#tripleflames theo thread 01

[secondflame-archive]

masquerade ball starter for @petrokhelidon ft. Theo

Clive tries hard not to shuffle his feet where he is standing by his brother's side. Joshua, as the crown prince, is seated next to their parents, Clive stood beside him to simply serve as a presence, as the shield he is supposed to be, all of them watching as the guests slowly trickle into the ballroom. He also withstands the urge to adjust his mask for the fourth time this eve, already feeling his mother's judgment creep up on him each time he even manages to do so much as breathe in a way she might consider wrong.

One by one, sometimes in pairs, the guests in colorful attire and matching masks walk up to bow before them in greeting, and Clive can feel his shoulders locked with tension, back straight, doing his utmost to appear the way he is supposed to.

Joshua elbows him im the side at some point and Clive flinches, turning his head to scowl at his brother, who in turn just grins up at him and whispers: "Breathe, Clive. You're going to pass out at this rate."

Clive is thankful for the mask then, for the scowl he gives his brother is not something suitable to be seen by the public if they want to keep up any sort of regal appearance. But eventually he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment as the next person walks up to them. Joshua is right of course, there is seldom an occasion where he isn't. Maybe if Clive just relaxed a little he'd make it through this evening unscathed—

He opens his eyes just in time to watch a young man bow before them. His attire white, an intricate design of beautiful ornaments in shimmering thread placed all over his well tailored jacket, his mask carrying a matching swirl of patterns. He's taller than Clive, he thinks, if that can be judged accurately from a distance, his shoulders are wider, too.

Their eyes meet as the other man straightens himself back up, and for a moment, Clive thinks his gaze lingers, the stranger's lips even seem to curl up into a smile, it almost feels ... familiar. But soon enough he has to make way for the next couple of people.

However, Clive's eyes follow him as he turns and his mouth goes oddly dry when he sees that the backside of the man's attire is not just a solid flat of white with a seam in the middle, but rather it has a cut out bordered by lace, the ornaments revealing the working of his muscles as he moves.

Clive finds his feet start to move as if to follow him, an instinct so strong he has to actively fight it down and he near stumbles as he reins himself back in a moment later. "Clive?" Joshua's concerned tone pulls him back to the present and Clive has to lower his gaze as he rights himself. Once again the mask serves to save him from further embarrassment, hiding the flush now standing high on his cheeks, but the looks his brother and his parents give him still serve to make it deepen. However, his eyes instinctively seek out the other man in the crowd, thoughts racing.

... It's going to be a long night, isn't it?

[darksteelreign-archive]

The king feels Leviathan's presence return, feels very human confusion shift to an eikonic tension bristling between them, causing a surprisingly pleasant shiver to run down his spine. It's distracting in a way that has him focus more on the sensations caused by their contact rather than the pure matter of the task as it turns from pure necessity to a near biting kiss.

Amusement tugs at the corners of his lips at the sudden eagerness with which the young man meets him. Frankly, he is not averse to the feeling of grasping fingers in his hair, nor the sharp edge of teeth burying into his bottom lip when it comes. The sharp nip has him realize belatedly that the other Dominant may once again be tapping into Leviathan's powers as his lips turn chapped with it, his mouth suddenly feeling dry as if he's pulling the water not only from the bit Barnabas has taken in from the cup but from his very body.

He pulls back, his hand lifting from the other Dominant's throat to trail a thumb along his own lip, feeling the sting of a split, and sure enough, when he withdraws his hand back he finds a smear of of blood clinging to the pad of his thumb.

There is a tight feeling to his lips that he recognizes as the beginnings of dehydration most of all, the taste of copper mingling with the taste of the sea were it turned to pure aetheric energy, there is no other word for it.

Fascinating.

Barnabas wonders if the young man notices, if he is aware of the fact he could likely drain a body entirely of its water, make someone die of thirst by nothing but a touch, if even that at all. Perhaps he could even drown someone with nary a drop of water nearby, an intriguing thought.

"Hm?" The king makes a small sound in response to the question as it reaches him from far away. "Oh, her." He sounds decidedly more bored now that the conversation has shifted to the woman.

"She is resting in the room down the hall," he says eventually, leaning back to take in the young man's state, it already appears much improved, his gaze not as clouded, his face having gained a more healthy color, even without taking the persistent flush of his cheeks into account.

