instead of a wish you might also need to make this up to me too bad if you got it correct from the start i was thinking i might have extended your rafayel membership
[ fair enough, it's been days since he's last checked in with him... ]
I'm sorry, it has been a few days, hasn't it?
What a pleasant surprise, I was just wondering how I would go about with an extension of that subscription. Do I get an upgrade on the tiers, or do I have to make it up to you first?
[ exactly, wriothesley's just lucky he hasn't feigned being in the hospital yet...
a small temper tantrum instead it is. ]
its been exactly 800 years actually
there will be no discussion of tiers or increases in services until the current one is fully paid out your subscription is on the verge of cancellation
[ this time, wriothesley is in his private apartment not too far away from the fortress he's warden of. it's a rare day that he's here, and he smiles at the text, pouring himself more tea.
when rafayel arrives, the door will open automatically for him! and there will be wrio, shirt half unbuttoned and tie discarded, sleeves folded up to his elbows, rearranging some books. ]
I bought a few art books. They reminded me of you.
[ it's clear just by the timing of his arrival that he seemed to have made some haste to get there. it isn't necessarily a conscious decision on his end either, more struck by the intrinsic desire to get there and see the other man's face as soon as possible. it's a burning desire he didn't exactly expect, and so when the doors automatically draw open, even he's a bit surprised by it.
considering how many years of his own exhaustive life that he's spent waiting, it feels a bit odd to experience the reverse of having someone else waiting for him. though, obviously that amount of time feels like a mere drop in the bucket compared to the "800 years" he's used to toting around.
in spite of it, when he watches the man arrange some books, he seems a bit surprised. the surprise then dissolves, akin to sea foam, to something a bit more subtle and lighthearted. a smile drawn across his lips. ] You don't think there were other ways to get to know me better, "Your Grace"?
[ he says, as he closes some of the distance between them. his voice is airy and playful, but also there's a slight tension in the air, especially as his fingers touch the back of wriothesley's hands as he organizes the texts. ]
That depends. [ he hums, his gaze warming when he sees him. it's easy enough for wriothesley to pick up on the surprise in his eyes; almost too quickly for him to grasp proper. but how fitting it is for a man as mercurial as rafayel. he is akin to shifting sands, hiding secrets within shimmers, but essentially, impossibly himself.
he looks into those twilight-coloured eyes, and thinks they hold the universe, beautiful and fathomless. for a moment, a fragment of memory surfaces, of sunlight witnessed within the water's depths, and he has to pause. it's been happening more and more lately; the bizarre memories of talking fishes and enchanted moonlight, of stark, impossible loss that he feels in his chest even when he wakes.
dreams are a funny thing.
he turns, gaze flickering to that touch. he turns it, gently grasping rafayel's fingers before he can decide to pull away. lovely nails, soft fingertips, and yet the callouses belong to one of a skilled fighter. ]
Are we talking biblically, or is it going to be a treatise on different artistic styles?
[ because renowned artists totally turn up at his home at 2am for the latter. ]
[ when wriothesley's eyes fix on his own, he temporarily finds himself wanting to hold that gaze as long as possible. the man's eyes mirrored the color one sees of the sun behind the shallow depths of water. the way it penetrates the sea, and the color of the sky and water seem to meld into one. while some could mistake it as icy, there's also a considerable warmth to them.
or perhaps, that's simply a projection of how rafayel feels. especially, with the heat of his touch. the fact that wriothesley catches him before he can slip out from his grasp— the constant ebb and flow of him coming too close, and inching away gradually. not unlike a fish in water, actually. he absently hooks his thumb over the duke's hands, delicately feeling the outline of his knuckles. ]
I tend to like a more hands-on approach. [ his eyes brush to their joined hands briefly, before they flicker back up. with his other hand he idly adjusts the collar of his shirt. they seem to trail over the scars on his body, and he almost has to wonder why he had endured so much.
... perhaps, time and time again, or so his suspicions may have indicated to him.
but, that's all they are. loose whispers in the back of his head, and the lingering feeling of familiarity as they're in close proximity like this. ] Does that suit the interest of the Duke? [ ( rafayel voice ) do you want a good, honest boy, or... ]
[ the duke. the way rafayel says it sends a thrill down his spine, and even if he's grown used to others addressing him that way, rafayel makes it sound novel, makes it sound erotic, almost. wriothesley's eyes are alight with amusement, quietly admiring as he leans in close, allowing rafayel to straighten his collar.
he knows those eyes are on the ragged scars that reach deep down underneath his collar, and he revels in the gentleness of that touch. the gorgeous artist's words are loaded, as they often are. occasionally, those words fly over his head, so inexplicably bittersweet, but in this moment, everything is perfect. ]
I'm very interested in your hands-on approach. [ it feels, oddly, like they've done this before. that he's wanted him before, in long-lost days he has no memory of. he's gentle, curious. ]
But I would like to know... you don't usually do things without a reason. Why are you here?
