#★ [ private verse godsbox ] gates of heaven

[doueegezh]

🎲🙂 suguru ?? kiss ? @godsbox [ Meme ]

22. A French kiss/kiss with tongue

Demanding. Never being alright with what has been given, always expecting more. Would be a lie to say that he wasn't amused by it, that he didn't like it. " At least you learned to say what you want. " An ongoing game. Must be quite an annoyance to hear that again, displeasure in the Cultist's chest over deliberately few placed words to tell Satoru over and over that he wasn't content with things that mattered little [ shouldn't matter at all? ], toying with picture-perfect carved out emotions, worn towards the outside in fine-looking colours, exquisite shapes; turning them inside out to spread apart and open before only their Honored's eyes to see. Could always say the Strongest can do anything he wants, so he never tries to get too involved with anything - old sentiments, stale knowledge, doesn't change the teasing, wouldn't change his own words. 

" You suck at this, you know. "

Dishevelled hair due to discarded hair tie. Somewhere lost in the shapes and folds of sheets, crumpled up by their togetherness, still stuck and stripped off of clean desires, still not allowed, permitted respite despite requesting so wordlessly time and time again. Frustration was something of a bitter little pill to swallow, choking on the ideas of possible breathlessness, of delectable sounds ripped out from the back of an aching throat. All not right now, broken off in the insincerity of wants and demands he could all but sigh about when allowing himself to come down from it again. Ruined the moment, or something along those lines. Ruined the thoughts, or something similar to that as the hand that pulled at his wrist, 'partner' [ or whatever he was? ] laying next to him, upside down, requests uttered now that Suguru had endlessly proclaimed that he should just say what he wanted instead of having him say it for him - or something like that. 

Should just have kicked him out again after whatever had happened now too far gone for him to want to engage again, engages anyway when Satoru pulled on him, growled, grumbled words lost to his mind, coerced by the placated pretence of gentleness that he could at least feel singing along the pulse in his wrist idly brushed over with fingertips. He could, at least somewhat, be so obvious in understanding what it was that--- " Wouldn't think that, with the strongest of them all, that Golden Child, that he would suck at this so much. " Somewhere forgotten when feeling the drag of opposite hand along his spine, the subtle pressure along the back of his ribs, fluctuating heat enough to mindlessly break off ostentatious complaint the cult leader could truly have about this back and forth he had invited into his own home [ once more? how often had it truly been yet? ]. He wonders sometimes how long it might take till they would be caught. How much it won't matter at all. Maybe they are already know. Would be so laughable if this was something nobody was aware about. " How would you want to say it? Show me then if you can do it better! Is it that? "

Barely worth a brush of lips when words had dropped down to a low rumble swallowed up incessantly, certainly greedily. Teach him, wasn't it that? Show him how to do things better; isn't that what had been a thing back, some odd years ago? Wasn't like that. Always had been better than him. Why not core it out a little bit? Dig himself into him? Make sure that he couldn't forget him, didn't want to forget him? - thoughts as always a mangled mess when it came to being with each other, always made little to no sense while being far too entertainingly enthralling to leave him getting marked by anybody else. Might bite it all up if that ever were the case, just for once he wanted to be so truly greedy. And kisses him with the same thought on his mind as whatever affront would be eaten off from those lips, from that tongue. For all their ridiculous back and forth in whatever idealised world they would craft for each other, there was always something worth saying about having had something cored out by hands that shouldn't hurt. Words that should not---. " Or have you got some more insults for me? " After all, for all that this was worth [ would it ever be anything else? ]--- with a hand trailing along Satoru's neck, higher and higher, just teasing him enough to give what he wanted, mapping out the curvature of his jaw, point of his chin, before pulling with his thumb at the bottom lip, kissed before in that subtle serenity that was barely a featherlight touch.

Pushed and pulled, never truly giving up. Their brand of honesty molten together by boiling suffocation in the unity of black and white, silver and gold, yin and yang - something along those lines at least was scratching behind closed eyes when pulling enough to deepen the kiss some more, tilting his own head just lightly. Hair pulled as well, deliberate delirious desire, nothing else but that [ nothing else but want? ], when he doesn't quite take, tongues touching just lightly within that tease of a moment and a breath hitched to conjoin their little conglomeration of distracted powers a bit more. Could always claim that whatever Satoru had done a few months back was as terrible a kiss as it had ever come and, after all, brought to utter enough of a complaint about not being kissed back, maybe just because of that; - maybe just because of that, indeed, would he make it so agonizingly slow to explore the heat of his mouth, lingering in its rise from the mere warmth of his lips. Could do it as long, as excruciatingly desired until stealing the breath away from someone who never seemed breathless at all - maybe that was the idea. No, not quite. He wouldn't kiss him like this if not [ ... what exactly was it? ]. Didn't matter. When there was no inch anymore between them, no space, no distance, all but pressed together feeling himself being pulled closer just by the way each breath swallowed up sweeter than the last. Maybe to heed and feel and taste those sounds--- what sounds? 

