perhapstomorrow | The bell has been raised from its watery grave...

"Certainly," Ulysse agrees, humming quietly as he's given all those gentle little touches. "But that life... it wasn't for me."

Something about being kept, even if he could choose his own clients... it made him uncomfortable, and as soon as he was able, he got out.

He's curious about Rook's mother, this being the first time he's heard anything of her, but he's not sure the mage will want to speak of her. He turns his head, glancing back at Rook with quiet curiosity.

"Did you know your mother?" he asks gently.

"That life definitely isn't for you," Rook says with a soft snort. He sounds very certain of his position. Like he knows it's inherently true.

Rook presses his mouth to Ulysse's nose when he turns his head, not bothering to kiss him, just dragging the line of his teeth under the guise of his lip across the man's skin. There's a strange sense of intimacy here that he hasn't experienced ever before, a lack of any posturing and pretending.

"Yeah, for as long as she was alive, I did," he says quietly. "There was a coupe, and she was killed in the process. Destroyed along with the rest of the property. I was spared because of my magic. I still had value, you see."

Ulysse nods in silence, hand gently squeezing Rook's. "I see... I'm sorry," he murmurs.

Obviously he himself doesn't know anything about his own mother, if she's even alive out there, if he ever knew her, even. But he can imagine the feeling one might have over losing theirs.

This is also possibly the worst conversation to have while having a dick up his ass, but Rook doesn't seem to be in a hurry to move things along, so he'll keep gently probing.

"... How old were you?"

Rook is not in any kind of hurry to be honest. Strangely he's content to just lay there, as close as they possibly physically can ever get, his hand lazily tracing sweet little circles on Ulysse's chest and sides.

He snorts and pulls Ulysse's fingers to his mouth, kissing the tips of them. He doesn't need pity or even compassion, it was a long time ago.

"I was ten when I served in my first ship. It was a slaver brig."

Ulysse frowns, his fingers stiffening around Rook's and against the mage's lips. The thought of Rook as a slave had already disturbed him deeply, but the thought of Rook at such a young age being taken...

He closes his eyes, resting his cheek to Rook's arm, taking several slow, deep breaths, cold fingers stroking absently over the mage's lips and face, feeling the spirit stir aggressively at the back of his mind. When they're both calmed again, he shifts, shuddering slightly as the cock slips out of him, gently pushing the man over onto his back, straddling his hips, a hand lightly pressed to the center of Rook's chest to indicate he should stay down. Dark eyes remain locked on the mismatched blue and white even as Ulysse reaches behind him, grasping Rook's cock and holding it steady as he rises up and sinks back down on it, taking it in with a slight hitch to his breathing.

Apparently he's done talking, for now. At least on that particular line of conversation.

It's not a hard, fast, desperate ride. It's slow and sensual, calm as the waves lapping at the shore at dawn, the faintest flicker of blue briefly flitting across Ulysse's eyes as he gazes down at Rook. There's that faint smile ghosting over his lips and his head tilts up just a bit, showing off the long line of his neck all the way down to his waist just a tiny bit for Rook's benefit.

Rook goes down easily, groaning at the loss of the warmth around his dick but not resisting Ulysse when he obviously wants to take the lead. He rests against the bed quietly while he watches the man straddle his hips, all clean lines of bronze gold skin and cat-like grace. The jewellery around Ulysse's wrists and neck tingle gently as he moves, shadows shift over him, creating interesting depths to places that otherwise would be flat.

Rook buries his thumbs in one of those depths as he slides his hands up along Ulysse's thighs, finding purchase on his hip, his thumbs digging into the crevices between his leg and torso. There's heat there, softness that he knew would be there and still didn't expect.

He lets out a rough breath as Ulysse sinks onto him, eyes hooded and mouth slightly parted to allow his quickened breathing a room to work in.

When he starts to move, rocking gently up and down, Rook finds his gasps to be occasionally coloured with a hint of a moan. The mage reaches up with his calloused fingers and presses them to the centre of Ulysse's chest, smoothing them down along the centre of his body. The faint clinking of gold around Ulysse's wrists and neck is something Rook will dream about for years to come.