[ it's strange how memories or the course of predestination worked. despite his extended existence in the world, it doesn't become anymore comprehensible to him. the dull sensation of warmth he may have shared with his bride, the intense longing that's been seared into his flames, and moments like these where despite how dissimilar his physical form is, the rhythm of their mutual heartbeats feel one and the same. except, is his rising too quickly?
he feels like it is, and as usual, he does his best to circumvent making this fact too obvious. which means, he turns the attention back to wriothesley, which isn't too hard when he's just a touch away. there's a playful glint in his eyes, as if masking his desire as he tilts his head, just ever so slightly as his hands move a bit lower, finger getting "caught" on the first button, which has it undone in a snap.
he mouths a quiet sort of "oops" as he then looks back up to his last sentence. why was he here, indeed. ] I don't know. Maybe I just thought I should do more house calls. Especially when your gaze seems to be wandering towards other artworks.
"A time with Terry," for example. [ he says as if he were reciting a name of a piece in a gallery. but, there's something a bit more serious to his gaze that suggests, there's far more to it. ] I might have felt if your eyes wandered too far, they'd never come back.
[ the minute shift of an undone button doesn't go unnoticed. he allows it, exposing the brutal scars left behind in a life he'd rather forget. they stretch over his throat, evidence of a rough life. the duke is a murderer made good in many ways, but his roguish charm lingers, shrewdly picking up on all the things he doesn't say.
rafayel's missed him. that, and he can't quite stay away no matter what he says. the man before him is a living mystery, as flowing and mercurial as the seas. a time with terry, he says, the words loaded with meaning that he understands even if his intentions are beyond him. something in his soul stirs, long buried and forgotten.
he thinks of the aching, yawning chasm of loss, and can't remember why. his hand comes to curl around his wrist, then shifting to thread them along rafayel's in a gesture that is familiar. intimate. his other hand comes to gently cup his cheek. ]
[ the action alone mirrors a certain individual of his past. perhaps, the methodology of it is different, but the minute curl of fingers, the emotions that he feels like he can read off of the movements... feel all too familiar. enough where it seems to overtake his perceptions in the moment. whatever petty emotions he may have had to a name wriothesley uses that isn't his own... seems to dissipate akin to sea foam; as if they never existed to begin with.
but, unlike those false tales humans craft about sea creatures and those who lurk within its depths, rafayel knows the reality could be no crueler, and yet his desire to see it through to a different end takes the reins. much like how despite his own way of pushing and pulling seems to stop at this. his resolve found, he leans into the touch, his own hand touching the back of wriothesley's as his cheek presses further into his palm.
he rubs against him, almost as if it natural and involuntary on his part. as if he were simply lulled by everything that wriothesley stood for. ] You need to be careful what you wish for. You might just get it. [ he says, but his voice is almost a pant as he pulls back from the touch to press a kiss on the man's palm. then his wrist.
then, his eyes seem to settle on his lips, and rafayel gets the distinct feeling like he's no longer in control of himself. ]
( rafayel rubs up against him just like that, sparking desire and a low, intense desire that coils in the pit of stomach, as if answering an invisible call. he can't avoid the heat of him, or the way he seeks him out. the kisses on his palm and wrist, while chaste, is intoxicating.
oh, how does something so simple manage to be so sensuous? wriothesley meets his gaze, darkening with a yearning he can't quite put a name to. but he doesn't wait; no, because he's darting forward, grasping rafayel's chin so he can kiss him deeply, fiercely, exploring his mouth and tasting him for himself.
the duke presses up even more firmly against him, registering the promise and threat for what it is, and he smiles. )
I wish for you. ( a low, throaty murmur against his lips. ) And everything that comes with it.