Laughable, it was just to teach him a lesson, wasn't it? " Hm, better at least. " He at least wished he could stare at him for that bit longer than it would take to not pretend that these fluttering seconds harmoniously beating in the same pulse as their hearts had taken his breath away. Why all this? He really shouldn't - love him like this. 

[doueegezh]

Adjustments made to insincerity where sincerity would have broken apart the picture-perfect arrangement of what felt like nothing perfect in this picture they had drawn over however many months that had passed. Thrown away the pens as they had emptied, blotches all over the paper the opposite way of wrappers all collected and stacked up, like thoughts placed on top of each other to make any sense out of what Suguru had just offered. Idle means of passing time. Of keeping busy. Keeping oneself occupied with a task, emptying the mind unless a thought would ping a reaction would drag out an action. Always annoying in--- always upsetting in--- Minutes worth drawn together and packaged prettily like whatever treat Satoru would take for himself when he was allowed to visit. Allowed to? It's not really like he could stop him, stops him [ probably? ] the same way just with a turned back and a hushed murmur of a voice promising treasures decorated with bits and pieces, jewels and gold all securely applied, nothing fake underneath it.

Surprisingly enough, one might want to say.

" You can finish your question, you know. " Finish it in the same way he would any piece of candy presented to him, halfway, not at all, thrown away, indulged as much as wanted, before growing bored. Thoughts are the embodiment of their relationship's confusion, of their togetherness, broken apart like the puzzle left in the middle of Suguru's living room table. Could question why it was there, would maybe not do so. Always assuming, not speaking it out. Alas, knows well enough that this was his fault for stalling a person who had always said what he desired when there was no need to adjust to anybody's wishes. Always thinking oneself stronger than even the strongest of desires. That was an assumption as well. Context for nothing else but needs and wishes, all pulled together in a pretty fashion, packaged with precisely folded wrapping paper, bow on top. " It's easier to meet that way. " Easier to think that he may be truly wanted to come around, wanted to meet with him, wanted to be with him. It's a bit later that he would place cups on the table next to whatever precarious tower out of gold-foiled paper Satoru had built in the meantime. The sweetness of the drink could make him nauseous but he prepared it still the same way he remembers that the other wanted it to be and figured out while doing so once in the past that even his twins found it too much---

" Or can just come around whenever. There's no set time for any of that. " No matter if there should be or not. Cont. @godsbox 💕

[doueegezh]

Semantics over ideas over thoughts over spoken words; Satoru, at times, drove him insane, made him draw anger with an edge he didn't know he had anymore, cultivated away and perfectly hidden beneath a meticulously crafted facade reeking of the perfection of another idealised belief. Of what he wanted to do, left alone, left behind, so truly and utterly on his own, building up with his hands something that was an accumulation of a tentatively stepped line, barely swinging this way, that way, one too far, may just fall, may reach the ground to be crashed, smashed apart in too many fragile little pieces to put oneself back together, to find oneself whole again. Useless meandering, feeling the hand wrapped around his wrist like a lifeline holding onto him to make sure he wouldn't fall. Gentle nuances, warm touches - when had he even reached for him? It's not like Suguru would be unable to stop if comfort had been overstepped, no - with each heartbeat dripping through his veins like small spheres, pressed through beneath searching fingertips, he just didn't want to [ not anymore? ]. 

Feels just like his heartbeat could halt if Satoru were to press down around his wrist, feels like he could stop and stand like a statue frozen unless released again, allowed to put distance between them. Enough to smile, picture-perfect rehearsed as per any show in pulchritude, dragging lambs one by one towards the slaughterhouse. " Why me? " Despite all the teasing, all the taunting, this boundary trimmed and cut to fit into a perfect shape stamped out in the inside of his chest, there's something unnervingly honest about questions asked when answers of another kind had been requested. Always unravels him, pulls at the fine string keeping him together, split apart and inside spilling out, scrambling to all place it back together as if nothing had happened, another patch added, another bit of filling destroyed, could never be any more [ anymore? ] like they had been back then - but did they even want to? The churn of his stomach was enough to have him know that he should allow this stagnant air pressing in his lungs to escape when at least agreeing to whatever malformed thought had made to allow him to appear like the ghost of some odd years ago. 

