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."
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.
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.
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."
"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.
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."
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.
“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.
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.
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.”
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?"
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."
[ 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. ]
[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.]
[ 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. ]
[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?
[ 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. ]
[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.
[ 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. ]
[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.]
[ 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. ]
[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.]
[ 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…?
[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.]
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for Ravus
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."
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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.
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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?"
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"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."
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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.
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"We both know that is not how captivity works, General. The will of the captive is not relevant."
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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.
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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.
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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.
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He was far too tired.
“As you say. You do not wish me to slow you down I assume.”
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He offers an arm to Ravus to get up into the wagon, giving his men another hand signal. They'll take chocobo from here.
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"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?"
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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."
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rises from the dead on this one. it sure has been a month
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For Olivine
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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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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?
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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. ]
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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.
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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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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[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.]
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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 ]
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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.]
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hoping for a baschier may dklgdfgd
Wfzdyjfjf add long as you take care of you first!!!