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[bardische]

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for Ravus

[bardische]

He's only been given a small outfit for this mission, and he understands why; they are not to be detected, in hopes of not drawing attack. But it makes him nervous nonetheless, especially when their main form of transit is a moderately reinforced trader's wagon. What armor they can wear has to be hidden beneath civilian clothing.

He'd prefer higher defenses for a charge so important. But he'd understood his Queen's concerns. This was the best strategy.

So was keeping the crown prince lightly bound. And unaware of the plan until now.

"I am General fon Ronsenburg, entrusted to move you safely to negotiations." It's no use keeping who he is secret; if the other knows anything of Dalmasca, he knows who Basch is. He also wants to be clear that he is no green soldier; he is aware of the importance of this meeting to his kingdom. "I intend to give you as much freedom as I can, but should you try to leave our custody, the mages will immobilize you. If it is not a problem, I can see to it your bonds are removed."

[disarming_prince]

Perhaps the man, the oft no longer recognized or recognizable heir of the long since conquered Tenebreaen throne, has some concept of the plan. He knows just what motivations the Dalmascans might have been given by Niflheim. If he was not being held anymore, he had suspicions. Who, after all, would turn over a general who had done such damage?

Ravus barely even looks up to acknowledge Basch, for why would he? Why should he care to?

"Do not pretend my comfort begins to figure into your considerations," Ravus dismisses. He's a prisoner and a political pawn as he has ever been. He cares not for the games they play with words.

[bardische]

Though none of it reaches his face, Basch feels his insides constrict at the way Ravus dismisses his offer. Those years in prison do not haunt him as badly as they used to, but they are there nonetheless. He held onto hope as a way to survive, but his heart knows the feeling of defeat he hears in Ravus. Especially if he thinks too long on Landis's fate.

But he also know he's in no position to comfort this man. He may as well respect both their dignity as well as he can. Even if word games are the farthest possible thing from Basch's mind.

"Do you wish to walk or ride?"

[disarming_prince]

Clearly the man does not intend to offer him a chocobo. The very fact that he could go riding off on his own would be unacceptable. Not, of course, that he could ride. With but one arm to his name and no familiarity to a bird it would be an impossible task.

"You surely could not trust me on my own were I to walk. You would have to have guards around me, and they would have to be extra attentive which would be draining. It seems a foolish gesture when it seems unlikey you mean to deliver upon it."

[bardische]

"You will have guards around you either way, yes, but there is a trade-off in speed. You may also ride in the wagon. If you do not choose I will choose for you."

He won't rise to the bait of an argument, which is easy for him because he is not much for arguments. Truly, though, keeping his charge in as much physical comfort as possible is beneficial; he needs to be presented in good shape, and frankly, despondent as his is, keeping his blood moving and his mood as good as it can be is beneficial should they need to react quickly.

That's the responsible reason, anyway. He often has a soft spot for offering prisoners what autonomy he can, if they do not present an increased risk to themselves or others.

[disarming_prince]

What even is a good mood in this situation? Is he supposed to be happy that he is captive? That he will be taken to this neutral territory for negotiations? How hard to believe.

"We both know that is not how captivity works, General. The will of the captive is not relevant."

[bardische]

No, Basch knows better than that...though it's the sort of putting his foot in his mouth he knows he's prone to. Just...an urge to decrease unnecessary misery.

Still, he knows he can only do so much, and he doesn't blame Ravus at all for being skeptical.

"Your well-being is part of my charge. Very well. We will walk for this leg." He motions at the other guards, and the nod, finding formation as the faux caravan begins. Exercise is good for restless minds, and a tired prisoner will hopefully sleep more soundly.

[disarming_prince]

“It would seem your charge comes upon you months too late,” Ravus muttered under his breath, shrugging in a way that emphasized the lack on his left side.

It was a petty complaint indeed. The damage done to the arm with the fire spells had been justly dealt in battle, one he was leading against Basch’s own nation. And when he had been captured the healers on Dalmasca’s side had done their best to save the arm, but as things had been so drawn out and Ravus so stubborn, the wound had gone bad. The loss had been the only way to save his life in the end, not that he had been glad of it.

But at least his legs still functioned, though his balance was still a thing of question. Sure, he had been held far mores respectfully than he would have thought fitting for an enemy general, but he had still been that. An enemy. One who had spilled blood. And given that no one in Dalmasca seemed to know, and no one in Nilfheim wished to acknowledge, Ravus’s noble birth… Well, a standard cell had been agreeable enough. The space had hardly been enough for suitably maintaining his body to his old standards, or walking far enough to master the change in his balance.

That did not mean he was not about to try. If nothing else his family was stubborn. And while his status as the remaining Nox Fleuret might be a tightly guarded secret, everyone knew that ‘General Ravus Leonis’ (and oh how bitter it was to be granted a false name based on the sword representing his status had always tasted in his mouth) was quite stubborn in his own right.

He would walk until they bid him stop. Even if he was tripping more than he might have in the past.

[bardische]

Basch is rapidly of the same opinion. Not that he could have done a whole lot. The situation would have been tricky, given Ravus's past, Basch's position, and the delicate state of Dalmasca. Basch holds no ill-will toward him for leading the charge from a foreign nation, but he understands the political optics of it. He does not, however, realize the loss of the arm was another emotional wound Ravus holds.

Which is why, now, as he notices the asynchronous nature of limbs, the occasional stumble, all he reads it as is a cell too small, and another thing to consider in prison reform, should they get the chance. Or maybe it's a chance he needs to make.

So he matches pace, and doesn't draw attention to the increasing tripping. But when it gets bad enough, he calls his men to halt for a rest and a round of water and food.

"You'll ride in the wagon the next leg," he says. If the other protests, fine, but he saw that offering choice got them nowhere.

[disarming_prince]

In another situation Ravus happily would have protested. Eagerly would have even. Because that was just the nature of the man. But he was so tired now. So frustrated with the infirmity he could not yet compensate for. Thus, when the man proclaimed the next choice, Ravus just nodded.

He was far too tired.

“As you say. You do not wish me to slow you down I assume.”

[bardische]

"That would be a sound tactical reason." It's not his, but he's not going to give room to argue.

He offers an arm to Ravus to get up into the wagon, giving his men another hand signal. They'll take chocobo from here.

[disarming_prince]

Yes, it would be a sound tactical reason. But that doesn't mean that it's why Basch is doing it, and Ravus knows that.

"Yes, I would hate to delay you on your march to return me to those who slaughtered my mother," Ravus grumbles as he braces his whole right arm against Basch's offered one to step up into the carriage. "It would be horrible of me to consider doing so, would it not?"

[bardische]

Basch is deeply quiet at that. He knows it's not meant at him personally, it just...hits close to home. He's quiet through helping Ravus into the carriage -- glad the other takes his help -- and steps up after to make sure the other has access to water as needed. He doesn't bother trying to bind him; the carriage is surrounded, and not going fast enough to do major damage if the other leaves.

As he goes to return outside, he pauses. "I know my word means little, but if sparing you that reunion did not cost my country its safety, I would gladly release you."

[disarming_prince]

"You presume this course of action your queen has been fooled into will win your country any safety. Lady Lunafreya of Tenebrea believed that, were she to abide by the rules her conquerors laid down, she and her people would be safe. And surely we have all heard tell of what happened there."