There's almost an art to how Ulysse moves, unhurried and graceful, never once shifting his gaze from Rook's eyes. His hips gyrate, deliberately grinding Rook's cock inside him and making his lips part on a soft moan from the delicious friction. He's still feeling sensitive from his last orgasm and it might make shivers go down his spine, but it's worth it just to see how Rook's reacting to him.

The mage might not be considered a beauty by any stretch, but Ulysse is fascinated by those sharp features. A bit coarse, angular, rough, but handsome, to him. The striking eyes in that tanned face that practically glow in the candlelight as they stare up at him, making him feel like he's pinned in place, even when Ulysse is the one on top. It's a strangely enticing feeling.

Arching into the hand at his chest, Ulysse takes it in his own and draws it up, kissing Rook's palm and then drawing a couple of those fingers past his lips, suckling on the tips with a little moan.

Rook has never been self-conscious, not even as a child. He knows what he's doing and how he's doing it. He's confident to a point of it being a little obnoxious at times. But he's never considered himself to be something desirable, something that people would look at like Ulysse is looking at him, with honey-heavy gaze and intent heat rippling just below the surface.

It's hard to deny the connection that is growing deeper and deeper between them. Rook has no idea what it is or what it will become, but he wouldn't give it away for any riches of the world. Because he feels like there's no pretence here, nothing that they're both hoping to pull out of each other with a performance. It's real and it's almost tangible.

It's intoxicating.

His fingers brush against the silky wetness of Ulysse's tongue, his breathing caught in his chest as the pressure and wet heat around two parts of his body create a weird dual sensation that only heightens the pleasure of it. He wants to kiss that mouth, but he doesn't want to stop watching Ulysse as he rocks on top of him. Instead he pulls his fingers out of Ulysse's mouth and paints his flush lips with his own saliva, his fingertip rounding that generous mouth, pushing in to trace the contours slowly.

Ulysse moans quietly and laps at those fingers before they slide back into his mouth, lashes fluttering as he stares down at Rook, teasing around the digits with his tongue as the mage feels around the inside of his mouth. Rook's not alone in wanting to kiss again, but that would mean stopping what he's doing and that would mean breaking the spell that seems to have settled between the two of them...

Whatever's growing is too precious, too perfect to be spoiled so soon. Ulysse's teeth lightly grasp around the invading fingers as his brow furrows in an almost agonised expression, his eyes closing as he presses his hips down more firmly, a soft groan slipping out his mouth as he feels the thick cock grinding inside of him. His fingers dig into Rook's chest before loosening again with a little tremor going through them as he continues the steady pace. It's a bit more intense, just a bit firmer, but Ulysse absolutely refuses to speed up so soon, just as he refuses to bend down to kiss Rook just yet.

It's all a show for Rook's benefit and Ulysse wants those eyes on him the whole time. He wants the events of the night, the horrors of their combined pasts that they're jaded to when no living being should ever have to experience it, all gone, at least for one night. He wants those eyes to keep looking on him with that fierce, tender affection, as opposed to the cruel lust that he'd been subjected to less than an hour ago. These soft touches and intense looks, the low noises they both release with such selfish rarity into the air, they combine to make the moment precious and private and theirs alone. Something good to take away from all the bad.

They've both been owned by people before, they've been taken without their consent and made to do horrible things, without any respect to their worth as human beings. They've both come out of it violently independent. It's no wonder that belonging to somewhere, to something, to someone is strange and new and awfully addicting.

It's both liberating and terrifying at the same time, giving away that fierce self-governing spirit that they both have in spades to relent to something the other wants, giving away the lead. Rook knows there's a plea in his gaze, but he doesn't know what he's begging for or what he even wants, just knows it is there. A yearning that makes his chest feel heavy as he watches that pretty face twist into an aching frowning that he seems to understand on a gut level alone. He feels the same, even if he has no words to describe it.

