daemonczar

[daemonczar]

bold for me to only come on here a few times a month before retreating back into my cryptid-like state.

[daemonczar]

breselin‌.

     ★ The confirmation in itself was enough for him to allow all else to proceed as if offering what tingled like he had yet to bestow { was that a lie? } before someone who was finally, ultimately, capable of holding in grasp all these treasures denied to uncountable who had wanted. { a lie, was that not a lie? it was not the first time they stood here like this? it was not the last time they would engage like this? }. Laughable thoughts that accompany the claim, yet one thing was indeed a gift of reality: the warrior was picky, was so hard to please.

    ★ And to finally find a pleasure unexpected? Truly enough: one may want to say the Emperor had done all to endlessly deserve it. But would he give it to him? Speak words of acceptance, while words would elude them?

    ★ Breathless. Mindless. Crude phrases repaid with nought else but the darkened silk of his own laughter playing itself along each and every inch of skin he was able to reach. How ludicrous to speak words so vile. Naughty in all its fine syllables strung together and placed around his neck like pearls { that could be pulled tight and tighter? }. With how disgraceful thoughts of a fallen ruler would fill in softened murmurs his mind; thus he made to discard the torn fabrics to the side. Was it all truly so pathetic?

    ★ No.  

    ★ “ I do not think so. ” With how it drops from his lips softly. Teasingly. Enough to draw a light breath, mingling with his partner’s own in the exhilarating dance they are about to perform. Closer and ever closer does he pull him, tattered material creasing up in his palms when he commands him to close the gap between them. { would it not be broken soon enough? }. Teasing that then continued was just as much savoured as its crude little display would allow. Humming as an acknowledgement while his own grip tightens, tendons taught to stiffen before he finds himself to release a low burst of laughter again.

    ★ If he wanted him to stop - would he be able to?

    ★ What kind of outlandish thought was that—

    ★ —dispersed within the moment his back would hit the softness of a mattress. His hands would then find and receive purchase in the bedding that replaces torn structures formerly beneath his fingertips. If he had not been able to control himself, in these few heartbeats it took for him to adjust towards the new situation, Sephiroth could have torn apart what had been so beautifully presented. Would be so unwillingly forgiving towards a rough approach. Towards more that was about to come now that their little - game - had found its final place.

    ★ Clothing less and less important. Sounds to fill his mind from how subtle, how delicate they could truly be, and yet it was not enough; he wanted to see more. To feel more. To be completely drowned in the harshness of a situation that he had brought himself into { out of his control? was it not true that his partner deserved it all? }. It took a moment and a heartbeat to skip for the warrior to answer the advance with a near guttural growl leaving at the back of his throat. The heavier their togetherness became the harsher his answers to the silent pleas the Monarch shall receive.

    ★ Would he want him to stop, now that it had been set in motion what they had coyly played around in the candour of castle halls? No.

    ★ Greeting the happening and the arching back with a strong arm to wrap around slender waist, the desire that Mateus wanted him to be tame and calm and lay flat on his back, like a dog to be obsequious to another, was broken just when the warrior rises to sit up, to pull him closer and against him for skin to touch. Would urge Mateus to tilt his head back, to reveal his throat upon partner’s command and allow the silent whisper that he would tear out whatever life there was to be found.

    ★ Alas, maybe in another time { or soon to come? } he could indulge in a taste his partner seemed to be so truly keen upon. Yet, it didn’t take long to at least bite. To feel the pulse rushing first beneath his lips, before that tender kiss { barely in the blink of an eye? } had been broken with teeth to tear into soft skin. The retaliation that would follow suit would be a delicious one. Keeping his partner in check, so close, with an iron grasp against broad form would he allow him to be freed only when shall the monarch utter words and pleas that mingle with nought else but the sound of pleasure { or pain? } upon the harsh claim.

    ★ Words could be so discardable. So useless for a few more moments shared. For the heartbeat he would feel, each electrifying pulse then soothed with his tongue to tend to the small wound left. It was only then. Only then. That he would desire to rile up the beast a bit more, to have it rear its ugly head. To play with him. To fight with him. To best him { perhaps? }. As much as any of that was even possible.

    ★ While the harsh grasp of his arm laced still around that slender waist would not cease. Feeling as if he could break it in half like a fine porcelain doll with shattered parts in his grasp. { fight it? fight it?! slice open his palm?! }. It was only then in these moments a breath then drags itself over martyred skin, leaving behind the claim that would not remain the only one for this night, that his voice would chime around them as dark as the void itself. “ Try it. ” How much worse could they get? How much more would they want to— “ Possess me whole. ”

An arm that slithered itself around him, pulling him closer-- akin to a serpent wrapping tight and taut around its final victim for the day, and Mateus’s never been more thrilled play the role of prey. There’s a light dipping of head with pursed lips (pulled and finessed into a small smile, enticing for sephiroth to come closer and closer... ah ah ah, but not too close! mateus’s excited, but he doesn’t want to lose it all in an instant.) and silky tresses of blond falling beyond his shoulder, feathering against smooth metal of armor to then brush alongside exposed skin of partner’s. A light, little coo (greedy, greedy... hasn’t anyone ever told you to ask for permission first?) left own lips, leaving the Emperor vaguely unsure as to whom it was aimed at.

“You’re so kind to me,” breathed itself out, almost as if it’s been ripped forth from his body (leaving him wanting, yearning, and craving-- needy, needy, needy little beast!) without a second thought. His hands rose, gliding seamlessly up Sephiroth’s form to gently cup his face betwixt softness of his palms. There’s a final look exchanged, from Mateus’s own (firm and calculated yet, eerily, phased through. he hadn’t expected to have gotten this far but was undeniably pleased with the results.) into Sephiroth’s. “You’re the one rewarding me, when I should be the one to reward you...~”

There’s a subtle remnant of a whistle leaving his lips, quickly shifting into a scant hiss that’s then replaced sloppily with an exhale. Head’s tilted itself back, an almost subconscious action from the ruler himself (had he not been so willing from the very start; one would be hard pressed to hear mateus decline nor reject the warrior’s displays of “affection”.) as he felt lips press against bare skin. A gentle shudder wracked itself out of his body, but he’s doesn’t perform much to put a stop to it. Instead, all that’s done was a lowering of hands to gradually slink arms (what little he could muster in his newfound position, anyway. he’s talented in many ways but not in an over-exaggeration of such.) over and around other’s shoulders.

Tips of claws gave soft clinks of strain, tapping idly against wrists to soothe the sheepishness and greedy eagerness of their owner.

He could feel it-- his jaw going slightly slack, hanging open just by a smidgen with the corners trying to tug their selves back in a crude display of a smile. Tongue ran itself easily along lips, helping to stave off the urge to babble and to ramble and to praise. To chide and to further entice the heat against his neck, trying to press himself further against lips and, soon, into teeth.

He wants to look at him; he wants to see that look in his eyes. He wanted nothing more but for Sephiroth to be the last thing he saw before he’d, inevitably, die.