But those oaths had not been given to her. They had been given to Ravus. Should he behave, should he do what they wish, his sister and his people would be safe. And so Ravus Leonis had been forged into a weapon, and the son of the Nox Fleuret line to be left to be forgotten.

[bardische]

He's quiet at that, pausing at the threshold, weighing if he should keep this to himself or not.

"My home country fell, while others who assimilated quietly kept their autonomy and the lives of their people. Dalmasca has tried to hold it's own on military might thus far. Too many are still dying, and we do not want a generation enmeshed in war. My queen is not a fool, and we will raise arms again if terms are not kept. But we have to try. No one else should go through what Landis or Tenebrea did. No one should have to grow up parentless with only the option of being a soldier."

Basch was a weapon too, or maybe a shield. He'd accepted his fate a long time ago. But he didn't wish it for the youth he trained, or the children he saw on so many streets.

[disarming_prince]

Yes, Ravus was aware of what this particular general was supposed to be like. Who he was supposed to be. What his history was.

"A man such as you, with the history you have, I would think you less willing to play their games. But I see you chose to be tamed by the hand of your new queen. You lack the fire to fight, to protect."

And with that disdainful comment, Ravus settles into his seat as best he can.

[bardische]

Ah well, nothing he hasn't heard before. He isn't the sort of man who needs to defend his pride, so he shrugs. "Perhaps you are right." And then he's gone, mountain a chocobo, and they increase their pace.

It's good riding, and they don't need to slow often. So they go until it's time to camp. He doesn't wake their hostage, though he does peel back the flap once or twice to check if he's awake, and sets food just inside.

He'll take watch, just like any of his men. It's near the end of his shift when the commotion starts, shouting behind him. They've got wards on the camp, of course, so he isn't worried so much as discerning.

Until an enchanted arrow, bright with mage fire, pierces too close to the wagon. That shouldn't have gotten through, and immediately he's calling orders, pressing fast to get to the wagon. They can't lose Ravus, and more important, Ravus is still partly bound, and secured in the caravan. If soemthing happens, he won't have a chance.

[disarming_prince]

Indeed, if something happens he won't have a chance. Ravus wouldn't even care, would he? Sure, fire is a bad way to go, but he had already shown his lack of care as to where his life went from here.

And then the door is being thrown open. Ravus raises an eyebrow.

"Very secure perimeter there."

[bardische]

"You can critique my leadership later. We need to move. Can you ride?"

He's already undoing Ravus's binds. He doesn't want to lose the man, but he wants him dead even less.

[disarming_prince]

"I assure you that I am more than capable of multitasking," Ravus assures the other man. He can critique and ride.

"I can ride. My balance has not suffered enough to not handle a bird. But I will not be able to direct it as easily."

[bardische]

Well, at least he isn't too rattled, if he can quip.

Basch just nods, getting the binds off and offering an arm to help him up. He hadn't meant it as a jibe at balance, only a question of skill and and stamina.

"Your bird will follow mine. We go."

Except an arrow pierces the wagon's side, and immediately the heat of flame blooms.

[disarming_prince]

What is the point of being rattled? There's no value to it. He was battle hardened, so he was not going to be shaken by all of this.

He doesn't even flinch as the arrow lands so close to them. There is a little jolt of something around his hand which had already come to lay on Basch's skin. But it's gone just as fast. Ravus ignores it, ducks low, and tackles Basch right out through the open door of the wagon. There. That gets them outside with minimal burns. You're welcome.

rises from the dead on this one. it sure has been a month

[bardische]

He lets out a startled sound, when Ravus lays something on his skin, and stronger yet when he's tackled out.

He says nothing. Rolls the other man and gets to his own feet while offering a hand up, eyes searching.

The camp is ablaze. It's chaos, and hard to tell who is who. The chocobos are still penned. He'll free them, and they'll leave that way.

"This way," he says, taking Ravus's forearm. "You first. I'll steer." He frees the other chocobos, then gets to his knees, offering laced hands as a step onto the bird.

[disarming_prince]

Getting just short of dragged along to the birds is frustrating, but he supposes there's no point to arguing. And he even swallows his pride at having to get a hand up. Which is clearly kind of him. He mounts up and goes his best to tangle his hand into the reins to stabilize himself a bit more. Surely the man doesn't mean sharing a bird... Surely not.

[bardische]

He can't leave Ravus on his own, not as a prisoner and not when he doesn't know how stable the man's riding is. The latter matters more to him. It's hardly a beat before he swings up behind him, oblivious to their closeness outside putting a stabilizing arm around the other. He scans their attackers, but its fire and chaos, and so he clicks in his throat and kicks lightly, urging the chocobo on. There's a safe house east of here, and they can zigzag through some of the desert.

[disarming_prince]

Ravus is too dignified and proper of a man to yelp in shock over a man mounting up behind him. Wrapping himself around Ravus. Which is a reasonable thing to do when sharing a bird.

Which doesn't help with the fact that there is this strange tingling running over Ravus's skin. He hates it.

"Is this bird even any fast?"

[bardische]

"Faster than we are on foot," Basch grunts, attention on their weak flank and the trajectory of another fire spell. When Ravus does not take the reins, Basch reaches around to grasp them, clicking instructions to the bird while kicking its sides lightly.

The bird breaks into a canter, and Basch instinctively moves his thighs to stabilize the other, like he's a new recruit or a civilian.

[disarming_prince]

That's perhaps true, if the thing was carrying but one person. Who knows if that is true now.

"I still cannot fathom why you are so intent upon my safety," he grumbles as Basch gets the bird moving.

[bardische]

Basch has trained double. He's had to rescue too many people not to.

"You are my charge, and it is not your fault you are here," he says, once again missing that the acerbic tone is how Ravus deals with this situation.

[disarming_prince]

And Ravus, of course, was never expected to do rescue duties. So of course he wasn't trained to ride double.

"Is it not? I traded my life for hers," he says, his voice soft and pensive. If he had resisted... But alas, he had failed her.

[bardische]

"It matters not; you are my charge and I will protect you within my ability."

It was not worth arguing beyond that; he understood sacrificing one's life for someone else's, ad he would be a fool and a hypocrite to try to talk that down. But it did not affect his own duty.

"But I respect your commitment and your obligation. Still, are you not more use to her alive?"

Talking helps. It's a distraction. But he's scanning the horizon, expertly steering the bird in the direction of the safe house.

[disarming_prince]

"One cannot be of use to the dead by being alive," Ravus hisses out as they ride. "And my nation will never forgive me that fact. It is not the sons of the line that matter. It was always the daughters of the Nox Fleuret."

And there, he supposes, is that useless secret out in the air between them. Ravus was no mere general being demanded for a hostage exchange. He was a prince, and perhaps key to control being maintained over Tenebrae. No wonder he was so bitter about being turned over to the nation who had been the death of his mother. She had been no incidental lost in the war by accident, she had been actively executed. And his disdain for the Nilfheim superiors had a lot to do with the loss of a sister, not just a rightful queen.

[bardische]

His grip tightens in sympathy, even as he drives them away from the chaos.

“I am sorry for your loss.” He understood what it was to lose someone to war.