His head tilts back with a shuddering groan as Ulysse tightens around him and drives home with more heat. Their gazes for a moment blocked with darkness to endure the pleasure that seems to kick on overdrive right then and there. And when he cracks open his eyes again, there's almost a lost look in that one good eye, searching Ulysse's eyes again.

When their eyes meet, he lets out a soft, desperate moan and surges up, arms wrapping around Ulysse as they rock together, slow and intense. Rook's mouth finds a Ulysse's neck and drags up along it, not even having the mind to kiss but just taste, just feel, over the edge of that jaw and over that smooth cheek to those lips that he needs to kiss.

The sudden shift in positions drags a low groan from Ulysse's throat, feeling the cock shift in him as Rook sits up. It's a dirty pleasure that's surprisingly intimate just from how the mage doesn't start immediately rutting into him but instead wraps himself around Ulysse, that hot mouth tasting along his throat and cheek like he'd die without it.

When Rook reaches his mouth, Ulysse pushes into the kiss with a choked gasp, eyes fluttering shut as they rock together. Two bodies as tightly entwined as they physically can. He can't get enough of it.

The bangles on his wrists chime quietly as he shifts his arms up, wrapping one around Rook's shoulders so he can hold the back of the shaggy head. The other hand clutches at the mage's bicep, nails threatening to dig in each time he rocks up and down, fingers flexing with each delicious, slow, grind of flesh to flesh.

There's barely enough to push then over the edge, but that seems to matter less and less. What's important is the slick glide of their tongues, the squeeze of rough hands over scarred flesh, the mingling of breathy gasps each time they have to part for air, all of it tied up in each other until Ulysse can't tell where he starts and Rook ends.

Edited 2020-02-14 07:46 (UTC)

Entangled together like two interlaced twines, Rook holds Ulysse in a tight hold, his fingers digging into the man's back as his arms provide support for Ulysse to rock up and down on his lap. It's not a whole lot of friction but it's... intense, it's intimate in a way that sex has never been before. It seems that the end result lose their meaning more and more as they just come together in a ebb and flow that could be associated to the undulating of waves, ceaseless and unaffected by outside influences. The sea will make love to the rocks at the shore as it pleases.

Kissing becomes less important as well, as long as they can share the same breath, their mouths brushing against one another, gasping for air, lips wet with breathed mist and sweat and saliva, linger on skin.

It feels almost like madness. Rook can't quite make heads or tails of his own thoughts, but he knows they're all circling around the man who he has in the circle of his arms, rocking on top of him. Would, if he could, continue this forever, the pleasure and strange, new feeling of belonging that wraps around him like a glove.

One of Rook's hands slips down to Ulysse's ass, into his crack and traces his fingers along the stretched rim of his hole while it clings to his dick. It makes him tremble and groan against Ulysse's mouth, the dual sensation of it maddening.

That careful touch makes Ulysse shiver and moan quietly, breath gusting over Rook's lips as he feels those fingers along such a sensitive area that's already experience quite a bit as is. He draws his head back a bit, staring into the mage's eye, hands rising to lightly grasp Rook's face with his fingertips, as if any firm pressure might potentially shatter him, somehow.

This man...

Ulysse's voice is hushed and full of soft fondness as he murmurs, "What are you doing to me...?"

He's not even referring to the sex itself. It's the way Rook's somehow managed to arrest all of Ulysse's attention, filling his thoughts and all his senses with seemingly no effort at all, in a way no one has ever done before. It's almost frightening, even, but he's also feeling so very safe on top of everything else that he doesn't recoil at all.

If Ulysse were a mage, Rook would assume the man has him under a spell. He could still assume that about the entity that seems to be locked inside the man. But somewhere deep inside him he knows it's not that. He knows this is not a possession or a charm that has fallen upon him. And that's even more frightening than the prospect of facing a magic that he can't seem to usurp.

He tilts his chin up and stares into Ulysse's eyes as they move slowly against one another. That question makes him snort softly, their noses brushing together as he leans in, not enduring the separation well at all between their lips.