All of it’s amplified (in the form of a well-timed delivery of adrenaline, shocking itself through every known vein and artery in his system. his heart nearly pounded itself to a stop, picking itself back up at the last second to drum haphazardly in his chest.) in matter of seconds once he feels it-- that agonizing sensation interlaced with heavy doses of pleasure and dashed with tiny speckles of a desire for more. A jolt rides itself through his body, causing it to tremor with a heavy shudder forcing his body to ride itself up against Sephiroth’s own. There’s a mild pause in-between actions before Mateus lets out an approving hiss, letting it wash over him with another grind making itself known as a hefty addition.

Teeth briefly chattered, almost as if the Emperor were unsure if speaking was the most appropriate course of action.

“Ma~aagnificent...!” the word escaped without a second thought, without even a marginal attempt at true and proper coherency. Mateus allowed for it to taint the air, overwhelm to then overstay its welcome. “Absolutely... splendid.”

It’s all said with a thick coat of exhaustion laid over it, but there’s so much more to attend to. There’s the everlasting sensation of tongue pressed flat against skin (but it’s soon removed. far too soon, in mateus’s opinion. sephiroth’s such a cruel man.) that’s then replaced with Mateus raising his head, relishing in the attention and validation. It’s a slow and almost inhuman motion, causing for Mateus’s form to vaguely contort before straightening itself into an upright sit. His arms, once content with lazing on top of Sephiroth, now slid more and more, pulling the two men closer and closer-- Mateus doesn’t want to feel even the tiniest width’s worth of distance between them.

“Bold words,” he retorted in kind, voice dripping with an unknown type of venom (one that’s only reserved for sephiroth, both kind and cruel in its way. he’s never spoken like this to anyone else, and he plans on keeping it that way.) with his head tilted just enough for tips of noses to brush against one another. “Bold words coming from the man that proudly plays the mouse to my cat...”

Ah, but he doesn’t complain. He’d be a fool to do so.

There’s an uproar of excitement shining behind Mateus’s eyes, an undeniable grin revealing itself all the while. An arm’s removed from its hold, preferring to daintily but firmly (always firm. he doesn’t want to lose sight of him-- ever.) press thumb and fingers from the index to ring against Sephiroth’s face. It’s a pinch, wishing to hold the man in place without a single complaint to escape from lips. Mateus’s intentions are clear-- clearer than they’ve ever been before.

“How can I do that to a man that’s so eager to kill me... simply because I told him to?”

He holds Sephiroth still for a few more seconds before relinquishing his hold. There’s a mild wriggling, both on purpose (if only for mateus to press further against him.) and on accident (for better positioning, above all else. mateus still wished to remain as a... somewhat practical man.), as he’s soon taken Sephiroth’s free arm into his hold. Head’s angled further, dipping down to allow for a courageous and lewd dragging of tongue along closed lips, shamelessly leaving behind a trail of thick wetness.

“Oh, Sephiroth... I’ve gotten ahead of myself-- you’ve done so well at distracting me,” he murmured after, unyielding to the amusement that showed itself so clearly in his voice, “I’ve forgotten an important detail... How unlike me.”

Grip’s raised to press Sephiroth’s hand against his chest (if he were to focus enough, he might’ve been able to feel -- maybe hear if it suited him more-so -- beyond mateus’s rib cage.) and hold it firmly in place.

“Remove this for me--” (i don’t care if you break the damn thing off.) “--and do be quick.”

[daemonczar]

~ ★ Christmas Drabble for Snii @daemonczar​ ♡ ~

     ★ Timeless. Limitless. Their moments together were as delightfully disintegrating bit by bit between their fingertips like sand might run through the aperture of an hourglass. Slowly, surely, trickling away like the seconds chiming behind their backs. Making it obvious. Making it clear: that in this moment and in this time, only the two of them were here. Close, undeniably and tingling near. He couldn’t help the near silvery laugh falling from his lips, a lie of a sound, without any tone, may not be one and never was one { what would he think? } in those seconds it took for the other man to untangle from the sheets and mess made upon the large sofa they had placed themselves upon.

    ★ Barely clothed. Skin upon skin now leaving the shiver of the night with body not twitching, still fallen into delight. How Mateus knows that he would be watched. That this little entanglement with one another had been born out of a very specific need, a very obvious desire that still would haunt someone’s mind in how simple, in how expected it might be and would hold no regards towards the impossibility of it.

    ★ How many would not question the entanglement of two - Gods?

    ★ Silently, wistfully. The moment he watches that slender figure glide around and pick up another bottle of wine the ‘King’ desired to be shared that was deep and dark red like the blood they had spilt only seconds prior and would yet continue to indulge in in the finest ways of hunger that yearns and craves and still holds no regards towards their power. They could have - in a sense - drowned worlds into despair and yet lust not to do it in pulses shared flowing like the sweetened drink into waiting flute. The feelings are captivating. Excruciating { would it not also be quite a laughing matter? would he ever have cracked more than a smile in the serenity? }.

    ★ All he does was—?

    ★ A mere deceptive curl of his lips telling more than a thousand words could ever do when he finds the minor attachment of his gaze following and travelling over the subtle nuances of skin, of bones moving and shifting, tendons flexing near instinctively once that crystal had been extended to him, ultimately drawn out enough and to his personal satisfaction. He knows that any lingering ardour would still a feeling of stark emptiness inside this turbulent mind. entangled in disturbing thoughts - filling, filling { and still not giving enough? } - a void engraved into the other man’s chest. As if reaching inside and tearing out his heart, coaxing it to beat slowly and rhythmically in cradling palm, would not be enough of a mental display of power—

    ★ —Raw. Raw. They would want even more than that. Greedy. Greedy. They both are sure so needy. When fingertips trail along the smooth surface of that glasses’ inviting shine extended to him just to touch and follow and explore every inch of skin the soldier had formerly coveted with the shining blaze of his eyes, filled and overflowing with this world’s silent will to live. They could burn it in their rage and desires stilled only within their calamities.

    ★ So, why not unfurl that happenstance before those eyes questioning without any sound, when long fingers finally wrap around that slender wrist { so breakable, was it not? } and he pulls the other man that decided bit closer? Unescapable from that unrelenting grasp, ’gentle’ as a wrong word and false perception to be had, he couldn’t help that unnerving experience to flow between them, to offer up the fulfilment of a desire that should not be one { because they are Gods? they are so far beyond human lament? }.

    ★ Slowly, slowly, excruciatingly slowly. The fine whirlwind of deep red soon cascades down over his shoulder, behind his back. Not in a single moment touching bare flesh, invitingly close through this situation could have been, to offer and prompt to taste in mingling feelings. He could see the burning queries to explain and could near savour them from lips so close, barely apart, a breath that rings no sound and still screams in his mind.

    ★ He knows it— ’ Why would you indulge my wishes? ’ —and decides that no answer is yet deserved and yet enough in their mutual quietude that was only broken by the shattering of glass to collide with the cool and inviting ground. Within his grasp he had around the slim waist and his arm to hold Mateus near and so secure, he could feel the confusion radiate in waves of wistful abandon. Could only ever so simply feel that he wanted to shy away and draw even closer. Was it not that? That those of power would only wish for the simplest forms of indulgences? Why not speak it? Why not - demand it?

    ★ In their entanglement of heartbeats and pulses drunken dry, one would call it laughable - and laugh about he does.