It takes him a moment, busy as he is, to link together the information Ravus has revealed. His own queen has lost family in politics for the throne. It makes his chest ache. He wants to intervene somehow, but — what is the cost when nations are at stake? and what does he know of politics. He is a soldier and nothing more.

Still he finds himself saying, “I am not sure my lady has your side of the story. You should speak with her. If it is advantageous to keep you in our country instead, she will be open to it.”

[disarming_prince]

"No one has my side of the story," Ravus dismisses. "Ravus Nox Fleuret died alongside his mother years ago. To all knowledge, the line died with my sister."

Which was not at all accurate of course. He kept it silent for her. He was willing to be dead for her. And now it would help no one.

"They need me, to put a new puppet in charge. Perhaps to try and force your Queen into a marriage into the empire by using me. There are many reasons to not let me survive this trip."

[bardische]

He may not be a politician but he knows his queen. She must be missing some piece of this; he thinks she would have told him Ravus was a prince, and he knows she does not wish to marry. Someone is playing her.

“Perhaps you could be lost on this trip. A fatality of this ambush.”

But — “Would you know how to disappear?”

It isn’t worth helping him escape if the man is just going to let himself wind up dead.

[disarming_prince]

Someone was playing them all. This is not strange. Ravus knows that the Emperor's advisor, one Ardyn Izunia, was quite cunning. If there was a hand moving pieces it woudl be his.

As for knowing how to disappear, Ravus laughs. Of course he does not know that. He is unarmed, literally in two manners. No, he could not survive out here. But he had already made it quite clear he did not care to.

"Of course I would," he lies, confidently, blatantly.

[bardische]

Basch doesn't believe him. He can't say why, but he feels it deep in his gut. He would need to get word to the Queen, would need to give her time to sort this out, but there were other Guards, and others with a better hand in politics. She trusted him to handle those things that were messy, complex, that she did not need to hear.

He'd already made his decision. He would disappear with Ravus, at least until the other was properly settled. And for that they'd need to get out of this country and the adjacent ones.

"How far can you walk without deep rest?"

Because he's judging when to lose the chocobo, perhaps with false evidence of one or both of their demises attached.

[disarming_prince]

"I am not certain," Ravus admitted. If he had been asked before his injury and capture, he could easily have given a good metric.

But that had been a while ago, and the guards upon him in his captivity had been by no means gentle. Nor his meals full. So he had no good measure of what he was capable of now.

[bardische]

It's a valid answer, and Basch is not frustrated, just recalculating. He does wonder at the effects of prison -- his own imprisonment had not been kind.

Close enough to somewhere they can get supplies then. "We ride hard, and then we will walk." He pushes the bird into a canter, gripping Ravus.

It is a hard ride, for near an hour, before they reach an outpost. He loops it twice, checking they were not followed and that it is safe. Then he swings down, pulls Ravus off like he is little more than a child or a recruit, and fishes red clay from the safe house supplies to smear ont he bird. He tears part of his own uniform to leave with the bird, and slaps it back toward how they came.

He watches, out of the corner of his eye, to see if Ravus tries to run or if he stays put. Either are alright.

[disarming_prince]

The movement of the bird, along with a strong and solid weight behind him, lulls Ravus into an unexpected (and honestly much needed) doze. He doesn't wake until he feels Basch move from behind him, and that is a sudden jerking back to full consciousness. He would likely have fallen off of the bird's back if it were not for Bash immediately hauling him down.

Finding his balance is harder than he imagined after that, his legs not adjusting to solid, immobile ground as quick as it once did. He does manage to balance himself soon enough, and is left staring as Basch acts.

"Do you truly believe clay smeared into feathers will be mistaken for spilled blood?" he asks, incredulous. If they caught the bird surely the game would be up.

[bardische]

He noted, silently, that Ravus settled and dozed as they rode. Perhaps something to use again if he needed to. Basch understood; sometimes being so keyed up, the only way sleep came was physical exhaustion and a lulling activity.

"I believe it can fool at a distance, and a few seconds saved often turns a battle. It will also suggest we went east to the marshes where the clay comes from instead of north here. Besides. That chocobo bites."

[disarming_prince]

That was more forethought than Ravus had expected of the other man. Which was probably impolite and wrong on his side. But he hardly cares about that.

"As do I," Ravus mumbles. Though he doubts he can do the same sort of damage as the bird.

[bardische]

Basch is not easily offended, and he prefers to be thought of little than to be over considered. Still, he is good at his job.

He does smile, though, as he works to get the magical guards on the safehouse open, and with it the concealed door.

"Than I shall endeavor to keep my hands safely away from the both of you."

Door revealed, he holds it open. "We rest, and eat."

[disarming_prince]

"You have done poorly at avoiding that," he says with a shrug.

But then he steps past Basch. He's going to allow this, for now. He steps in and looks around, considering the space he is supposed to, in theory, be safe in.

"And you believe this place secure?"

[bardische]

Perhaps he had. He was starting to think he'd done poorly with this entire mission. But all he could do was adjust and push forward.

"It is," he agrees, closing the door and restoring the wards. "There is old magic here; we will not be found while it is shut, but it is not wise to stay long."

The space is small, one central room with a small stove, a single modest sized bed, a few chairs. There's a bathroom off to one side.

"Take the bed and rest. I will make food and stand watch until we switch."

[disarming_prince]

Old magic? What would that even mean? Ravus sighs and he looks around the space to consider. The bed was... singular. But it was hardly like they were going to share.

"If there is magic warding this place from knowledge, why would there be shifts for watching?"

It's just a logical question from his point of view.

[bardische]

"They cannot see in, but we can see out."

Why would he not want the added intelligence?

"Also, solider's habit. Go sleep."

[disarming_prince]

So why would they bother looking out? Well, Ravus supposes he doesn't care as much.

"You assume I would be capable of rest after such paranoid behavior," Ravus notes.

At least on the chocobo he had been warm and the movement of the bird had been soothing.

For Olivine

[bardische]

[ This month was the most pleasant he can remember of his adult life. Perhaps some is the mate bond, making him heady and pleased whenever he is near Olivine. But he thinks its more than that. He's getting used to life here, and people are friendly with him, and every day he takes his meals with Olivine and gets to take the other back to their shared room. It is a peace he hasn't dreamed of in a long time.

They make preparations for his next transformation. It makes him uneasy, having to consider if he's misjudged and something goes wrong, but Olivine's magic is strong, and he knows now he has had no desire to hurt his mate. He's more concerned about lashing out at someone he perceives as attacking Olivine.

His apprehension grows as the full moon approaches. He chooses to stay back one morning and check the locks and restraints they've installed in his room. That morning as Olivine departs, he finds himself thinking of his wolf strength and how roughly they coupled last time he was transforming. He grows hard with the thought and has to cool himself down. Just an effect of the transformation to come, he thinks.

But the thoughts only grow, accompanied by sharpening teeth, the enlarging of his cock, and his ears and tail returning. It's rapid, painful, but a sweet kind of pain that makes him pant and howl. He paces, waiting for Olivine to return, and as he does fantasies plague him.

Biting, bruising, pounding against a wall until the other is so limp he cannot move. It makes him mad, but below it, it terrifies him.

