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

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."

"I've realised it's a valid question," Rook replies with a soft snort as he cups Ulysse's cheek within his palm and brushes his thumb across the man's lips.

Still, he doesn't feel like there's a need for him to rush up and leave, to put distance between the two of them. This is a new kind of situation all over and for some reason it doesn't make him cautious, doesn't make him suspicious. Instead, he's more relaxed than he's been in ages, maybe for the past decade or so.

"Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room, though?" he asks quietly, his voice gone softer even than before, carrying a distinct sense of tenderness that he's wholly unfamiliar with. "What is that thing that's inside you?"

There's no denying that Ulysse had expected this to come up sooner rather than later. He doesn't stall, per se, but he doesn't answer immediately, casting his eyes down instead towards Rook's collarbone, running his fingertips along the thin layer of flesh covering the sharp wings of those bones.

"It's an ocean spirit, and... that's as much as I know," he admits, voice just as quiet. His eyes flick up, meeting Rook's gaze, and he shrugs helplessly. "It doesn't speak to me. I can... sense what it's feeling, but not it's thoughts. It generally only comes out when I'm in extreme danger, but otherwise... I don't even know how it got in me, or why."

Right, past forgotten. Rook watches him with hooded eyes as he struggles out the facts and they aren't plentiful. It also makes sense, all of it. Ocean is a possessive lover when she has you in her clutches.

"Do you want me to ask her?" he asks quietly, his fingers trailing down to Ulysse's back where sweat and water is drying on his warm skin.

Ulysse's smile is faint and he shakes his head, spine shifting and shivering under the gentle touch.

"I can't just bring it out," he explains, resting his cheek on Rook's chest. "And it's not usually that talkative."

He did say to Rook earlier that same day:

"You're special."

Rook rolls his eyes but there's fondness in his soft snort. His fingers keep chasing those little shivers that run down along Ulysse's back, petting him like he were the cat that Rook often imagines him as.

"If I'm that special, she'll come out to talk with me," he predicts. She had healed him earlier, she had made sure both of them were alive after she drowned those pirates.

"Should I be offended that you seem more interested in speaking to the spirit than to me?" Ulysse teases with mock archness, glancing back up to Rook's face. There's no denying he's enjoying those stroking touches along his back, spine arching a bit, making the softening cock shift inside of him and drawing a soft little sigh from Ulysse's lips.

Rook would rather just stay inside him but unfortunately it's not going to be possible. For the moment, though, he shifts his hips to push a little further in while he still can.

Ulysse's teasing makes him roll his eyes again before he leans in and presses a warm, closed mouthed kiss to Ulysse's forehead.

"Your math is faulted, princess," he murmurs against that smooth forehead.

The darker man chuckles quietly and tilts his head up to catch those lips in a warm, lingering kiss. There's the distant rumble of thunder that catches Ulysse's attention, and then he's turning his head, glancing over towards the window.

"... You didn't accidentally call a storm, did you?"

Rook tilts his head back to look at the window as well. Droplets of rain are already beating against the glass.

Maybe he did?

"We'll be fine at the harbour," he says as he presses his mouth to Ulysse's jaw, mouthing the tip of his chin through that trimmed beard.

There's a soft snort even as Ulysse tilts his head, baring his jaw to that warm mouth. "If our captain is raging in the morning because of the ship being water-logged, I'll be careful not to look at you. You know how he gets around mages."

"It's a good ship, it'll be fine," Rook snorts right back and then he wraps his arms around Ulysse's waist, flipping him over onto his back and rolls on top of him, settling between his legs as he props himself up with one elbow, most of his weight on Ulysse.

"You would lie to our captain for me?" he teases.

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