    ★ And feels it devoured with a kiss of passionate fervour to steal the breath from his lungs, lasting ticking seconds { minutes? } and felt still not enough. Sephiroth does, after all, know him for far too long. Had humoured a spoiled mind for an encounter of times that those { who? } that watch them, that spy on them, that pry from them, would not understand and would never comprehend.

    ★ It mattered not. When only the relish of liquor formerly consumed lingers upon his tongue. When only the hands on either side of his face would do nought else but guide him. Possess him. Allow him to be devoured in all his entirety and all his burning glory - what a delicious little reminder of their escapism from their corrupted worlds and involved souls that could only be freed from one another if eternity came crashing down to nothing. Should he ever make to explain all that rummages around his mind in these moments, he may experience the twisted ’purity’ of a man long gone.

    ★ One that now was his. Alone for him to understand. To tear apart and perceive. Grasp in hands as he does now with his free one to tilt that finely sculpted chin and offer him truly all that he would seek. Beg for in these desperate moments that his silent wishes would find accomplishment. And he could still hear and taste the question of ’ Why? ’ - but, mayhap, there was never an answer to be found. For his mind was an enigma, and his momentary quips and offerings to be taken as they were. Questions - they would ruin everything. And questions like that - would then find no answer in that passionate kisses’ ring.

[daemonczar]

@daemonczar:          ‘ i crave affection in the simplest way. ’

     ★ Thus were the words that would reach his ears in an entanglement that leave him wondering just how complicated, how complex and intricate their whole togetherness was meant to be—? Like the gordian’s knot only to be torn apart by the sharp edge of a blood-drenched sword - and yet? Yet, above all else, his partner calls this wanting and craving, these desires that drip from tongue honey-sweet and coated with poison, only with a word of unexpected heaviness: simple.

    ★ Breathy laughter raises upon said confession. Traces through those few fine strands of hair that grace fair features, the slight movement of this exhale would tingle along the exposed slant of his lover’s neck and only so far reach his ear as they both permit it.

    ★ One would have wanted to argue about the feasibility the gentleness of this pursuit that all but chases each other’s closeness and yet not reaches the last stage of it { unwanted? unneeded? desiring forms of - yes - simplicity? } and yet he moves to lay calm and pliant upon his back, would allow the other to hover above him in a rare second ticking away where roles are reversed and yet stay the same.

    ★ No answer would fall in the moment eyes do meet, clash in all their subtle and delicate nuances, and invite the soldier to do much more for his ‘King’. Alone this quip of a mind should feel like a laughing matter, as they had never once confided themselves towards ’given’ roles that mean little to nothing to them at all. The General had no use for mindless following of rules that were not his own, and that ’monarch’ he so frequently covets, so subtly courts, would be so displeased in finding a dog at his feet the moment he would only hold up a bait that was as delightfully tempting as it was a ridiculous and discardable chase. Oh, but they both do know that no? With how his hands reach up. Trace along the fine contours, brushing golden fall of hair out of elegant face, his arm reaches out the man now so close, so intimately near, to lace the fall over his arching back.

    ★ Grasping, grasping, yet applying no touch.

    ★ Featherlight a simple grace. Departure of warm feeling the moment it might have reached. Might { might? should? would? }. It is in all those seconds that tick away and trickle through the cracks of fingers like the fine sand through an aperture of an hourglass that, yes, this was a craving affection in all its stunning simplicity. So, how could he wonder that this was a shocking realisation for his partner to be had? That he was given what he desires enigmatically { yet in all its feelings just understood? } and offered the mercy of touches that a beast, a god, should never feel?

    ★ He can perceive it embedded deep into Mateus’ eyes, that very flicker of confusion, of a question lingering on tip of his tongue, yet not spoken about, not brought forth. Instead of tearing out the revelations that this very indulgence had mastered, a mere tilt of his own head follows within the careful tug of long hair that would lower his partner slight. Enough to breathe in the taste of whatever query would fall from lips trembling with unbridled delight. How easy it was to offer the fulfilment of a desire as pure and - indeed simple - as this?

    ★ How easy was it not? To challenge without any sound? To offer affection without any fright?

[daemonczar]

doustadig‌.

          ♢ How safe could [ or should ] one feel in the presence of one that had slain hundreds, thousands, millions and would do so without any second thought should he ever please and his mind order the execution of those undeserving ire and punishment? How secure dared his mind be in just offering these little tidbits of history that were carved in his body over far too few years and yet not find any light anytime soon, if not for his voice to announce them one by one?  

     ♢ He should not be. Should not feel so open around this man that so many would regard with wary glances, with quiet whispers, with the knowledge of danger brewing in their minds, and yet? [ yes, he should not ] It mattered little to him while words chime far too easily.

    ♢ Far too simple. Before they could be stopped [ they should be stopped ], while watching the gradual change of expression from displeasure to misery within the words that do not match and chime out for him to stop without truly doing so at all. It was like a cacophonous symphony, discordant in all its nuances. Nearly screaming in his ears for this all to cease before it was — [ too late? ]. The grimaced acceptance was soon veiled by hands that had formerly nearly touched him and nearly asked him wordlessly to provide what not many are allowed to see [ and only so few had before ].

    ♢ Mateus’ words were so surely hard to make out. Aymeric should be— furious? Repeated times and times again, swallowed by a mental turmoil that shows itself in no signs at all past hissing desires and softened touches. The tranquil acceptance of what has all happened and - what would all become? How, in the seconds that were settled before the Lord Commander to grasp and hold, had it even come down to this? How had they found each other entangled in a mutually crafted friendship, a familial bond, a strange form of ’love’ even, no matter stark differences that should make them clash?

    ♢ And yet, they do none of it. [ ’ you should be furious. ’ ].

    ♢ “ I know. ” Was then what falls from his lips in the most feeble of sounds. “ I know I should be. ” And yet, why was he not? Like mentioned just prior in a few fleeting words, Aymeric feels them in the ’right’ to do so. “ Why do I forgive them? I… have heard that question before— ” By beloved voices of concern that raise themselves to reach his mind and ear. Has he truly ’forgiven’ them? Truly accepted it? No, not quite, but yet all the same; would not move from his decision that he had pardoned them the moment he awoke from his slumber.

    ♢ Had he not heard the whispers before that he was - perchance - too naive for his own good? Too soft? Too kind? No, it was all for the greater good. “ It is hard to explain. " And yet he would do for as much as he had brought down distress upon a man considered a ’brother’ in his life, undoubtedly he deserved some answers only the Lord Commander would be able to give.

    ♢ Ah, how it ached to want to reach out. To offer some comfort when a distance still well needed had settled between them, leaving room to breathe where only confessions of a different kind had near suffocated all lightness out of their lungs. He wanted to reach out [ so badly, so desperately ], showing just as much in the twist of his face and the sudden saddened veil keeping his eyes obscured before a sigh leaves the Speaker’s lips and gaze travels down, down, fixating upon nothing quite in particular. ” In their eyes, I did everything wrong. “ In their eyes, he robbed them of something essential.