He debates just slipping away, but Olivine would come after him. He debates finding the other, but he is too transformed. But the longer he waits, the more he fears he is going to slam the other into a wall the moment he walks in.

When, in frustration, he turns and slams a fist against the table, he no longer is willing to leave this to fate. Features he damned, he flees into the hall, pulling on their bond to find Olivine, and then leave. He has to protect the other...slightly more than he needs to mate with him. ]

[massochism]

[It's a sweet and lingering month. Day by day, the two settle into a routine, together at most every juncture. And the people take to Basch easily, of course—he might notice some envy when Olivine isn't looking, a quiet regret that suggests at least some of them might know of their relationship... but certainly others just seem to wish they had as much time with His Holiness as Basch does.

Preparations are easy too; the priest may not have experience in restraints and the like, but he's not the least bit worried when he knows Basch is far more paranoid about his own strength than he is. He does dislike the idea of just leaving him in this room, restrained and transformed, but it's better than the alternative. Anything is better than the alternative.

The day that Basch chooses to stay back is one he expects to be excruciatingly long, but he makes no argument against the security. When he leaves alone, it feels odd; when he finds himself in conversation, it feels odd. Some ask about the blond, warmth in their gazes, and at least he can assure them that he's just fine, that he had other obligations as he sometimes does.

Something changes, and he can't exactly define when. A little tingle of sensation grazes across his neck and shoulder, where the mating bite had been—it's faded to nothing on his skin, but he can still feel it, sometimes. That feeling brings with it the wish that the mark was permanent, the thought of his skin gently marred and discolored as a display of where he belongs. Maybe he'll talk to Basch about it after the transformation is over...

But his thoughts don't subside, either. Distracted, he manages to get through most of his daily tasks before the feeling of want is debilitating. It's embarrassing how many times he realises his mind has wandered—enough that, as he's considering what it would be like if Basch used those restraints on him, or if he drove him into the wall, the local he's speaking to expresses worry that perhaps the priest is feeling under the weather, and if he is, he should take the time to rest. Cheeks hot, Olivine thanks them and promises he'll get extra rest.

Instead, his first stop is somewhere a little out of sight; an empty space used for festival preparations that goes mostly ignored when those aren't happening. It's just a small side building near the church he can hide in for a moment and either take care of or wait out his throbbing cock. A few of the common props are still set up, and he leans on one to catch his breath. Panting, he presses a hand against his belly as if to soothe it, lost in the thought of Basch pounding against it from the inside, pinning him down and taking again and again and again until he can't even think of moving...

His body aches with yearning, arousal almost enough to risk soaking through his pants. It takes every ounce of rain he still has to ignore the instinct to shove them down, to at least dig his fingers into the pliant, aching depths of his body or wrap them around his cock. God, why is it so much more intense this time? Is that the mating bond? These are among his chief thoughts when Basch is coming to find him, the light tug of their bond resounding back with at least some of that intensity. At least there aren't many people in the church today, so the other will be able to maneuver without being spotted fairly easily.]

[bardische]

[ The thought has crossed his mind, too, taking Olivine back to the room they've made just in case and using the restraints for a very different purpose, holding the other caught and ready as Basch takes him.

He's flushed from arousal and shame. He's in a daze, and it's all he can do to follow the gentle tug of their bond, pulling the hood of the cloak he thought to pull on down over his face. A single person greets him, but he waves them off, claiming illness.

The bond flares, and he squints at a building he's never been in. It doesn't matter. He pushes inside, and when he sees Olivine there, smells how hot and wet the other is, he very nearly does lift him and shove him against a wall. Instead he stands rigid as a statue, eyes dilated, trembling as he clenches his fists. ]

Olivine [ he growls, want and anger and shame vying in his voice. ] I -- have to go. Now. I...I'm sorry.

[ The cloak has slid back, and his arousal is abundantly clear in all its monthly glory. ]

[massochism]

[the door opens and Olivine freezes, more out of surprise than anything. after all, people usually don't come here, so he was sure he could just stay a little while and—

and Basch steps into view. relief floods in first, followed by another pang of hunger, heartbeat picking up.]

Basch? [his head tips up to look at him, brows furrowing at those words. to go... it's the last thing he wants, obviously. but for a second he considers it.] What happened...?

[the question is answered as his gaze drifts over the other, down to where his arousal stands, proud and demanding as ever. breath catching, he swallows back the well of saliva on his tongue.]

... don't go. [softer, his cheeks hot as he steps forward.] If it's just that, you don't need to go, Basch. I want it, too. I'm your mate, remember?

[bardische]

[ Hearing Olivine plead so softly makes Basch's throat dry, at once aching for his love and wildly turned on by the thought of being begged -- and then giving what is asked.

Olivine steps closer, and it takes all of Basch's willpower to step back. Because he wants to tear his clothes off, press his teeth to every inch of skin. Claim his mate and care for him and--

His voice is tight, hunger and anguish warring on his face. ] Olivine I -- I want to ruin you. I want to leave you bruised and scabbed and so weak I have to carry you back to our den, and I want you unable to walk until I'm human again.

[ A whine creeps into his voice, apology and wild, firey need and overwhelming onslaught. ]

It was never like this. I -- I should go. [ But there's a question in it this time, eyes meeting Olivine's. If the other gives permission, he will be helpless to resist. ]

[massochism]

[The first thought he has as Basch explains why he thinks he should go is who cares? But he doesn't want to seem blase or reckless, much less make Basch feel foolish, so he bites the words back even as the suggestion sinks in bone deep, kindling the need already burning there.]

Basch.

[He can hear that question, and it means a few things. One, that his need runs just as deep as Olivine's, and two, that he trusts the priest to make this decision and, by extension, trusts himself to not go too far—not beyond his promise, anyway. He doesn't think Basch would hesitate to stop if he actually sounded scared, either.

So he steps forward again, an answer as much as the words he's about to say, as the way his hands rise to cradle his wild wolf's face.]

Any way you want me, I want too. You can already smell how much I do, can't you? It makes me so happy that you want to do so much.

[bardische]

[ His eyes widen, his ears flattening slightly in surprise and restraint as Olivine cradles his face. His nostrils flare at the comment on his smell, and sure enough, Olivine is even more heated than he was before Basch's admission. ]

Yes [ He rasps, barely above a whisper. ] I can smell you. I don't -- It makes me glad and desirous you want but -- I'm frightened.

[ There it was. Frightened it would be too much, that he'd go too far, that he'd hurt or lose Olivine. But the images of tying the other up, of bending him into precarious positions and rutting hard, letting them both pant dazed in the glow of his knot, of pushing his body hard are creeping back in.

He places a padded hand over Olivine's, turning his sunken face to kiss the palm. And then to bite it, a whine vibrating against where his sharp canines just barely pierce skin. ]

[massochism]

[his thumbs stroke Basch's cheek, expression changing very little as he explains. it's more or less what he would have expected—worrying over truly harming him or some such. silly, really, but he does understand.]

You don't need to be frightened. Not with me.

[he can handle anything the other wants, he's sure of it. Basch would never really harm him. and that little bite only goes to show, the scrape of canines against his skin breaking just enough to raise little red marks.

it makes him lean in more, until he's actually able to press against the taller man some.]