"Never mind, don't answer that. " ---Never mind, just leave me to my thoughts, mayhap I can whittle something for you out of the shapes of myself that you will like, how about it? - so much left unspoken, unsaid, broken off, engraved behind his eyes and a smile that he would edge into the flawless sculpt of his face never really reaching his eyes [ when was the last time it had? ]. Tells Satoru all the time to just speak out what he thinks and backs out and away each moment it was his own time to tell a tale bigger than the two of them, but what could he truly do? Hated it so much that all he did was turn him inside out, distorted from the voices and sounds of melodious songs he had learned to rehearse immaculately and bring forth before a clapping audience, before a cheering crowd. 

It's not the same. It would never be the same. But with it all? 

Suguru yanks his hand back quickly enough to know that Satoru's reflex will hold onto him. Yanks on him that way to urge him to stand with him, the force behind it past want, past will, past desire. The force behind it all recognisable, and still none to behold. Whatever this is all good for, the mindlessness of wanting it all to go back to how it had been could only stagnate them so much. Could only hurt them so much [ how hurt are they truly? ]. Nicked fingertips on the little shards of the cultist's true self and he knows well enough that sharing it all with Satoru was like breathing in the air filled by a heavy downpour, ready to drown any minute if they could just be with each other. Always desperately trying to make sense out of anything that had been given to him, always moulding himself into a shape that Satoru liked and knowing that it would never be enough, so the mould never holds, cracks apart. Recounts words that had passed only seconds ago, now that they were on same height, now that he could stare into those eyes stripping him down to his very core, as bare and naked with clothes still on as he could ever be. Loved his eyes always, would always love them, and sometimes wonders how it would be to have them in a jar next to his bedside. " I want you for myself--- " And just for once, forces himself to not hide those thoughts im-balancing their own back and forth, tipping them over the edge. 

" I can't bear to think anything else. But you don't want me. " And there is an anger, an ire in his voice, exhaled to be shared and swallowed up, greedily and swiftly before it could swell and grow. Feeling like it was the needed exchange to not suffocate on ultimate desires. It had only been about the idiotic little game of 'wanting someone to train with him' and as per always the cultist's thoughts would run away from him for a while. But easy to stop it just when their togetherness was nothing but a daydream memory like any of the others. Another bubble to be pushed towards the edge of the shelf, ready to gather dust as if it means just nought.

Brushed touches, wrist still in hold, heartbeat skipping, stalled, forced to slow down again. Rehearsed and learned, couldn't deal with the sensation when he felt sick over being sick swallowing humanity's scum and filth, thus the outcome was calm enforced when he didn't want to be calm at all. Being so perfectly poised to be nothing, laughing all the while without truly being happy. What else to think but why would Satoru want him out of all he could have [ could he not have no matter who? did he not just say that? ], within that brilliantly bright light of his own holiness, to have it be dirtied by his touch. Unthinkable. And touch he still does. Uncaught, back of fingers, brushing along high cheekbone, fair skin barely graced, a breeze, a breath worth - if at all. Silly. Stupid. Could bite it all down if the bite wasn't so truly, so sincerely choked out of him, like the drowning he had just thought about, like the ideas of splinters and broken selves and all these pretty little things that couldn't be pieced back together even by a thousand - but who else could [ who else was even able? ] but him. Laughable. " Never mind, like I said. "    Never mind--- the thought. The hand caught. The sonorous voice in the back of his mind torn apart bit by bit like the grin settled piece by piece, when he wanted him to taste the very shape of it. Hated it all, the thought just that anybody could touch him like he did. All painted in shades of pure silver and blue. It's enough, so he thinks, to believe that this was all I could ever have. To believe that whatever Satoru said was nothing but a lie. 

After all, why should he even want to tell the truth?  @godsbox 💕 [ Inspiration ]

[doueegezh]

Words [ should? ] mean little. Spun together in dissonance with own feelings, plucked apart one syllable at a time, while wanting to evoke a certain feeling, wanting to craft a certain end product, pieced together out of shapes that don't quite fit this or that way and are still exemplary for a creation good enough to sit in between them for whatever little space Suguru had left to remain there. Words should mean little. Should brush themselves off of him like the water splashed by fishes scattered never had a chance to reach Satoru no matter the surprise [ wishful thinking? ] he had managed to install just offering this or that sonorous note. Words should mean little. Meant far too much to a man who lived off of them - realises easily how much Satoru tried to keep it all contained, together, yet doubts that this was done out of a certain reason.