    ♢ Something that was the driving force behind countless actions. ” I forced them to admit a change. To abandon their knowledge, a history they had for a thousand years. “ And how they both knew that change like this required outweighing actions. That the death of his own - father - was the reason so many would decry him in the streets. Wanting him dead. Wanting him gone. ” I took away what they believed in and what was their anchor in a time of a neverending war and a calamity nobody could stop. “

    ♢ But was that enough? Was that understandable? If not for the fact that his gaze had raised once more and eyes would carefully scan each and every movement fulfilled; Aymeric would have dared to say ’yes’. [ but he knows it is not ].

    ♢ For the first time in their strange and self-made familial engagement, he knew that they were far too unlike to understand this behaviour on the same level. To come to the conclusion that all the Paladin had spoken and was about to say would not be enough. That any attempt to ’protect’ their decision and desires, would not be enough. ” That is what I did. “ As if to find an affirmation still in whirling thoughts threatening to crush his head with pounding headaches that rose only pulses prior. How quaint. ” I know… “ An attempt? Mayhap? ” …You will not see it as understanding as I do. “ For those closest to him would have seen the man who had raised a hand against the Lord Commander hanging. Would want to see him burning. And all in its wake— ” But that is why I forgive them, maybe too easily. “

“You... You--”

(you don’t know! you don’t know anything!)

“--you know?”

Currently, he’s unsure of how his tone should have been read. It’s come out as a sort of sour note (hard to evade and even harder to justify.) that didn’t improve over time and, instead, got worse over time. Mateus could hear it crowd and taint his own ears, seemingly justifying itself with wordless and daunting weight that... that shouldn’t have been possible. Not a man to wish at all, the Emperor -- for all of his vices and his virtues -- suddenly found himself wanting to drop down to his knees, grab Aymeric by the hand, and beg for him to see reason.

It’s an unbearable weight, one that almost did cause for Mateu’s knees to buckle. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to try, doesn’t even want to think about it. The urges and desires (so unworthy with how they stare at him. so disgusting with how they writhe at him.) claw at him, practically demanding for him to look at them, only them, only them only them only them only them--

There it was that his eyes immediately snapped towards Aymeric’s hands. He saw something upon them that he regretted, causing for him to grit his teeth so hard that, were he anyone else, might’ve been warrant for them to rot. It’s almost offensive... how Aymeric (in mateus’s own eyes. from mateus’s own heart.) seemed to believe that this was still his fault somehow. It was always somehow, wasn’t it!? Mateus very nearly wanted to snap, smack his hand away, and storm out of the room in a huff.

But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He’s too much of a coward to do that.

And it’s so funny... so funny that he forgot to laugh.

“You... You, the villain?” he uttered in a low voice, his own consciousness mistaking it for a whisper. An urge crashed into him at that very moment, encouraging for him to take Aymeric by the shoulders and shake some goddamned sense into him. “They saw you as a villain-- is that it?”

He doesn’t, because he’s a coward he didn’t want to. He could see from Aymeric’s expression that he’s gone through this time and time again. Whereas the Emperor would have asserted himself (reminded his citizens that they were just that; they were his and he had final say over any and everything they wished to do.) without fail and no such shame to be found, he unwillingly guessed that Aymeric would have done something of the opposite... and he’s not sure if he found that to be a disgrace or not.

He should respect Aymeric, even if it was in his own, little way. Aymeric’s a leader in his own right, but there were so many things that Mateus thought to be a folly on his... his “friend’s” part. But he wondered (just a little. just by a small, small amount.) if that was what he wished to do. He wondered if it was a trap created for him, intended to keep him situated and forced to make him settle. It hung high (yet, somehow at the same time, low.) in his mind that Aymeric deserved better. In his oh-so humble opinion, Mateus knew that Aymeric deserved better.

“You introduced them to change-- a new order! ... And they spit in your face as thanks?”

But maybe he’s projecting. Maybe Mateus didn’t know better. Maybe everything he’s ever stood for wasn’t always the best route to take.

That can’t be true.

“What’s worse, is that you-- you accepted it.”

“No, you forgave them.”

Mateus knew that he should have been speaking with total and utter disgust, to properly voice his disapproval and his distaste with Aymeric’s various decisions. However, all that was mustered was exhaustion and muted, dull anger. He doesn’t like the thought of misfortune falling upon Aymeric (and why was that? because he “cared” for him? that didn’t sound right.) and just as much despised the idea that it was to be believed as deserved. Perish the thought. Perish the goddamn thought.

“What horseshit,” he bit out, turning his head away in a sharp snap with his hand now clamping over his own mouth as if to imply a silent apology for his cruel language. His eyes squinted through the rage, almost seeing literal red as his head almost pounded from sheer rage. “I don’t understand. I still-- I won’t understand.”

Throughout his life, Mateus has experienced (with both expectant eyes and deceived trust.) pain that -- without hesitation -- he’d rather wish on his worst enemies. He’s accepted and denied death at every given opportunity, remembering each and every manner of how he’s died. He’s watched his own kingdom die only to be reborn time and time again. He’s watched his own people (his and his alone! no one else’s!) suffer and thrive, all because of him. Everything he’s ever done-- it’s given him results!

And he could handle it! He’s always handled it!

“You’re correct... I can’t understand. I can’t understand why you’d accept responsibility when you’ve... you’ve given to them more than what I would have given.” He knows what he was saying shouldn’t have been said. It’s unfair to Aymeric (but it shouldn’t have mattered.), he knows... he knows, he knows, he knows. As if to hammer this into his own Aymeric’s skull, he turned towards him. “I would have killed them. Not only that, I would have publicly shamed them... String them out before the rest of my people, stomp out their idiotic, little power fantasy with my foot, tell them in my own words--”

(... what...)

“--in my own words...”

(what am i saying?)

Suddenly, his expression (once lit up with righteous fury, eyes wide and alive at the talk of imposing misery onto someone that deserved it, and corners of mouth pulling back in an attempt of stifling amused laughter.) faltered again. For a brief moment, a look of unmistakable pain flashed over his visage before he tried smiling again-- forced, angry and sad at the same time, and almost like he didn’t want to.

“... Why...”

He swallowed, thick and hard.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

[daemonczar]

what are you looking for (and I drove you crazy) wanted to be your girl (and I drove you crazy) and anything you wanted (and I drove you crazy) baby I tried to be (and I drove you crazy)

and I drove you crazy - BANKS

[daemonczar]

mateus looking himself in the mirror and pointing: you WON’T feel emotions. you WILL NOT feel emotions. you WILL NOT feel anything. you WI

[daemonczar]

doustadig‌.

          ♢ Affection was such a curse to behold. How much could be taken from someone if one deprived them of their most important, most beloved? Painful reminders to be attached to someone, to grow to love someone and yet? Curiously enough, still so many would strive to find it. To find something to call their own, to adore, to cherish, to care for - and was this here not a show of the very same?

     ♢ Who could have seen it coming? That the two of them would share a topic of open vulnerability in the closed privacy of the Speaker’s office [ and the feeling alone would keep at bay any those that desired to disturb ]. In the ticking seconds that Mateus took to watch his every movement, himself held only little attention towards what could be read and what could be done; as to how little and how few were just truly and thoroughly aware of these markings littering his body.

    ♢ For this or that reason.