People don't usually come here, but... we should probably try to get somewhere a little more secure, if we can.

[not just if Basch can, honestly. they're working against both of their libidos now, and it's not likely to end well.]

[bardische]

[ His eyes meet Olivine's, sad and sullen, much the way they did when they first met. Of course he wasn't frightened of Olivine. He was frightened of himself, and of Olivine's trust and kindness. But nothing had gone wrong thus far, and the truth was, he was helpless to resist what Olivine wanted. It had been true before the bond, but now it was near impossible, an ache deep inside him he could not ignore.

And he knew, without any trace of doubt, that Olivine wanted this. ]

If I take you into the hall, I likely will not get you to our chambers before I fuck you [ he admits quietly, padded hands very lightly grazing the other, letting their bodies touch where Olivine presses into him. ]

And there is more to play with here. [ Breathed out as a question and a promise, waiting for the other's persmission. ]

[massochism]

More to play with...

[Olivine is a little surprised to hear that, as it's not something he'd been thinking about. the idea is plainly intriguing though, and he tries to stop himself from being too overly enthusiastic. after all, a lot of this is for much different uses...]

Then, please show me what you're thinking of.

[he's happy to follow the lead here, already moving to unclasp his clothing and slip it off (or at least down). granted, he wouldn't stop Basch from ripping at it either—something he knows, no doubt, by now.]

[bardische]

[ Some of it is that Basch hasn’t entirely shown his hand yet, as far as how much he knows how to do from home, and some of it is the transformation and mating bond egging him on.

And Basch is trying so hard to be good, to wait for permission and to please, even if all he wants is to shred Olivine’s clothes and rut him into a wall. He watches, still and patient, as Olivine strips, giving himself to Basch in a way that still makes him disbelieving.

He doesn’t move yet, but he can feel his thoughts getting foggier, his restraint wavering with every passing breath. ]

If I restrain you, can your magic still stop me if…?

[ If he goes too far ]

[massochism]

[the mere suggestion gets his blood pumping ever harder, twitching and shifting his legs in a telltale sign that Olivine is having some trouble restraining himself, too.

God, he wants to know everything Basch could do to him, all at once. but they have time, he reminds himself. his whole transformation is ahead of them, and the other has already made it clear he's intending to keep his mate worn out the whole time.

his voice is light and breathy, anticipatory.]

I won't let you do anything you'll regret. Even if I'm restrained.

[it will make some things harder, but the priest has never actually been tied to movement when it comes to weaving magic.]

[bardische]

[ Basch's breath comes shaky. He can feel the way Olivine melts as his suggestion, can smell the other's arousal only increasing.

Finally the fear subsides enough that desire takes over. He crushes Olivine to him, shoving his tongue demandingly into the other's mouth before pulling back to bite his lip. In another moment he's lifted him like he weighs nothing, setting him on a bulky wooden frame that's about waist height and covered in a thick storage cloth. He squeezes the other hard, breath heavy, then parts. ]

Anything you don't want to rip, take off.

[ He steps away, finding rope. It isn't the soft kind for doing this sort of thing, but some part of him is aware Olivine will like the bite of it. He returns, pulling Olivine to the edge of the support, then stepping around the back. He pulls his wrists behind him, starting to weave the rope around them. It's slow going, his padded hands not as capable of fine motor skill, but he dips his head, biting hard into Olivine's shoulder where their first mating bite had been.

He's so hard that it throbs, knees weak with it. Setting Olivine up is teasing himself, and with the other's flesh in his mouth he nearly gives up the fantasy and simply bends him forward to fuck.

Not quite, though. ]

[massochism]

[abruptly, he's pulled in against Basch and his noises are muffled into the taller man's mouth, tongue meeting tongue and urging it further until he pulls back to bite the priest's lip. it has him rocking into the sensation, only to reach up and grasp those broad shoulders as he's lifted up.

the frame is a little cold, even through the thick cloth, but he barely notices when he's too busy moaning in response to that squeeze.]

Alright.

[there isn't much left to remove, at least. and by the time Basch is back with the rope he's slipped out of his underthings and settled on the support. strong hands pull him exactly where he's wanted then, and he gives a soft noise at the comfortable stretch of his arms. rope scrapes gently against his skin as it's woven, thoughts taken away completely when the blond dips in to bite into his shoulder.

the resulting cry is sharp and loud as ever, body trembling as he presses up into that ache, hands and wrists shifting impatiently where they're held. something about not knowing what the other fully intends to do makes this even more arousing, exciting in a way he can't put to words.]

Bas—ch... nngh...

[God, he's sure he's going to start dripping on this cloth soon.]

[bardische]

[ His eyes rake over Olivine, nude and waiting for him, clearly already hungry for whatever Basch is going to give him. It makes him whine with need, but flinch a little too. He's afraid, still, of how much Olivine trusts him. Of how roughly he wants to use the other.

But he has to trust Olivine. The other has never lied to him or overstepped his own limits, and right now Basch has to trust that leash will be good enough, because he can feel his own control slipping. The mate bond is driving him to singlemindedness, even fears of being overheard or leaving a mess going far from his head.

Olivine cries so beautifully into that bite, a mimic of their mate bond, and Basch almost spears him right here. Not yet though. Panting, he guides one length of the rope to Olivine's ankle, keeping his back pulled down and his leg wrapped around the furniture. Then the other, so he's pulled open and held pinned all at once.

Basch is panting by now. He fumbles to get his own clothing off -- hot, so hot he's suffocating -- but snarls in frustrating, shredding it in his claws. And then he's on Olivine, raking his claws down the other's back as he thrusts against his hole, biting hard on the other side of his neck. There's no patience there, and he wants to feel Olivine struggle. Against his bonds, against the sensation. ]

[massochism]

[there's a brief touch of something like terror as Basch guides the ropes to his ankles, pushing him down onto his chest while holding him open. it's embarrassing, something he shouldn't want, shouldn't like, shouldn't—

claws rake down his back and drag away all of that uncertainty, the learned shame. God, it feels so good... pale skin reddens easily and the sting has him squirming impatiently, alongside the thrust of the blond's hips against his hole.]

Nnghaaugh— [his toes curl as he pulls against those ropes, creaking roughly against delicate skin while the bite otherwise keeps him in place, shuddering.] God, I missed you... hurry...

[never mind that they were separated for like, maybe three hours. there's also truth in that he'd missed this roughness, the kind that has only shown itself when Basch is transformed or transforming.]

[bardische]

[ He feels that terror and nearly stops -- it's his worst fear, and he has no idea how he's misread so badly.

But even as it registers, it shifts to pure aching bliss, and it's like it drives him forward, like he knows what Olivine wants without even thinking. He whines into that direction, into that admission of yearning.

He isn't gentle; there's no real ramp up. He holds Olivine hard enough to bruise, claws digging into skin, and fucks him hard and fast, enough that the heavy piece of furniture groans and threatens to inch across the floor.

He's after...something, attention desperately on Olivine even as he lets out a low, choked off howl into the other's shoulder, teeth still tight there. He feels...alive. Hungry. Possessive. Desperate for approval. ]

[massochism]

[His hands shift a of to reach for Basch, to hold him and focus on something that isn't the bone-shaking certainty that he wants nothing less than all of this. Bound, he's unable to get that—and so he just cries out sweetly as teeth dig into delicate skin, a fresh wave of pleasure and need tearingb through him.]