[ itβd be a lie to say that rafayel hasnβt envisioned similar scenarios time and time again. the wispy vision of the silky fabric of a faux fish tail, and even the cold feel of a blade beneath his fingers. touching wriothesleyβs skin and tasting the inside of his mouth was both a reminder of the past, as well as a promise for their collective futures. he isnβt sure if the heat itself is more dizzying or all its underlying implications.
while theyβre facts rafayel would never allow himself to put into spoken words, theyβre burdens he carries, and carries alone. the weight of these memories only made a little lighter by their connection of their lips and body. he finds a soft moan escape from his throat as he leans in, as he struggles to string a response back. the hand that he once laid kisses on, all he does is desperately grip it, let his fingers intimately lace with wriothesleyβs for a moment before he moves back to trying to undo each of the manβs buttons. ] You know, fish canβt resist trying to grant the wishes of those closest to them. Especially, ifβ¦
[ itβs a request from their bride, the words get cut short as he tilts his head, giving into another heated kiss.
with wriothesleyβs chest now exposed, he clumsily, presses his own body back up against them, skin against skin. the sensation of scarred skin leaves his head swimming with infinite thoughts (of desire, revenge, or any number of considerations)— but, in equal reverence, he pulls his lips away, letting them fall back on each scar, as if to display the depth of his devotion. his own fingers tremble for a moment, and he wonders if this mix of fear and want will ever change. ]
[ the peculiar thing about memories is often the way in which they're perceived by the ones who hold them. for some, they're like barnacles, everlasting and clinging to every single nook and cranny . almost as if they were merging and becoming one entity. rafayel would say his memories are much the same. perpetual, and enduring even in his most bitter moments, they have always been difficult for him to part with. opposite to that, rafayel knows just how delicate they are to some. for those people, memories are as fickle as the waves that hit the shore, or as impermanent as writings in the sand.
perhaps, wriothesley's memories were just like that.
dispersing with the next lap of sea foam. or that must have been the case, since he didn't seem to remember him. while it was as painful as a realization as any, rafayel wasn't the type to simply throw in the towel. much like a prized artwork, he kept at it with dogmatic persistence. enough to even become a professor at his university.
as per the college message boards, it's probably clear what kind of instructor rafayel was. but, he didn't actually have as much of an interest in that as much as he was in a particular student. probably one in which he chastised, or suggested to take a seat up front to help him "keep notes." in reality, he knows they probably both knew it was deeper than that. he felt it when their eyes would lock mid-lecture, or when he grabbed his wrist for a second too long when trying to stop him from leaving.
it probably showed in the way he kept him after class. or even now where he's asked him for help on his independent project. they probably both knew he rarely painted people as subjects, and yet here is behind closed doors to his private atelier in which he is sitting across from mister duke college student himself. ]
Hm, I'm not feeling the lighting. [ he reaches to the side of the nearest wall, dimming them, before looking back at wriothesley. when their eyes meet, not unlike the way they do when he's standing behind the podium at the lecture all, he already feels his heart beating in his chest. ... and so, he turns away. ]
[ is love fickle and impermanent, when the tides of fate conspire to sweep it aside, time and again? the bride of the sea god passes once, twice, with every turn of the wheel, and in this life, rafayel finds him younger than he's found him before β a charming teaching assistant with a bright future ahead of him, instead of a warden of a prison within an unforgiving sea.
in this life, wriothesley finds him again and thinks, oh, what beautiful eyes he has. what a beautiful face. what a sharp tongue and temper, and how charming he can be. he thinks he's known him in another life, the taste of his skin like sea salt and smoke, like forbidden fire. but it must be his imagination, because surely this is the first time.
but attraction leaps between them sure and true, from that grip on his wrist to the ways he keeps him after class. wriothesley's folding up his sleeves, revealing muscular forearms and giving him a crooked smile. to him, this is simple: it's a chase, and he means to know if professor rafayel tastes as good as he imagines him to be. )
Like what?
( he doesn't look away, gaze steady before he leans back on the expensive couch, stretching his long legs and laying there like he belongs. like he never left. and if he pops a button on his shirt... well... )
This? Gonna paint me like one of your French girls, Professor?
even when itβs just in the corner of his peripherals—
rafayel isnβt impervious to the subtle peek of skin. all the more coming from the subject of his long, withstanding affections. perhaps, thatβs why he feels it more intensely than most would have. the show of the taut muscle of his forearm, and even the way he opens yet another buttonβ¦
his mouth feels dry for a moment, and he licks his lips just to moisten them before he actually begins stringing his thoughts together. per usual, rafayel is quick to try and regain any sort of mental bearings he may have lost in that moment. in a way, itβs similar to how he often lost his train of thought in his lectures, except now it had less to do the artistic chaos of his mind when discussing his passionate pursuits, thenβ¦ whatever this was.