    ♢ For this or that treachery [ of others or his own? why would he even consider it—? ].

    ♢ And so following pulses were in a blur. Watches the other approach, close that distance between them and demand - demand in silent ways that he ceases a motion that comes near too naturally to him at this time [ a sort of phantom pain, scar aching beneath his possible touch whenever he would only think about it ] and yet Mateus halts himself as if drawing them back towards the here and now that had slipped from them silently, unexpectedly. Who was who? The one to ground in their damaged selves and the moments ticking away behind his back idly and yet far too loudly?

    ♢ It had been enough to make him stare up at him with eyes widened in mild disbelief and perhaps - yes, it was akin to - a shock. Something was off, not only the moment it took for Aymeric to reveal what he had kept hidden before someone that had grown so close to him, but something else was undoubtfully off that needed careful handling.

    ♢ Exceptional consideration.

    ♢ “ It’s alright. Please. ” Was a breathed reply that finds no anchor in his own voice. Nothing broken. Nothing shaking. But merely a whisper worth of a reassurance he knows is far more than anybody else could have expected [ and himself should have accomplished ] when finally his hand lowered to consider whatever next step there was to take. [ why would he even want to go further than their mutual instance of distress beating heatedly in his veins—? ].

    ♢ So a sigh breathes itself out a moment later with a shake of his head to accompany a dispersing thought. Interest in one’s hardship and troubles—? How undeniably it was a curse to grow affection for another being [ and yet, he would not want it any other way ]. “ That scar on my stomach. ” Opts out to speak rather than show for now. As discarding any material worn and the heaviness of his own shielding attire would reveal even more than a single sign of survival littering tall form.

    ♢ “ It was an attempt on my life from enraged citizens— ” And before even there was the possibility for the King to cut in and rise with displeasure he knew would come, a mere smile spreads over his own visage. “ —and I do not feel that they had an ill right to do so. For them, I was the source for their beliefs to crumble, for their own history to be ground to dust. A man that committed patricide and not even by my own hand had the deed been done. ” And spoken before to a wise being [ far wiser than himself Hraesvelgr would always be ] had Aymeric about these little tidbits and pieces of information.

    ♢ About the shame that rung with it, for he had not been the one to lead the assault, to guide the sword.

    ♢ “ It is a reminder that many different mistakes had been made - and that I need to work hard to make sure that all possible future ones will never come to be. ”

When he saw the look on Aymeric’s face, Mateus had very nearly doubled down.

More often than not did he revel in the idea of being superior-- of being better, and that he was always going to be at the top of the food chain. However, when he saw that one, exclusive look (shock. what was... what was that supposed to mean?) from his “brother”, he felt the entire opposite. It’s enough to make his heart race, pounding loudly inside of his ears with the intensity of a madman’s desire to be heard.

“... No, it’s not,” he heard himself whispering in response, unaware of how to stop himself and, instead, letting time take the reins he once possessed.

It was enough to make him want to vomit. He’s never called himself much of an empathetic (his mother took all of that with her.) person, but... what else was there to say when Aymeric was regarded? He couldn’t quite say and wasn’t certain if there would ever be a time where he would.

So all he does is listen... silently. It’s the only thing he thinks he can do.

Wordlessly, the Emperor takes another step back as the explanation was presented. He doesn’t dare move his arms, allowing for him to drop without argument to lay limply at his sides. His eyes do not leave Aymeric’s own (but they want to wander.) and force their selves to gain some sort of comfort from the other man’s willingness to share.

(i should envy you.)

What thus transpired was hard for Mateus to put into words.

At first, he’s smiling (disbelief.) and felt the undeniable urge to speak up. As soon as his mouth had dropped open to vocalize, though, Aymeric did not halt and only, instead, continued. Eyebrows slowly drew closer with his lips gradually, almost reluctantly, curling and furling into a light scowl (aggravation.) as he forced himself to continue listen. He doesn’t realize but had been using a hand to cup his face clumsily. Bits of his palm touched against his cheek as fingers pressed tips against his temple as eyes, finally, removed their selves (misery.) from Aymeric.

“You should be furious,” he muttered, too silent and too quiet-- easy to miss.

Hand pressed harder against his face, soon joined by the other holding itself against his face as well. It seemed that he struggled; he strained with the idea of dragging his hands down his face as he allows for the words to go in one ear (compromise.) but to never... ever, ever go out the other. He’s met with the desire to want to see Aymeric’s scars for himself, believing that, maybe, there was something that he was missing. That, maybe, this was all just a cruel joke to test the young ruler’s ability.

But when he dared to glance up, having now moved his hands so that the tips of his fingers barely held their selves over his eyes, he wasn’t greeted with any sort of luxury.

“... You should be furious,” he mumbled from beyond his hands, disregarding that he continued to remain unheard. Whether it was on purpose or not, Mateus wasn’t sure. “You... You should...”

Each and every little word he was bold enough to speak was acknowledged as a mere, pathetic whimper to his ears. All he did, when the rationale was expressed freely and exposed to open air, was continue to stare elsewhere. Forehead acquired subtle creases in the form of wrinkles as he, gradually... steadily... slowly... glanced back up at Aymeric.

(why are you like this?)

He’s met with something hard to describe.

The expression Aymeric dared chose to wear shook Mateus to his very core. It put him into a stupor-- best left off as speechless as he let one hand gradually fall away from his face. His feet want to move but, instead, remain rooted to the floor. He stares but feels like he’s looking at nothing. His heart no longer races but acts like it should be pounding. He feels like a fist connected seamlessly with his jaw, breaking it out of place and yet...? He doesn’t bother to acknowledge any of this.

“You should be furious,” he tried again with other hand leaving his face as now both hands clutched tightly at own arms as he stared hard at Aymeric. “Why aren’t you... Why do you forgive them so easily?”

He wants to say that he accepted this. He wants to say that he understood this. Yet he doesn’t. He finds it all so... so tedious and borderline strange.

Events betwixt Mateus and Aymeric were so similar yet so different. This much he began to realize as his eyes relinquished themselves out of their stern narrow to, in their stead, grow slightly wide with a small, cold smile (acceptance.) touching his visage. Were he in the other’s place, he might’ve... might’ve...

“What do you mean?”

(how dare they--?!)

“I don’t understand.”

... no, he would’ve done the unforgivable.

“What did you do wrong?”

[daemonczar]

mateus @ me rn bc he sees me making blogs for ardyn and emet and maybe vayne

[daemonczar]

moondeluge‌.

     A pricked smile was brought to a subtle low, with the corners of his mouth pricking downward, the beast’s gaze narrowing at the final comment. Being called a little boy, how disrespectful to his prompt. 

     “ How best to describe… ”

     A grimace mixed with an arrogant smile entered his lips, corners lifting now as Genesis lifted his shoulders and turned to the side. He began to pace from left to right. Repetitively in his soon rhythmic and poetic attempt to describe such a response which may appease his audience.