Haagh—ungh...!!

[rope bites into his skin with every thrust, creaking faintly as the set piece lifts just a tiny bit and clacks back against the ground. Claws bite and prickle little droplets of blood over his flesh, wonderful little sensations made more sharp by the way Basch fucks into him. Never, not once in all his years, had Olivine ever thought he could feel this way—that he would want to give everything just to stay with one person, could find himself someone who actually saw him.]

Basch... nnghaah! My—mate... oh, God, more—!

[a bead of saliva pools in his tongue and drips down onto the heavy cover he's bound over, body trembling with want. It always feels like he's perfectly fit to the werewolf, but right now especially, it's like he's molding him into that perfect shape, ruining him for anyone else.]

Nmmph... you're really going to... breed me, one of these days...

[is that actually possible? Who knows, but right now he would be ecstatic if it happened.]

[bardische]

[ He would have known Olivine wanted more even without those pleas, but he still growls at hearing them. He feels, too, the incredulity and bone-deep contentment of wanting to be with Olivine forever, of feeling wanted and seen claimed, and he's determined to please his mate until his last breath.

Hearing Olivine affirm he's doing just that makes him heady, drunk with pleasure, and his eyes trace the saliva on Olivine's chin. He keens, pleased to please, and then Olivine starts talking about breeding.

He practically howls, jerking deep and hard and fast, biting Olivine hard enough to draw blood, a 'yes' growled against him over and over.

There's not much warning, his desire cresting suddenly, spilling hotly. He barely stutters, crying out through his pleasure, sliding easier with the mix of slick. And all he wants is to do it again, and again, until Olivine is so marked with his scent and his bruises and his kisses that no creature could mistake who he belonged to. ]

[massochism]

[truly, they're lucky no one seems to be around to hear the noise they're both making. If they were, the discovery might prove too much for most people... not that it would make Olivine feel any more shame than he does. Basch bites down and blood wells against teeth to drip down, causing the priest to squeeze all the harder around him.

Oh, but that reaction to his comment makes him warm and giddy. Just as suddenly as the taller man's orgasm crests, his does too, a sharp yowl on his lips as the movements practically don't even pause. It sounds so loud in his ears, utterly filthy and exciting and framed wonderfully by the hot mess between his legs.]

Nngh... haah... so thick... and hot... [He's practically purring, weight tipped forward in spite of the rough ropes tugging back at his arms.] I'll swallow... all of it up... just for you... mmngh!

[bardische]

[ Basch shudders, heady from the orgasm, heady from Olivine's delighted cries, heady from the need to keep going. The sounds are incredible. Knowing they could be found is dangerous and delicious. Let someone see; let him growl and chase them away from his mate, proud and possessive. Let them see the marks.

But even so, that promise is something he's never done, never considered. ]

Is that...something you want? [ he pants ] I'd planned to fill you until you were full, then take you back to our bed.

[massochism]

[breathless, boneless, he needs a moment to try and parse which promise he's asking about. Even then, he's not entirely sure he has it right... but it doesn't matter too much.]

Haah... to be bred...? I wouldn't mind at all. [another shift, fingers curling where they're held fast. Add Basch lays out his intentions, he bites his lip.] I definitely... want that. I didn't say... how I'd swallow all of it up... after all.

[Really, sometimes even he wonders about where he gets some of his thoughts. They're no less exciting for that wonder, though.]

[bardische]

[ Basch hadn't understood. His human mind was still too present, and it wasn't a thing he'd ever considered. His wolf mind, though, his body-- both tremble, the moan from him shuddering and wanton.

He has no idea what he's doing, but Olivine is pleased, and so he barrels forward. He doesn't even go soft, not for a moment, his pace still punishing. But he leans forward, crumpling Olivine further, nails biting into his flesh. ]

How much can you take? Will you be full first, or will I be spent first?

[massochism]

[crumpling forward more, Olivine exhales a sharp cry, muscles creaking with the tug against them. A shudder runs through him as Basch continues. Relentless, punishing, it leaves him nearly delirious in spite of the want to respond to those words...]

Ungh—we'll. We'll have to see... won't we?

[both thoughts are their own mind of exciting, really. To drain the werewolf dry, taking all he has to give like a perfect mate, would be sweetly comforting... but taking all he could, having it still pouring out of him while Basch chases his end? God, it would be absolutely intense.]

If I can't take it all, you'll just have to... mmngh... make sure to make me a mess so I know how much practice I need... to be just right for you.♡

[That's also not how that works, but it doesn't matter either. It sounds right, sounds hot, sounds perfect. That's good enough for him.]

[bardische]

You're already just right for me [ Basch growls, chastising more than affectionate. He's...not good at sweet talk, werewolf or man.

But his pace keeps up, the allure of being spent dry or exhausting the other equally alluring.

Except...he hears the whine of the piece of furniture under them. It wasn't built for this. He gives a few more heavy thrusts, but a snap predicts a buckle.

Roaring, he loosens one of the knots, lifting Olivine to him, cock still buried in him, and starts for the door with absolutely no concern for who might see them like this, Olivine still half-tied and both of them flush with need and sweat. ]

[massochism]

Nhaah... I know... 's not how I meant...

[it's so hard to find the words with Basch's continued pace, a touch of alarm in that whine... then the snap and buckle. ah, he'll have to fix that later—

and that's as far as he gets in that thought, crying out again as Basch loosens a knot to pull him up against him, cheeks turning all the darker as every shift makes the werewolf's cock jostle inside him.]

Ba-asch—

[part of him wants to protest, to slow him down before they get outside, but the rest of him doesn't want to even pause in feeling this. if someone actually saw them, there might be some alarm, but... well, he'll cross that bridge if he has to.]

Nngh... haah... please... help me keep quiet...

[because there's no way in hell he's going to manage that on his own, tied up and stretched out and absolutely fucking blissed out for it all... and it's probably still best if his moans don't call attention to them. probably.]

[bardische]

[ There's no hesitation at following a direct order. Anything to take care of Olivine, make him comfortable. So Basch shifts the other, cock still in him, but presses him tight to his body, a massive hand covering the other's mouth.

With no real recognition of how odd a decision this is for both of them, he marches them out of the storage area and toward the hall to their room, his steps jostling him inside Olivine. ]

I'm not going to let you leave our room for days [ he growls, biting the other's ear, keeping his hand clamped tight. ]

[massochism]

[he'd never really thought about how big Basch's hands are. on a normal day, let alone like this. that hand muffles him easily though, and he'll feel the faint vibrations from his cries as he marches off toward their room.

it's hard not to lose himself in the extremely pleasant jostling of each movement, toes curling as his back presses into the werewolf's chest.]

Nnmh— [Basch bites down and Olivine jolts, cheeks deeply red and muscles squeezing in anticipation. does he have things to do? probably... but surely, they'll have a way to excuse it. not that he cares about excusing it right now, when the prospect of being with his lover throughout the entirety of his transformation, taking him in and accepting every bit of him is so strong and so alluring.]

[bardische]

[ Somehow they don't run into anyone on the way back. Not that it would have deterred Basch. But it's probably better for both their later feelings that they not have to deal with that today.