"The same thing I assume you're doing to me," he replies with a hoarse whisper. To be this vulnerable and open, Ulysse could knife him in the back whenever he wanted and Rook wouldn't even stop him.

It's quite clear that Ulysse would sooner cut off his own hand than put a knife to Rook's back, at least to him. The thought of any harm coming to this bizarre, fierce, hypnotising man is just...

Ulysse shakes his head and leans in again, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to one side of Rook's lips before resting their brows together. His breath hitches a bit as he starts to move a slight bit faster, squeezing around the cock he's riding so leisurely. How long have they been doing this? It feels as if this is all he knows or cares about, now, as though everything before this had been irrelevant. Completely consumed as he is by Rook.

Hmm, perhaps he's better suited to being a whore than he'd previously thought. At least when it comes to Rook...

Time has lost its meaning already to Rook, he could have been rocking together with Ulysse for five minutes or a year, it doesn't matter and he couldn't have told the difference right now. Like the sea and the shore, they come together again and again, sometimes quicker, sometimes harder. But always just as surely as the tide will eventually come.

The look in his eyes is cloudy, intoxicated. His chest rising and falling without any attempt to control his breathing. Ulysse clings to his dick tightly, kicking the pleasure a notch higher every time he brings himself down.

Rook doesn't notice when his magic surges up, it just happens. The water meant for washing up in a bowl beside the window rises from its container, creating droplets in the air and spreads around the room like rain frozen in its trajectory towards the ground. Baths full of water around the inn start to undulate with waves, endless motion matching with the rhythm of their hips. Several fishing boats at the docks find themselves stranded on land after several giant waves push them forward. The pull of Rook's magic tends to be deep and powerful, ocean is in his veins, he's been promised to it. When he loses control, it doesn't mean good things.

A scent of deep ocean, salt and seaweeds, waffles into the room, sounds from the inn suddenly muffled like they were happening under water, echoes of them still penetrating the air but distorted, incomprehensible. Rook stares up at Ulysse but it seems that this time it is his dead eye that sees something, his blue, good one completely dazed and glassed over, the dead, milky white eye staring up with keen interest.

"Ulysse," Rook whispers, his fingers digging deep into Ulysse's hips as he drags the man closer to himself, his own hips surging up to meet the man half way.

The change in atmosphere escapes Ulysse's attention, but not the spirit inside. The blue fills his eyes as he stares down at Rook, the ocean spirit rising to the fore, making his hair float as they ride the mage together. He can feel the magic now dragging down his spine, as tangible as the rough fingers gripping tight at his hips.

The spirit practically drinks in Rook's magic, humming through Ulysse's lips, "Mine."

Ulysse is aware that it's no longer just Rook and himself, but the spirit isn't wresting control from him. More... appreciating the experience. Savouring it and giving it's approval of it. What's odd is how his mind doesn't rebel at the spirit's claim, but rather corrects it to 'ours'. He knows better than to say that, though.

"Rook," he purrs, smile playing over his lips even as his cheeks remained flushed, eyelids heavy, cock leaking heavily as they move together. His hand cups Rook's cheek, thumb dipping to stroke over the mage's lower lip, barely dipping in with that gentle sweep.

Rook groans softly when the spirit makes its claim known. There's heat between them but his own hands are cold, so are Ulysse's, both of their hairs floating in the air as if they were under water. The droplets of water in the air sticking to their skins but never losing their shape, sliding up along their bodies. Somewhere in the harbour sailors shouting as the waves crash against the shore ever taller and more violent.

Rook's magic crashes against Ulysse just as his orgasm rips its way through him. His mouth hollowing open, no sound coming out as his body tightens into a perfect bow. The magic ties itself around Ulysse, burrowing into him just like Rook's cock is lodged inside him deep and hard, making room for itself. Almost like it had been summoned, finding a perfect fit for itself in Ulysse. Rook might not be in control of it but it filters through Ulysse, calming and less violent, not quite managing to call a tidal wave to the town as it otherwise might have.