     “ Even ivory horns of glorious crowns hollow out with time, nothing left. Even conceited and humble men break into pieces, crumbling to nothing. Even monsters burn, corrupted to dust and left to their own chores till melting into nothingness. ”

A look of clear and utter joy (he’s enticed a reaction and, as such, he’s succeeded.) clouded over his features in response. Age does not become a man such as he, evading it and gifting to him, instead, a sort of childish glee upon the minor inconvenience he’s placed. It’s a gift (from the emperor himself.) from one person to (the common folk. the... rabble, he decided.) another.

He should be applauded for such kindness, and yet...? He received nothing of the sort. In placement of shameless entitlement did he find something else. Mere pacing of a man, loudly yet wordlessly showing the signs of a creative mind.

“You couldn’t be talking about me, could you...?” he continued to coo, leaning ever so slowly forward with one arm raising for him to rest his chin plainly upon flat of palm. “You haven’t even taken me out for dinner, yet.”

With that, gaze would silently fall and scroll (searching for the meatiest part. searching for the tastiest part.) up and down other’s form before stopping. He’d start at the chest first, he thinks. It nearly tickled him pink.

“What happens when the crown is polished? What happens if the monster finds comfort in the flames?”

He smiled.

“What if corruption is a form of “love”?”

[daemonczar]

breselin‌.

     ★ Did he really think that? That the Emperor was not worthy his full attention, his full regard? Did he really, truly, undeniably think that? { yes or no? }. Mayhap it would always remain a mystery: the engagement they had fostered over years and years to be a fine amalgamation of ’coincidences’ and ’whims’ that should have never been some. Oh, he could have answered with discardable words and yet decides to only reply with the darkness of a chuckle running down his partner’s spine. How delectable, to have him like this at his fingertips { and yet? was it not boring for a warrior like him? }.

    ★ Truly, sometimes he wonders what Mateus’ servants would think. What they said. What they whispered. What they imagined. It’s enough for him to laugh, soft and light and suddenly so closely as if being there and ready to devour him whole as thoughts and sentences mingle in the air. No, not yet.

    ★ When he decides that all else would go over ignored and forgotten for however long he would need to capture a faltering heartbeat, in tearing these little loose strings out and tying them together { would he want them wound around his neck? } into a fine and skilled knot. Whatever the reason for his constant waning of thoughts mingling and rushing about—

    ★ ’ You are so, so cruel to me. ’ “ And you like it. ”

    ★ —it wouldn’t matter at all anymore.

    ★ Tantalizingly chanting the soldier’s name { would he never grow tired of that? }, like a mantra to keep him grounded, begging where he knows his lover would not want to beg { like lowlife? scourings? }, and yet does so without truly using right phrases, right movements. Oh, perceptions higher and higher feeling the muscles shift and tendons taut, when only Mateus had taken up the next part of their little dance for the night. Of course, little hindrances and moments of denial of watching him shed any kind of clothing were dismissed the moment it happened { how displeased was the King truly? } and would not be the last instance he would have the upper hand.

    ★ Unbecoming. Their engagement of being picture perfect embodiments of night and day { corrupted? damaged? }. “ What am I doing to you, hm~? ” More and more, he would drag him in, pull him closer, when hands do finally find him, wrap near cautiously around his waist - he does permit. “ You like what I’m doing to you~ ” The words repeat themselves in each whispered syllable over adoring lips as a phantasmagoria of a knowledge that should not be. Softly and lightly when accepting that kiss that near was none, feels the urgency in these touches no matter how deceptively light and tender they truly are and relents - relents - offers up the moment they do desire.

    ★ How little do they truly know of one another? - while all around them could break they would find themselves entitled { how prideful, no? } to greedily garner ever more.

    ★ And the warrior’s relenting? Was simple. Offering in the same moments he set himself to take. Removing his hand from partner’s neck, carefully twisting, having it slide down ridges of spine beneath shining attire just to elicit what is hidden inside. They like the play. Tearing each other apart without all but sensations, touches, passions - perceptions heightened and temptations near palpable to be crushed in his palm. And as long as the warrior would speak, he knew he had this lovely little companion hanging to his lips.

    ★ “ You like that I leave you waiting. Wanting. Panting like a dog at my very heel. ” Like the feeling of material now torn at the seams - slowly and meticulously would the sound burn itself into the sudden bursts of breathless silence of their togetherness. That deceiving gentleness he’s placed upon his lover? Now allows him to feel the strength in smallest motions. The tug of his fingers, barely moving at the wrist, enough to discard, to destroy, to claim what was only his own to hold.

    ★ “ You like that I know what you want before you only think to announce it. ” Speak it. Feel it. Think it. And each of these little realisations were subtly spoken still against waiting and half parted mouth, to be bestowed what the leader truly - deserved?

    ★ How laughable of a sudden thought that stings inside his mind - and laugh about it he does. Low and velvety { would it taste like a God’s offering? }. “ Well then. ” If such is all the other wanted and only dreamed off. To have a divine warrior at his bidding, at his disposal, to order him, to ask him to give him everything that he was. Oh, it would be far too easy, to get the Emperor to follow his every wish.

    ★ But was that not what made their little involvement all the more thrilling. “ If you desire my blood, myself so much. ” It’s gone in the second he released these teasing accentuations that resound around them like a beast’s growl, the fine garment now hanging in tatters from Mateus’ very back { had he even realised the destruction? }. And that, right now, was only the beginning. “ If you want it all so much. ” Far too close, and still not close enough.

    ★ “ Then make me. ”

“I do.”

There was no point in denying nor arguing. Mateus knew far better than to try and conflict, especially when he would be doing himself no such favors (none at all. it’d be the utmost shameful he’s ever seen himself if he did.) if he had. Behind eyes lay a sort of unknown tenderness-- one that the Emperor was almost unaware of possessing himself.

A hand rose slowly, bravely removing itself from Sephiroth’s back (or had it once been his hips? his hands wandered and wandered... touching, feeling, embracing... devouring. he’s so greedy.) in order to lightly press sharp fingertips against chest. A shudder’s blatantly stifled as teeth nip incessantly and nearly violently against lower lip. His eyes grow slightly wide, lighting up with only the sort of selfish neediness he himself was capable of.

“I do. Oh, I do.”

Voice was barely above that of a murmur, Mateus unwilling to let them part ways from another. He’s bold enough to press harder (yet remain gentle. delicate. he wants to remember how sephiroth feels.) against other male’s chest, careful and precise so as not to nip and bite into skin. 

It’s too soon to get messy, he decides. It’s too early to get rough, he decides.

He’s careful in controlling himself, valuing this moment’s pacing to an, perhaps, obsessive degree. Silently he firmed in hand into a calm plateau against Sephiroth’s body, straightening itself and flattening against solid surface. Not once, though, did his eyes tear away from Sephiroth’s. Not once did they remove his attention even when the subtle sounds of cloth tearing, being ruined (what’s the use in throwing a fit? it’s unimportant compared to what was actually happening.) in order to, eventually and gradually, fall away from his body.

Aware of this, the Emperor squared his shoulders. Timing was what truly mattered. He wanted this to be perfect-- he absolutely needed it to be perfect. For times like these...? They deserved nothing less. Mateus was a man of his word, one that placed high priority on one thing and one thing only. He swallowed and dipped his head just a little bit further, pressing and almost grinding foreheads against one another as lips remained open in a small, circular shape.