Perhaps he was wrong about the level of control the young man possesses concerning his power, seeing as priming has left him this winded, this weak. Wide green eyes meet him helplessly and while the king could easily order one of the servants to take care of him the king draws closer, the bed dipping under his weight as he sits. Turned towards the other Dominant, his free hand slips beneath his back, lifting him with ease. That hand shifts to the back of his head soon after, craddling the base of his skull, his hold unyielding.

He raises the cup to cracked lips, the touch of its rim near gentle against the skin. His tone however, is firm. "Drink," he orders and for a moment he thinks it is enough, seeing as the young man even reaches up to hold on to the cup. He makes to withdraw his own hand, but Leviathan shivers like a leaf in the wind still and the king can see the strain in the way he starts to crane his neck, but fails to move any other part of his body. He's trembling with his weakness, barely managing a task as simple as this. A true fledgling if he ever saw one.

Barnabas sighs when the water barely makes its way into the man's mouth, droplets of it pouring down his chin. The king grasps the cup firmer in his own hand then, pulling it back, ignoring the small sound of confusion and the whimper that follows from the other when he's being denied more.

The king takes a swig from the cup himself then, keeping the liquid in his mouth instead of swallowing. He sets the cup aside ere he leans into the other's space, his now free hand grasping the lower part of the young man's face to align their lips, his thumb helping to part the other's lips by putting gentle pressure against his chin.

He passes the water between them, the king a firm unyielding presence, authorative as he fits them together, methodical. His hand moves below the other's chin, his fingers tracing along his throat. Swallow. He orders wordlessly by brushing a thumb against the skin of his neck, and smiles against the other's lips when he feels his throat work beneath his fingertips.

Good.

[secondflame-archive]

His heart is pounding with nerves by the time they make it to the dancefloor, he can practically feel his mother's gaze on the back of his head, and when he briefly looks up after they get into position he finds his suspicions confirmed, but not only the Duchess, but also his father and of course his brother have their eyes on him as well, and he doesn't doubt there are quite a few more guests taking an interest in them, too.

"By the Flames..." he mutters under his breath, fighting the urge to run just after the first few tentative steps taken on the floor. But his dance partner's hand is steady where it holds on to his own, not faltering even when Clive's foot clumsily bumps against his in the very first spin. Clive looks down at their feet instinctively, knowing he shouldn't, willing his own to just move in the way he knows they can, he has practiced these steps countless times.

Clive's hand is guided more firmly to his partner's shoulder, the fabric of his jacket silken neath the touch of his nervous fingers. Clive feels himself flush, gaze wavering, eyes briefly straying back to his parents at the words, who he finds have been pulled into conversation by his brother.

That at least makes him breathe easier, until his breathig hitches as a touch alights on his hip and serves to pull his attention back to his partner, a spike in heartbeat following the near intimate touch and the look he is met with.

"No, no, my— the Duchess is just rightfully concerned as you can see." He indicates his clumsiness, brows furrowing behind his mask. A pause and then: " ...Thank you, for putting up with my stumbling." As if on cue, Clive finds himself falter and step on his partner's toes. Again. "Sorry..."

To say he is staring would be an understatement. His eyes hardly leave the man in the white attire, gaze only ever averted when his attention is pulled elsewhere by force. His brother smiling at him with a knowing look on his face that makes Clive even more nervous than he already is, fearing his mother might see the same and find a way to twist a noose out of it.

But still, he cannot keep his eyes from returning to the man in white, even the first bits of music and dancing don't hold his attention long, but when Clive finds himself looking where the man stood before, he finds the spot empty and only when Joshua nudges him again does Clive look up to find the man walk up to them, bowing once again to his parents before offering a hand to him which Clive feels the overwhelming urge to take before the other has even offered out the question.

He hears a sharp, exasperated gasp to his left, knowing it to have originated from the Duchess. He doesn't even dare to turn his head. His gaze finds the floor. His fingers curl into fists by his side, his lips press together in a tight line ere they part to decline.

"You may." Answers a voice not his own and Clive feels one of Joshua's hands push him forward not long after, causing him to stumble into taking the man's hand after all to keep from overbalancing. "My brother would be delighted to dance. Just... be wary of his feet."

Clive's eyes go wide. "Joshua—" He hisses. "I can't—"

"— leave my side. Yes, yes, your duty commands. But I am in no need of a shield right now, Clive. So, go."

Clive knows he should protest more than this, but his hand already tightens on the other man's on instinct. It almost weighs familiar in his hand, its weight and warmth soothing his nerves even when put on the spot like this.

It causes him to turn back to find the stranger's eyes. Up close he can see his eyes are of a striking pale green color, seeming to shimmer unlike anything he has ever seen before.