They reach their shared room and Basch manages to not break the door from the hinges, barely. Some part of him remembers Olivine's plea for privacy. So he shoulders it open, then kicks it closed with a slam. Still inside Olivine, he shoves the other against the wall, growling low., giving no preamble before he starts to fuck him again, biting down on a fresh patch of shoulder. His teeth are sharper, his feet finding purchase because the pads have thickened. His ears bend back in pleasure. He's never wanted sex this rough, but every part of him is screaming for it, like something external is guiding him. ]

[massochism]

[by the time they actually get back to his room, he probably wouldn't have cared if anyone saw them anyway. Might not have even noticed, with his whole body melting into every grind and jolt as Basch walks. Need drives every inch of him, and as the door slams the priest glances up.

Not that he can manage that for long. The werewolf presses him into the wall and Olivine's cry is muffled into his hand, lashes fluttering as his eyes roll back. Perfect. He's so perfect... teeth bite down and he whines sweetly, breaths hot and dizzy against callused flesh. They've never done it this rough, but it really is perfect.

Precum drips down his cock and pools on the floor, along with the combination of slick and spend fucked out of his hole. Everything aches, his arms from squirming and the rough rope, his ass from being fucked so roughly, his cock from neglect and excitement.]

Mm—mmhaannh...

[tongue drawing over Basch's palm, he makes an attempt at guiding him to slide fingers into his mouth, to give him something to suck on while he waits for his mate to fill him again. More. His belly feels pleasantly squishy with the amount of cum already in it, but he can take more. He knows he can.]

[bardische]

[ He whines, taking the cue to shove his fingers into Olivine's mouth. The warmth slick heat of it nearly causes his knees to buckle, only increasing the intensity of his hips.

He throws his head back and howls, dragging Olivine so tight to him that his own knees bang painfully into the wall. He doesn't falter, chanting his priests name as he clamps around him, entire body shaking them both --

And comes again, hard, shuddering, so hungry that he pumps through long after he's spent. Sweat pours off him, and he licks the tender bite marks on Olivine, not wanting this to end, even as he feels himself coming down, feels the threat of the rest of the transformation. ]

[massochism]

[that little action seems to make everything fall into place, like it was always meant to be that way. Every part of him belonging to his mate, used together through each and every beautifully painful thrust. His tongue laps at the digits so sweetly between sharp moans and cries, the pain of everything they've done starting to sink him deeper into some space he barely understands.

The sound of his name chanted in rough tones is enough to bring him to another orgasm, just in time for Basch to fill him more. And, as the flood of his come slows, his hips continue moving, raking across oversensitive nerves.]

Nnh—aauh—

[His body squirms involuntarily at that, vision hazing over as the priest endures his sweet torture. Sweat drips between them, down over pale skin alongside tears and other fluids. A soft tongue soothes his bites and he trembles, whining as the first brush of exhaustion claws its way over his ravaged form. his tongue gently laps at this fingers, soothing in its own way—reassuring that they can go again later. That he isn't going anywhere.]

[bardische]

[ It is. The sensitive, sweet warmth of that mouth taking him in feels like it completes something, painfully intimate even amongst the roughness of the rest. Basch may be the one mounting Olivine, but he's as bound up in being used as the priest; and he likes it.

Then they've finished, their heaving breaths and dripping sweat and cum filling the otherwise silent space. That tongue still takes him in, and his own lathing oscillates with gentle kisses.

But there's a mournful whine, a tiny whisper of I'm sorry, because he feels the tell tale flare of pain heralding his transformation. He extricates himself best he can, easing Olivine halfway to the floor before he doubles back, hunching over.

It's the fastest this part of the transformation has ever taken him, and there's a single, warbled cry of pain as he goes down. By the time Olivine turns around, there's already a massive wolf butting into his stomach, careless of the mess adhering to his fur, ears back and tail wagging. ]

[massochism]

[in the end, it's still a good enough comedown. Tongues and mouths soothe in their different ways, and when Basch whispers that apology and shifts to extricate himself, he's left to pant softly. It barely feels like his arms are free enough to move, eased downward on weak legs.

The instant want to reach and soothe Basch in his transformation is strong, but by the time he moves enough... well, there's a wolf butting into him, fur warm and tickling.]

Ah—

[huffing a weak laugh, Olivine reaches trembling hands upward to rub the werewolf's ears, pressing a kiss to his snout.]

I don't think I'll be standing anytime soon... [He warns, just nestling into that warmth anyway. Even like this, Basch could certainly drag him to the bed if he wanted to, but the priest doubts either of them would complain about this for a bit.] Are you happy with how much you've marked me?

[It's an earnest question, without an ounce of displeasure. Rapidly darkening bruises litter his milk-pale skin, even more blatant than the scabbed over bites, really.]

[bardische]

[ Basch whines, ears back in question, but it turns to a whimper of pleasure at the scratching behind his ears, tongue lolling and eyes heavy.

At the question, he yips -- but there's a hesitance to it. His tongue finds the marks, checking him for real injury.

Satisfied there is none, he leans his weight hard on the priest until the other succumbs to the floor, then snuggles up against him, tongue lathing against his jaw before he sighs a canine whuff against the other, his weight pinning Olivine down. ]

[massochism]

I'm fine, Basch.

[he promises that much, but lets Basch check him to reassure himself too. his soothing touches continue until he's leaned into, giving a noise as he crumples to the floor with a laugh. the weight is heavy enough to keep him in place without any undue stress, and he nuzzles into the canine when he whuffs.]

Alright, alright... I'm not going anywhere.

[would the bed be nicer? maybe, but honestly, Basch is warm and comfortable, and he just nestles into the wolf's fur with a sigh. the aching need has subsided for the moment, though he can still feel it simmering there somewhere if he focuses enough.]

So warm... I'm glad I get to be with you like this, too.

[bardische]

[ Even as a wolf, Basch isn't so sure about that, but he can only whine lightly. He hates being like this, if only because he feels like he can't care for Olivine properly. But the fear and pain aren't there like they used to be.

He'll keep Olivine here for awhile, both of them falling into slumber. But when they stir he will nudge and tug at Olivine to get him up to the bed, and then jump up beside him, snuggling just as close. Any knock at the door will be met with a low growl. His mate is vulnerable, and no one else is going to go near him. ]

[massochism]

[Olivine just rubs Basch's ears to soothe him at that whine. He doesn't know how to make it clear that he's just as happy when his lover is like this, but... well, sleep first in any case.

At least for a bit, until he finds himself nudged sleepily back to the bed with a soft sigh. Like this he can nuzzle in even closer anyway, arms wrapped around the fluff of his side. And on the upside, people generally won't intrude on his private space, though there's probably one or two who might knock and be kind of concerned at the growling. Tired as he is, he'll probably barely even stir in those moments anyway, fully trusting his mate to stay and watch over him.

When it comes to tomorrow... well, they'll figure it out. With luck (for Basch, at least), his strange, heat-like state will have gone by then too. He's still not sure what caused it or how to handle it.]

