioned for Severin to enter. ”Siéntate, my ardent disciple.” The moment he did, Vonn would drape upon him like a porcelain veil, and let him know the salvation he so sought.

resistance against vonn is futile ...not that severin has any intention of resisting. he was promised a good time and if there's one thing that severin likes: it's a good time where one or both parties end up an incoherent mess. those are his favorite good times. severin moves nearer at the tug of the pale man's muzzle and welcomes each sensual nip left upon his flesh. a bare of his teeth at each suckle and the pinprick of fangs as vonnaruil leaves a heady trail down his throat. it would be a threatening gesture — the baring of sharpened teeth — if not for the fact that it is derived solely, in this instance, from that delightful mixture of pain and pleasure that leaves him even more intoxicated than he was to begin with. vonnaruil finds each tender spot with an ease that suggests this isn't the first time he's done that and in the end that advantage gives him another plus mark in severin's little black book. severin's eyelids flutter closed, leaning into each sultry kiss, angling his muzzle skywards — not longer feeling the stinging, chilly and salty kiss of the wind — to offer the pale man a better exposure. would he not have been entirely consumed it might've made him nervous: allowing someone to have such easy access to his throat and in essence his life source.

vonnaruil mentions retiring and though severin understands he gives a soft pout all the same. they were ( presumably ) alone and privacy was never anything that severin really could care about. it was hard to remain private in a pack full of wolves, after all. they had a better chance of privacy right where they were ...but nevertheless follows the pale man's lead.

the grotto he is led to is lukewarm — severin does not realize he was even chilly at all under the flush left upon his flesh beneath his dark pelage at the lavishing kisses and nips left by the pale man's lips and teeth. he enters at the invitation and a wave of warmth washes over him — and most of it has nothing to do with the lukewarm temperature of their shared space. severin draws nearer to vonn — despite that the porcelain man draws nearer without needing encouragement from the fiend — desiring to touch, needing to feel him, to be guided by heat of passion to heaven even though he knows that hell is inevitable for him.

it will be waiting patiently for him, to welcome him home like the damning mistress it is, knowing that when the angel and the devil are both spent and there is no more salvation to be given and taken that severin will ( perhaps begrudgingly this time ) return.

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Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: filth as always lmao, & lots of booty euphemisms. U have been warned.

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As one, they went to the cavern’s eroded floor, and for a time, they writhed together, growing evermore restless. Vonn mouthed his way up the dark, soulless body, licking coyly at the erection, the belly, before his lips found Severin’s throat and maw once more.

Breathless and becoming clumsy, Vonn worked the dark traveler — with a tender roughness — part-ways onto his belly, his wrists hooking into the smoldering jut of his hips. All the while, the head of his cock settled indolently at his dark lover’s rim, and Vonn tortured the both of them further with a few, faint drags of his hips. And then decreed, tongue laving the pulse, jostling him into his desired position, ”Allow me to introduce you to heaven.”

He rose then and, in a singular, versed movement, Vonn wrenched Severin’s wiry hips back as his own canted forwards. In the same thrust, with Severin gripping him like a vice, the Crow couldn’t help but pitch forward; finishing the lecherous joining with a guttural growl. 

A shout of protest left Vonn in a heavy groan, and he barely caught himself on a clawed paw. ”No! Let me feel you, mi amor—“ His blood shrieked for him to thrust, but Vonn only hefted Severin’s hips up further, breath low and laborious, while he began to rut his cock into his hedonist’s ass; as if he somehow wanted deeper.

His fangs alit upon the wanderer’s jawline, tugging his pulse point between them and suckling. ”By the Maker’s will, I— mpgh- decree,” It was taking every defined, porcelain muscle in his body to restrain himself from fucking Severin into the cavern floor; but his audacity for praying was unwavering in the slightest. ”H-harmony in all things—“ Oh, heavens indeed, this-

“—i-in this gorgeous ass—“ And then he lost all decorum, a half-laugh, wild half-snarl, and a firm smack of his hips leaving Vonn altogether as he began to set a deep, steady, heaving pace. Leaning back and upon his sturdy hocks, he bared his throat to the heavens as some guttural noise between it and his lungs began to issue from them. And still Vonn chanted some verse or other; and still wrested Severin back against the claiming cradle of his hips, clawing at his loins:

”At the foot of my throne, I shall a-anoint you,
My most f-favored disciple—“ A raw, grating, open-mouthed keen left him, angelic façade wreathing into a bedeviled grimace. A particularly carnal thrust had him pitching forward again, a paw lunging out to bear his weight as he rose even taller on his hinds; until he was keeling. Vonn carved his body as much as he could against Severin’s, throat arched over the black crown.

vonnaruil works him slowly, paying ample attention to foreplay ... to severin's bristling impatience and desperation. just when he's worked to the paramount of said impatience and severin is ready to turn and make his demand his pale lover hooks his wrists against the jut of severin's hips and the pale man settles behind and against him giving a few teasing thrusts. severin swallows thickly, ears tapering back against the crown of his skull, a low heady noise full of desperation rumbles in the fiend's throat as they finally join vonnaruil's weight pitches against him.

severin lets out a throaty rumble as the pale angel's — or perhaps not so angel after all — teeth finds severin's pulse in his neck and suckles. the sensations rippling down the shadowed fiend's spine are both blissful and maddening; there was something of a thrill to the carnal act combined with the danger of the other man's teeth at his throat. a certain amount of trust afforded where he'd normally make the other work for it. the rutting of the other man's hips has severin's eyes fluttering closed and a white slipping from betwixt his teeth, a high keening noise that morphs into a dark chuckle as he realizes that the words vonnaruil grunts are not gibberish.

a low groan draws from severin's throat as vonnaruil finds his pace and severin — ever aiming to be helpful — presses back into the cradle of his pale lover's strong hips. i thought i was the one that was meant to be praying von— an uneven breath taken, deep and opulent tones stolen from his vocal chords as vonnaruil pitches forward atop him, draping over him like a veil after a particularly venereal thrust of his hips. severin steadies himself, sturdy enough to support their combined weight, his head arching upwards to bump against vonnaruil's chin.

damnit.

— naruil a throaty gasp in a determined effort to croak out his pale lover's full name. it was a partial success, at least.

As the wayward fiend choked out his name, it was the wight’s turn to laugh; a strained, breathy huff into the dark crown. "'Vonn' is much e-easier, no?" He punctuated his words with a sensual writhe of his heaving, ivory body while he began to lave his tongue along the rise of Severin’s skull. Then, coiled forelegs dragging his beloved even further into him, Vonn... stilled.

The pale nymph kept the hedonist molded right into him, wanted to make him feel Vonn pulse inside of him. The specter’s eyes lolled behind white lashes as he felt the fiend quiver around him. ”Feel this; feel me. Feel me.” Inhaling deeply, shakily, as his abdominal muscles tautened to the point of overexertion to keep the tell-tale swell of his knot at bay.

”If you say my name, I will continue. If you beg for me, I will let you come. Don’t you want me to make you?” His voice took on a gentle, pitying edge, but more out of a doting, almost-cruel amusement. Vonn could feel the bones of his neck grind against one another with all the restraint; feel the tendons whine along his skin that shivered underneath his heavy pelt. ”If you say my name, you can make me writhe, too.” Drawing himself up and off of Severin’s back and wrenching his ass evermore, he waited with wisping, heavy breaths for an answer.

at the height of it all, that moment when the anticipation has built until the point that everything feels like a dam with weakened integrity about to burst, severin is tugged back until the cradle of his hips are molded to vonnaruil's own. it is decadent and filthy and just the kind of sin that severin lived and breathed for. and then his pale lover stills and severin's eyes roll back in his head but not from the release he so desperately needs, wants to feel from the pale fallen angel draped over him. i feel you. i feel all of you, severin promises in a throaty rasp.

and then, i don't remember telling you to stop. it was not, admittedly, the time to argue over who was in charge. though predictably it should be the man on top such strict black and white lines of dominance in the bedroom after a murky grey at best and often unfollowed and left undefined by severin; but he's used to being in charge and has no qualms about making demands especially when his pleasure or lack thereof is on the line.

vonnaruil, a rumble made of poorly hidden frustration; a mixture of a warning ( because this was cruel and when it came to his own pleasure on the line the hedonist did not like to play games ), a plea ( because fuck it what was pride when pleasure was the high stake on the table? ), and a command ( because where the fiend comes from it was expected to finish what you started ).