The sight and physical experience of Rook's climax is breathtaking. The magic pouring into Ulysse somehow feels even more intimate than just feeling the man spending himself in him. It drags Ulysse over the edge himself, drawing a hoarse, soft moan, eyes squeezing shut as his mouth falls open and spine arches, cock spurting against Rook's belly between them. The spirit greedily wraps the magic around itself deep in Ulysse's body, clearly unwilling to let Rook free himself from them both, now.

It's a moment suspended in time, but eventually it has to end. The spirit recedes and the glow vanishes from Ulysse's eyes, his hair slowly lowering back down as he gasps for air, blinking dazedly as he stares down at Rook's face, warming fingers tracing tenderly tracing his features wordlessly, committing the sight to memory.

That hoarse moan pulls Rook out of his post-bliss coma, coming back to himself with a gasp as he leans in to hold Ulysse through his orgasm, mouthing his neck as he spills himself between them.

Rapid seas and ocean beasts, this man is beautiful. For a while Rook doesn't even notice that his magic has now been tethered to Ulysse while he holds the man and watches him come down from his release.

Eventually, though, eventually it'll have to end and Rook finds himself curiously nudging the thread he feels between them, his magic safely tucked away inside Ulysse. His fingers slowly trace circles onto Ulysse's back as he stares right back into those dark eyes.

"I'm yours, huh?" he asks after a moment. And before Ulysse can deny what he said, speaking over him if he tries, Rook goes on: "And you're mine."

Ulysse had been ready to assure Rook he didn't have to take the words to heart, to insist it was just something said in the heat of the moment, just in case the mage took offense to the claim, but the last words shut him up effectively. As he feels those fingers and droplets of water slowly run down his still too warm skin, he stares down at Rook, expression calm and collected as always, as though he hadn't just finished riding out an intense orgasm.

That tether Rook's put between them thrums warm and steady like it's always belonged there.

He cocks his head slightly to one side, examining the mage's face, fingers absently tracing his features, asking quietly, "Does that bother you...?"

"No." The reply is immediate and just as simple and bold as anything the mage tends to say, as if inviting Ulysse to disagree, to fight him over the matter.

Rook has learned to live his life hard and fast, getting used to changes. And while this is a change that does challenge him quite a bit, he doesn't let it show on the surface. It's not that he doesn't trust Ulysse, or that he is already putting fences between them - he's not, surprisingly enough - he's just learned that he gains absolutely nothing by whining and fretting.

"It's new," he says as he finally leans back, bringing Ulysse with him as he lays back on the bed, the man held firmly against his chest. He looks up at those dark eyes that are far too calm to be completely honest with him. "Does it bother you?"

The change in position makes Ulysse's breath catch as he feels Rook's gradually softening cock shift in him, but he settles over the mage's front, crossing his arms over the tanned chest, propping his chin on his wrists as he stares down at Rook's face. He doesn't answer immediately, turning the thought over in his head, assessing how he feels in regards to 'belonging' to someone, and having that same someone belong to him in turn.

"... Not as much as I feel it should," he finally answers. "But... it's not as though we're owning each other, so that might be why it's not as uncomfortable as I thought it would be."

"No one owns me or you." The words come out sharp and rough, like rocks ground against one another. The look in Rook's eye is fierce and relentless. He doesn't negotiate about this.

But he relaxes as Ulysse continues, his body relaxed and tone thoughtful instead of teasing or mocking.

"What are you doing to me?" he asks quietly as he lifts his arms, folding one of them under his head as a pillow and the other to thread through Ulysse's hair, gently untangling locks as he goes.

"I've been asking you the same all night."

Ulysse smiles a bit, turning his head to hide his lips against Rook's hand, pressing a warm kiss to the mage's rough palm. Then he trails lingering kisses along the meat of that palm, down to a scarred wrist, nuzzling at the pulse point, eyes closed as he rests his cheek into the cradle of that hand.

"You're the mage, after all."

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