[bardische]

[ Basch is indeed protective, growling at anyone who knocks. Until he realizes Olivine needs food. He'll stretch, shake himself out, and trot down the hall to find someone to drag back, whining and nudging until he's procured food. As a wolf, it doesn't really occur to him to be worried about being chased away; it wouldn't work. Especially not while he can still smell the heat cycle on Olivine.

That fades, enough that by the time Olivine wakes up, he isn't in discomfort from it. But Basch doesn't let him up from bed, and by the time it fades entirely a day and a half or so later, he finds his own body suddenly returning to human form.

Except-- ]

This is not going to make getting dressed easy.

[ His ears, and more inconveniently his tail, have not changed back. ]

[massochism]

[Olivine... actually doesn't protest much, as far as staying in bed goes. by about halfway through the first day, it's not even the tiredness that keeps him there but the urge to just stay close. and if he's honest, with his heat cycle he'd suggest doing... more still, but he manages to hold himself back until they can actually have a conversation, considering how unusual the thought is.

but when Basch changes back, or... mostly changes back, the priest pauses and hums softly.]

... [help, it's cute actually? he can't help himself from reaching forward to gently rub his ears again, as he's done many times over the last day and a half.] can you pull your pants on enough to see where your tail would be? I can alter them for you.

[bardische]

[ It says a lot about the pull he’s feeling that he didn’t leave the bed when the change took him, and now his weight it on top of Olivine, body still nude, chests flush together. Truthfully, he doesn’t mind the ears and tail with the priest. But…having to walk around like this…

Still, his surprise is clear on his face. ]

You know how to do that?

[ He nearly loses the sentence, eyelids dipping as the dreamy sensation of his ear being scratched overtakes his entire body, tail thumping in pleasure.

Gods that it embarrassing. ]

[massochism]

[He'd apologise if he knew Basch thought it was embarrassing, but without that key piece it just makes him smile warmly. The weight over him is pleasant and comforting, after all, easy to nestle into as he loves to do.]

Mm, alterations, yes. I've never made one for a tail specifically, but I've seen them on a few yokai before. It shouldn't be too difficult to add a button and a hole for the tail.

[bardische]

[ He's silent a little too long, thinking too hard and also distracted by the warmth of Olivine beneath him, hands still petting him. This is...safe. Warm. He can't believe he ever wanted anything else, or thought he could live without this. ]

I...forget the water territory has yokai. Perhaps...perhaps it would be good for me to speak to some. They are closer to what I am.

That would be a good solution for now, yes. Thank you.

[ He licks his lips, gaze pulling away from Olivine's face. ] I can...stay low, though, while it lingers. I don't want to cause trouble for you.

[massochism]

[Olivine's smile is soft, and he hums thoughtfully at the suggestion. it's true that they might have something good to say, although...]

I will speak with some people when I'm able. There are more yokai in the Wood and Dark territories, but many of them are... not terribly fond of humans, and I'm not certain how they would feel about the situation.

[but considering how Basch has seen people struggle to be mad at Olivine...]

Mm? You won't cause me any trouble. Yokai are treated with respect here, and I imagine people would just assume that's what you were from the beginning. [shifting upward, he presses his mouth to the corner of the werewolf's.] I'm... also not terribly thrilled with the idea of not having you near me, of late.

[bardische]

It's alright, then. Knowing there is a solution is enough.

[ Olivine does not need to endanger himself, and Basch does not need to cause anyone else discomfort, yokai or human.

He does press his lips together at the last. ]

Another fortune I ended up with you, then. It is not the same in my home.

[ Whatever sad memories that brings, he is distracted by the gentle kiss, the softer admission. His heart leaps and he cradles Olivine's face. This has not changed, not since they met, but he still fears he has over read it constantly. ]

That is good to hear, because I feel the same. Especially with you smelling like this.

[ It doesn't entirely occur to him that that scent isn't going to make every other man in the vicinity want to lie with his priest. ]

[massochism]

I would like to try to foster some connection with them, if I can.

[for Basch, but also for the territory as a whole. But his latter commentary softens Olivine's gaze more, nestling close for contact as much as soothing. Even if he's distracted by the priest's words.

Though, his comment earns a slightly puzzled look.]

Do I still smell differently...? I had thought it would go back to normal when I stopped feeling so... desperate.

[There are a number of possibilities here, granted. It could be a change in Basch's senses now that he's only partly gone back to his human form, or it could be lingering, or even waiting to trigger again. Unfortunately, for the moment it doesn't even occur to Olivine what part of that scent is worrying Basch.]

[bardische]

Then we will go together, when you are ready.

[ There's a finality to it he can never muster for himself. If Olivine has a wish, though, he will move mountains to reach it.

He cocks his head though, breathing in. ]

Not as strong, no. But you still smell... [ His eyelids roll, pupils dilating ] divine. Mateable. [ His hands brush over the other, tightening possessively. ] It would make any man want to breed you, regardless if they knew why. I think I would kill them.

[ It's said evenly, no hint of humor. ]

[massochism]

I look forward to it.

[even if it wasn't so important for Basch, he still would. Just to be near him is a privilege the priest cherishes every day.]

Mmn... [His lashes droop as hands tighten over his skin, fingers soothing over Basch's. After a moment of thought, he continues:] I don't know if that would be something most humans can smell. But I'm happy to stay here until you feel it's soft enough... maybe after a few more rounds?

[His cheeks are pink, to no surprise.]

When you feel up to it, of course. I'm happy to mate together no matter when, or what form you're in.

[wait—]

[bardische]

[ Basch blinks at him, clearly still not completely used to the priest's limits -- or lack there of. ]

A few more rounds and I will be too exhausted to move. Are you sure--?

[ The speed and strength with which is cock starts to react is definitely new, and definitely something to do with that scent, and the word mate, and-- ]

Yes. I know you don't mind when I'm partially transformed. I think you like that better.

[massochism]

They don't have to be right now. I want you to be comfortable, too... I just meant that I can excuse myself for a little while while the scent fades. But... I am sure, yes. I like having you to myself.

[chuckling, he reaches to rub his cheek against Basch's jaw.]

And I wouldn't say I like it better that way. I like that it's you, and that you seem more comfortable having me how you want to when you're more transformed. [quieter, as his fingers lace with the taller man's:] I like the marks, the ways you claim me... how it feels knowing only you can really satisfy me. My beloved mate, who I would give anything for.

hoping for a baschier may dklgdfgd

[bardische]

We can...go together. See if anyone else reacts to you.

[ Hopefully he won't...become aggressive if someone does try. But he trusts Olivine to intervene if he is too much.

He's nestled down now, unaware he's stroking the other's hair, his neck, his chest, unable to keep from doting. ] I...don't worry when I'm transformed. There's no space in my head to second guess. It is pleasant, but it worries me, that I'd overlook your comfort or some consequence.

[ Then their hands are together and he's blushing. ] I do not understand how I cam to be so lucky.

Wfzdyjfjf add long as you take care of you first!!!

[massochism]

That sounds wonderful to me.

[He's absolutely basking in the doting, chasing every motion to encourage Basch to continue. As he speaks, Olivine smiles softly.]

I don't think you would ever overlook my comfort. No matter how much your instincts lead you. And you have hesitated, when my response wasn't a comfortable one.

[a squeeze to his hand.]

We're both lucky... I suppose it's because we both decided to take a risk. To trust each other.