"I—" He croaks, then clears his throat, his voice now quieter than before. "M-My brother is right, I fear. About my feet lacking a certain... grace." His free hand finds the back of his neck. "I'm really not a skilled dancer. Are you certain—?"

[secondflame-archive]

To say he is staring would be an understatement. His eyes hardly leave the man in the white attire, gaze only ever averted when his attention is pulled elsewhere by force. His brother smiling at him with a knowing look on his face that makes Clive even more nervous than he already is, fearing his mother might see the same and find a way to twist a noose out of it.

But still, he cannot keep his eyes from returning to the man in white, even the first bits of music and dancing don't hold his attention long, but when Clive finds himself looking where the man stood before, he finds the spot empty and only when Joshua nudges him again does Clive look up to find the man walk up to them, bowing once again to his parents before offering a hand to him which Clive feels the overwhelming urge to take before the other has even offered out the question.

He hears a sharp, exasperated gasp to his left, knowing it to have originated from the Duchess. He doesn't even dare to turn his head. His gaze finds the floor. His fingers curl into fists by his side, his lips press together in a tight line ere they part to decline.

"You may." Answers a voice not his own and Clive feels one of Joshua's hands push him forward not long after, causing him to stumble into taking the man's hand after all to keep from overbalancing. "My brother would be delighted to dance. Just... be wary of his feet."

Clive's eyes go wide. "Joshua—" He hisses. "I can't—"

"— leave my side. Yes, yes, your duty commands. But I am in no need of a shield right now, Clive. So, go."

Clive knows he should protest more than this, but his hand already tightens on the other man's on instinct. It almost weighs familiar in his hand, its weight and warmth soothing his nerves even when put on the spot like this.

It causes him to turn back to find the stranger's eyes. Up close he can see his eyes are of a striking pale green color, seeming to shimmer unlike anything he has ever seen before.

"I—" He croaks, then clears his throat, his voice now quieter than before. "M-My brother is right, I fear. About my feet lacking a certain... grace." His free hand finds the back of his neck. "I'm really not a skilled dancer. Are you certain—?"

masquerade ball starter for @petrokhelidon ft. Theo

Clive tries hard not to shuffle his feet where he is standing by his brother's side. Joshua, as the crown prince, is seated next to their parents, Clive stood beside him to simply serve as a presence, as the shield he is supposed to be, all of them watching as the guests slowly trickle into the ballroom. He also withstands the urge to adjust his mask for the fourth time this eve, already feeling his mother's judgment creep up on him each time he even manages to do so much as breathe in a way she might consider wrong.

One by one, sometimes in pairs, the guests in colorful attire and matching masks walk up to bow before them in greeting, and Clive can feel his shoulders locked with tension, back straight, doing his utmost to appear the way he is supposed to.

Joshua elbows him im the side at some point and Clive flinches, turning his head to scowl at his brother, who in turn just grins up at him and whispers: "Breathe, Clive. You're going to pass out at this rate."

Clive is thankful for the mask then, for the scowl he gives his brother is not something suitable to be seen by the public if they want to keep up any sort of regal appearance. But eventually he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment as the next person walks up to them. Joshua is right of course, there is seldom an occasion where he isn't. Maybe if Clive just relaxed a little he'd make it through this evening unscathed—

He opens his eyes just in time to watch a young man bow before them. His attire white, an intricate design of beautiful ornaments in shimmering thread placed all over his well tailored jacket, his mask carrying a matching swirl of patterns. He's taller than Clive, he thinks, if that can be judged accurately from a distance, his shoulders are wider, too.

Their eyes meet as the other man straightens himself back up, and for a moment, Clive thinks his gaze lingers, the stranger's lips even seem to curl up into a smile, it almost feels ... familiar. But soon enough he has to make way for the next couple of people.

However, Clive's eyes follow him as he turns and his mouth goes oddly dry when he sees that the backside of the man's attire is not just a solid flat of white with a seam in the middle, but rather it has a cut out bordered by lace, the ornaments revealing the working of his muscles as he moves.

Clive finds his feet start to move as if to follow him, an instinct so strong he has to actively fight it down and he near stumbles as he reins himself back in a moment later. "Clive?" Joshua's concerned tone pulls him back to the present and Clive has to lower his gaze as he rights himself. Once again the mask serves to save him from further embarrassment, hiding the flush now standing high on his cheeks, but the looks his brother and his parents give him still serve to make it deepen. However, his eyes instinctively seek out the other man in the crowd, thoughts racing.

... It's going to be a long night, isn't it?