“--like a bitch in heat,” he whispered, crudely (there was no need for obscenity, but mateus performed it nonetheless. seamlessly. fluidly. like he was meant for this.) correcting Sephiroth’s words in a playful sort of interjection. Fingers gradually slid beneath straps of man’s clothing, hooking from under and giving a few, experimental tugs whereas Mateus’s eyebrows lifted in childish glee. “I’m so pathetic, aren’t I?”

It’s not meant for an answer, nor does he trouble himself to wait for one.

Tendons gave one, little flex within own hand with one, singular vein bulging out through thin material (had a third party show ignorance, they could have assumed it to be made with cheap material. but it’s quite the opposite. he feels and feels, greedily absorbing each and every little detail that he can touch from beyond the cloth.) in blatant show of force. He doesn’t wait any further, simply showing his enthusiasm keenly and without any shred of further dignity (was there any reason to have tried so hard previously?) as he parted his lips.

“Very well, but you’ll do well to remember--” he paused to lick his own lips and huff out a well-amused breathy chuckle, “--that once I start, I will not stop.”

He wordlessly told Sephiroth to pick his poison, and he acquired an answer with such professional ease that it nearly astonished him. Instead, though, he’s keeping a level head. With his mouth still hanging open, he canted his head faintly with tongue now sticking out. Sharp at its point, wet and slippery, does he press it against the lowest point of Sephiroth’s lip before dragging it rudely up. Leaving behind a damp trail, Mateus didn’t bother to suppress the low chuckle (ending shortly after with a “hmph”. how familiar. how confident. how totally and utterly shameless.) that escaped from his throat.

“So, if you desire for me to stop...”

Fingers gave a slow but long pull of garment’s straps before unlatching. Silently relishing in the satisfying sound of thick cloth snapping and smacking against skin, Mateus breathed out a “lovely” in arrogant tones.

“... and I mean it...”

A gentle (blink and you’ll miss it.) eye roll was given right before he gave a hard shove to knock the warrior off of his balance. The question “but was it so if he knew that Sephiroth was allowing it?” touched his consciousness, but it did virtually nonexistent damage in actually to deter him. He continued to push and push, gradually increasing into that more of a shove and shove-- slowly directing and silently instructing Sephiroth onto his back (but the emperor was, at the very least, kind enough to be wary of their surroundings.) upon the Emperor’s bed.

Raising his head in a blatant show of ego, Mateus bore his teeth in a little grin while a hand moved to fumble and toy with latch that lay within the center of his clavicle. With a delicate click, he gave a swift roll of his shoulders as he allowed for his cape (in what little excuse form it was still in.) to steadily but elegantly roll off of his body and into a little pool at his feet.

From behind deliberate movements, the Emperor moved to seat himself carefully on top of Sephiroth. Legs bent at the knee and curled inwards, placing the young man in an almost... casual kneel as he settled his hand (the same hand from earlier; the one that had done this juvenile deed in the first place.) at the other’s stomach. Palm was lifted away from the body while his fingers provided a majority of the pressure, Mateus spreading his legs by just a little all the while. He’s still slightly off-kilter, hovering by a slim margin above Sephiroth as his eyes lowered in a cocky demure. Back arched at the spine with his hand dragging itself up Sephiroth’s form, Mateus letting his eyes trail behind his actions. 

“... you’ll have to make me.”

Without warning does he lower himself entirely (like a king does to his throne.) that ended off in a gentle yet, somehow, sharp sigh. All of his weight was put on at once, generating unnecessary friction that was, thereafter, punctuated with a heavy grind.

[daemonczar]

doustadig‌.

          ♢ One would want to question the Emperor’s desire to listen to him. To find out more about him. To get to know him and make it as amicable, as - family-like - as he was only able to. Why? Why indeed? A touch of care as displayed like this, emotions flaring where nobody would expect them, he couldn’t help the sigh leaving his throat, couldn’t help the following smile tugging at his lips. A question that had been none [ why did he apologize? ], now to be disregarded while he listens to Mateus further, watches him move and try to explain himself, within sole desire to figure out just what he wants to know.

     ♢ The ’request’, when it came, had him blink.

    ♢ Made lips slightly part to take a deeper breath, as if steeling himself against a demand, painfully ringing in his mind [ but he would get more of them ], before lightly shaking his head.

    ♢ “ I do. ” Many a little one that littered tall physique. A battle-hardened body, no matter his kind nature, his will to protect, to strive and bring peace to a nation cared for so deeply, he desires and will bring forth his own person to shield and protect those in need. Perhaps that was expected and nothing this brother of his would need to know and wanted to figure out. No, there are others that tell stories of an own kind. One, in particular, a tale of his folk, his nation, his will to survive. The commander’s wants and means to bring towards the better those that had suffered a thousand years.

    ♢ Was it truly an easier start for Aymeric? [ he somehow thinks that the monarch had known all along— ]. “ I suppose speech and an explanation could suffice? ” And if it would not? Hand subconsciously places itself upon his stomach, fingers curling inward while gaze trails off elsewhere, loses all focus on someone so attentively listening during the past that dances right in front of his eyes. How curious: the moment all of this drags itself in flashes before his inner eye, he could feel an exhale leave him quite so strained.

    ♢ No, he wasn’t pained. Does not regret that day [ there are others more worthwhile ], yet thinks for himself that he should have spoken sooner. “ If not, I will show you, if you like. ”

Affection wasn’t an alien emotion to Mateus. Affection wasn’t supposed to be an alien emotion to Mateus. Affection was supposed to come easily to Mateus.

(why was this so hard? is this because of me?)

So why on earth was he struggling so goddamned much?

He kept his arms close to himself, now crossed over his chest (it made him look insecure but, truth be told, he did it out of concern for both himself and aymeric. he had no idea what he’d be capable of if he didn’t keep his wits about himself.) with fingers clutching uncomfortably at his upper arms. Reluctantly (but, still, they continued. at this point, mateus managed to stop only a few of his impulses.) did eyes follow Aymeric’s hand, trailing closely behind it and wincing vaguely as it rested over other’s stomach.

Teeth grit (grinding, grinding, grinding... it hurt his head, but he continued to do it all the same.) hard against one another, causing for his lock to nearly lock up from how tense and how pent up he was attempting to keep himself. This couldn’t have been healthy, it’s suddenly dawning on him... but he didn’t dare stop. Fingers gave a subconscious action of their own, immediately clenching as Aymeric’s words reached him yet didn’t, for a few lingering seconds, warrant a response from the Emperor.

His focus remained locked upon Aymeric’s hand with his mind racing at a near chaotic rate.

An “explanation” should have been good enough, the small rational side of himself concluded. But he wanted-- no, he needed to know more. It’s not that he wanted to know everything there was (that was far too selfish of him. aymeric deserved some semblance of privacy, after all.) about his dear “brother”, but, rather, it was something far deeper.

Suddenly, he stiffens. Suddenly, he grows taller. Suddenly, he’s no longer relaxed.