Hard to believe someone who had left him with no word of acknowledgement of his own that he could grasp for and carry with him like the marks likely faded. Hard to believe someone who spent the better part of their togetherness just continuously hurling insults at him, thinking likely it won't matter, thinking likely he would forgive.

Laughable right? That he had already. " Is that so. " Recognised the sentence and implication but without any question added. Wouldn't matter, without staring out over the water, trying to find something in the distance blushing with the colours of a green-lit shore-line, drawing up and down like a painting, in smeared up discordant colours of green and red and yellow, autumn drawing to winter, drawing to spring, turning into summer, months passing as if nothing, seeing easily with the twins running to and fro. Good thing they met today. Good thing he offered today. Good thing that he left the girls within the cult to be looked after today. " Sure, I wouldn't have offered otherwise. " Words of lull and perceived perfection crafted together, placed in front of those with no brain and no understanding, to be plucked up from the table when all these little trinkets - one just like the other - had been scrutinized and analysed and treasure was to be seen as 'better' than the others before. Even though they were all discardable rabble, trash to be thrown away, one single nice word could sway the heart, make it grow and burst at the seams; that is at least what would happen any other place than here. 

Doesn't feel like playing games, pulling it out too far, so rises to a stand again. " I don't live far away, but maybe you know that. " ---Maybe you do not? Who knows, leaves it for him to decide the outcome to find a solution to the presented problem. Testing on his own when their test should be mutual at best. It's an assumption like any other; dropped like a glass bauble shattering on the ground, thought over not, in those immaculate eyes of the Honoured One, because why wouldn't he know? [ why wouldn't he know? ]. " It's quieter there too, nobody who can see us. "

Stops if Satoru doesn't follow right away now that the invitation had been given, tilting head to the side almost in manners long lost, years forlorn to reanimate them again for whatever it was worth lingering in the air between one another. I love you was such a stupid thing to say, churning his stomach now that he remembers the last time he had spilt all these contents--- Starts. Stops. Like the onset of a heart failure. " You can tell me whatever you want when we have a quieter surrounding, hm? "

acknowledgement of self-failings were just scattered parts of a sum. for the time, it'd felt nice and charitable to leave with his best intentions all bundled in his palms in meager sizes, tasks taken on like sweating out a fever or spitting up something spoiling his stomach and letting it all lead him by the nose in the promise of betterment after the woes, progress, happiness ; it was just splitting himself open, not knowing how to suture up the aftermath. i messed up, i'm messing up ... so what comes after that ? even a shot in the dark dead set on a bullseye was a limp bandaid fix, a guessed right answer. if he felt any feeling perpendicular to suguru's, saying so wouldn't have made him any happier to hear     not if he counted it as bullshit. counted satoru as insincere, stupidly mixed up, looking more for what little of the past still clung to the dark of his lashes than for the eyes beneath them. and what was worse than ... not knowing if he was wrong or not. if there were grounds to argue when the instinct for rebuttal that'd always made a second home up and down the channel of his throat, just . choked itself to silence, now. lumped tight, grated his voice to nothing. he'd gone biding time returning to form, restlessness passed from fists and fingers in plucking up missions for the hell of it ( and pausing, thumbing souvenir gifts, leaving empty handed every time ) easier to wash up the muck of a couple dozen cross city curses than it would've been to wedge himself back into place over there with no more certainty to offer than the last day he'd left.

a long leg swayed, water rippling at the tip of his shoe. a guy with space wrapped like a second skin'd never came away too many wounds to lick, and the ones at his collar faded back to colorless nothing     par for the course for shortlived stuff. eroding things, dams dislodging ; satoru'd slumped so far towards his left side's beam that he'd knock his temple for the silence sliced like butter, pulling bright eyes up over black lenses, surprise splashed in a whip across the drooped dull of his face. not quick enough to scoot, and fingers turned pink in the cooling air bit into the wood, tensed where they'd brushed, a short laugh clouded in a fog. the fish scattered, run off by the dip of his wet laces.

❝ i can only make up so many stories about what a slippery con you are. ❞ ( 's like you want us caught this way, bastard ) but, always so keenly aware. eyes always opened. there was nobody else around to note the damning proximity, the hands of the strongest gripping, fidgeting where he sat. something in his face cracked open, hairline fractured. caution like a blanket folding down his shoulders when he turns his head, looks off to the opposite end. ❝ if i want ? if you want. ❞