With his shoulders squared, his back straight, and his arms no longer conjoined, Mateus was staring down at Aymeric with a sort of intense fury behind his eyes that could have easily been mistaken as hostile. A step was subconsciously taken forward, encroaching further into the other man’s space (safety net. mateus knew what he was doing-- saw what he was doing. but could he stop himself in time?) with his other hand now reaching out to grab him by the arm. Teeth bore in a mild sneer, but it wasn’t aimed at Aymeric. Never would it be aimed at him.

He’d rather die than hurt Aymeric.

Fingers nearly grazed along and over Aymeric’s forearm, aiming to grab (and never let go.) and rip his hand away from his stomach. Instead, though, Mateus had stopped himself. Tips of claws didn’t touch and, instead, held their selves lifelessly in the air before Mateus’s gaze grew lax.

“...”

Without bothering to think, the Emperor immediately retracted his hand-- as quick as it had come. His eyes continued to stare (or was it more like a glare? mateus didn’t bother with the specifics. his fury and his concern mashed up together as one, and it was so ugly. so, so... so goddamned ugly.) down at Aymeric’s hand, but he did take a step back. A few seconds later, he then took another step back and quietly used the same hand to cover his face. Gaze tore itself away, glanced elsewhere as his expression locked itself into one of turmoil and vague upset.

“No,” he finally responded, uncertain if an apology was warranted or even deserving of forgiveness, as his palm pressed further against his face. Index finger tapped restlessly against his cheek before he drags his hand down his face, pulling at the skin ever so slightly. “No, it’s... No. You can do whatever you’re most comfortable with.”

He wanted to see, but what he wanted didn’t matter right now. He wanted it to matter, but what Aymeric wanted was far more important.

“I’m... I apologize.”

That’s what he’s been telling himself and hopes to convince himself of it.

“Please--” he hated it “--go on.”

[daemonczar]

doustadig‌.

          ♢ He should have guessed that, no? On one side did, on the other did not, the dramatically brought forth exclamation enough for him to huff out a bit of laughter - light and soft. Oh, truthfully, many would question his will to entertain this unlikely guest. How polar opposite might they not appear, yet find a strange sort of harmony within one another [ it feels almost like bantering siblings— ]?

     ♢ “ You are my guest, it would only be right to let you choose. ”

    ♢ But said announcement falls to nought when Mateus objects to indulge, rather pushes the choice back to the Lord Commander who accepts it willingly. Easily.

    ♢ “ Surprise, hm? ” Ah, why not invite him to travel a bit? As per it was: the whole of Eorzea was open to them [ due to changes in recent months ] and he thinks it the most entertaining to travel to one of their outposts. “ Might you be interested in ‘sightseeing’? Falcon’s Nest is a place I would be delighted to show you. ” Or perchance: more of Ishgard? He would not deny him any of it.

At times, Mateus found that Aymeric was simply... too kind, but it wasn’t necessarily worth it to complain about. When the appropriate time would come for Mateus to indulge himself (in order to protect this man that he’s unintentionally since claimed as a “sibling”.) in such a subject, he’d certainly know; now just wasn’t the time.

Their ways of leadership were different from one another, and Mateus found it almost charming the way Aymeric preferred to do it. To the Emperor, leadership and ruling were hand-in-hand-- both a performance and a grandiose show of power. Aymeric, however, appeared to contrast in comparison, and he found that oh-so fascinating.

“Falcon’s Nest, hmm...?” he questioned with eyes shutting out of meager yet contemplative thought. After a few moments of silence (it’s so odd to see mateus relaxed. waiting. biding for time.), he then gave a nod and let a small smirk accompany the action. “We can start there, yes. I appreciate you taking the initiative, Aymeric.”

Folding one hand into a fist, he’d rest its knuckles against his hip as arm stuck out rather intrusively (if mateus wanted, he easily could have jabbed his elbow against his side. thankfully, mateus wasn’t feeling as mean.) into the other’s space. Cocking his head playfully towards Aymeric, his smirk soon grew into a thin grin.

“You are such a gentleman,” he almost chirped, clearly pleased yet retaining his cocky playfulness. “What’s next? You’re going to take me by the arm and lead me?”

A joke made in jest, something that Mateus felt more than comfortable in indulging himself in.

[daemonczar]

are you there god? it’s me, your disappointment

[daemonczar]

one way to tell that if mateus likes you (even if it’s very... little.) is if he uses your name when in conversation. he strongly prefers to tease, patronize, and even chastise others by using demeaning nicknames, simply because his measurement of “worth” of a person is rather strict and hard to exactly pinpoint.

mateus, whether he knows it or not, has inherited his father’s determinant of worth and importance. those that are deemed as “important” in his eyes will receive the “privilege” of being referred to with their names, while those that have yet to impress (be it by amusing him, frustrating him, or even something so little as him acknowledging you.) him will remain nameless. instead, they will receive pet names pertaining to what he thinks of them-- be it their personality or their appearance.

if he does decide it’s worth his time and effort to use your name in conversation, he’ll usually try and weasel it in as many times as he can. this is to signal how high his opinion is to both himself and to you.

[daemonczar]

breselin‌.

     ★ Hopeless? Oh, that would be a fitting word for the behaviour shown by the Emperor whenever it came to the General and his many little whims that he seemed so eager to soothe { would he ever be inclined to ask for the ‘why’? }. “ You sound rather desperate, desirous - are you really so favourable towards figuring all I could do~? ” What else would there be? Past their little engagement of finding pleasure in { how often had it been? } forcing the life out of him time and time again? What else - could there be?

    ★ With his head tilting a mere touch to the side. With a hand that reaches backwards, dragging long fingers through golden fall. “ Could I? ” Does he? Mindlessly expecting secrets to be torn out— “ I know a penalty you would whine about. ” —and just in this moment, he would step away. Sephiroth knows that any attempt to keep him there would only itch, tremble, find no execution. “ I asked you before uncountable times~— ” Asked him with that same sing-song voice velvet-like. “ —What makes you think you are worth it~? ”

“When am I not?” he nearly argued (his tone has taken on a more firm approach-- bratty but not quite whiny.) with his arms furthering their grasp, increasing in intensity as fingers continued to try and steal away whatever they could from their rough touches. “What more is there to say, truly...? You’re just so intoxicating.”

A loose form of flirting that wouldn’t make much of a dent... the Emperor knew this. It’s one of the things he found so very, very fun despite the--

(what?)

--whine that practically tore itself out of his throat. His head immediately raised with an expression suddenly dark (offended that a favorite “toy” of his was taken away from him.), Mateus only being able to comprehend the hand that tangled itself within his hair after Sephiroth’s parting. A hand subconsciously had risen, belated and painfully needy, in an attempt of holding the other man’s hand down. Soon after, it’s jerked back down to hold steadily at his side.

Eyebrows drew closer in a pout-worthy knit, but a smile would curl itself upon his lips nonetheless. Was it so troublesome for a man to be so predictable? Some would say yes, but Mateus didn’t mind the idea. At times, he thought it made things a lot more... interesting.

“Oh, Sephiroth,” he huffed out with a heavy sigh escaping, Mateus daring to draw closer immediately once more. His hands fell down, aiming to set heavily upon Sephiroth’s shoulders. “How many times must I prove myself to you? Isn’t seeing me at my worst enough for you...?~”

[daemonczar]

Softcore - The Neighbourhood