he feels overly conscious of everything about wriothesley, including the way his chest rises and falls. he isnβt sure if itβs because of the overlap of memories, or if itβs another type of desire completely. admittedly, he had his anxieties about finding out which one it was. but, who doesnβt fear vulnerability? ]
As you already know, people arenβt normally the subjects of my work. [ this is the exception. no, heβs the exception. but, he doesnβt want to suddenly bring focus to this fact. as if masking a clear weakness heβs exposed, he continues. ] You should be asking me to paint you like the sea. [ finally, he feels like he can move in closer. his hand moving on wriothesleyβs thighβ¦
to pull a piece of paper he left from before from out under him. lol. ]
in the spaces between their words, wriothesley can divine a whole host of expressions in those lovely, lovely eyes. so often, rafayel remains a mystery to him, elusive and just out of his grasp. the moment passes quickly, especially when rafayel is so very skilled at gathering himself and putting that mask back on, but that's enough for him.
how strange, wriothesley thinks. sometimes, he gets the impression that rafayel is looking through him, beyond him, to something long-forgotten. even so, he's still, filled with anticipation when he draws closer, closer, and wriothesley wonders if he'll finally touch him the way he's wanted him to since the moment their eyes met across the classroom.
but ββ he doesn't. he can't help a soft noise when he tugs the paper from under him, the crinkle of it filling him with surprise and a touch of amused dismay. still, before rafayel can stray too far, he grabs a hold of his wrist. )
[ the words come out before he can even really think them through. as if the answer had always been pre-established, or as if he read it from some lengthy textbook. the only thing that seems to offset them is the almost playful smile that returns to his lips. especially, as his eyes seem to fall towards where wriothesleyβs has grabbed him. despite his initial fluster at their proximity, or within the prospect of his feelings being made obvious— thereβs none of that remaining on his features.
still holding the paper within his fingers, he lets them flutter out from his grasp and fall back on wriothesleyβs lap. ] But, the sea is also unyielding and unpredictable. As well as an object that many view with both devotion and yearning. [ he tilts his head just slightly, a sort of wry confidence to the way he seems to take comfort in the idea that he may have laid out the perfect bait here. ]
But, I think the real question is, what are you planning on doing with that hand?
( fifteen minutes after dropping that thirst-trap post in raf's hotel room, pleasantly disrupting the victory parade that is knocking wriothesley's #1 chart topper off its throne for the first time in twelve weeks. wrio's instagram is exploding, and so is twitter. )
[ it's difficult to mistake the color of the hotel wallpaper. not that rafayel was about to pick apart the aesthetic integrity of somewhere he literally only uses to sleep in between his busy comeback schedule, especially when he's been promoting non-stop in an attempt to knock a certain someone off their game, but listen...
it's hard to ignore that specific shade of beige.
but, obviously that's not the only thing he's focusing on when he gets that video message. despite being in public, he couldn't help but to look, and he can already feel his throat feeling particularly dry. if he wasn't already impatient to get back to his room, he literally feels like he's dying. even if he's.. at least going to pretend to play it cool. ]
if this is supposed to be a distraction think you gotta go a little lower
( there's a tall, beefy glass of water waiting for you, raf. fortunately, wriothesley has been blessed with an uncanny ability to perceive the real rafayel and his moods, seeing through pretensions big and small.
right now, he knows that thirst trap worked. )
Oh, you wanted the entire world to see what's a little lower?
And here I thought you wanted it just for yourself.
[ it's true that the nature of their job dictated that a certain part of them was shared with the world and their fans. but, perhaps that only adds to how possessive he feels over the parts of wriothesley that belonged strictly for him. ]
im giving you advice as someone who just hit number 1 lol
[ including the special surprise he's got saved for wriothesley...
being thirsty doesn't cancel out spite, sorry. ]
besides i think someones got the wrong room yeah
[ but, does that mean he isn't already rushing over? no. ]
Does this mean I get to give you friendly advice when I knock you off again? :)
( it's playful, because he's so endeared by that spiteful pettiness. rafayel's competitiveness, like his stage presence, is magnetic, and wriothesley is sometimes a glutton for punishment. and also, a glutton for indulging in inter-species fuckery. and make no mistake, wriothesley's just as possessive of what he can have of rafayel behind the scenes, the things they can never share with their fans. )
I'm right where I need to be. You aren't. Although I think you've probably ditched your people, right? This room smells so much like you.
[ he isn't sure if the heat he feels is because of the spark of competition that's behind each of their words, or something else entirely. it could even be the fact that he can't even wait for the elevator before he's already skipping steps of the emergency staircase. ]
hmmmm i dunno sounds kinda fake
[ funny enough, if wriothesley was with him, he would have kicked up a complaint on how much effort he's putting into seeing him... but, as it stands, he skillfully heads up the stairs and only laments the fact they gave him an upper floor for privacy. ]
the room might not be the only thing thats gonna smell like me yknow assuming i can get out of this loooong meeting
[ he says this even knowing he probably doesn't have the element of surprise anymore. as much as rafayel puts on a front, he knows well enough how good wriothesley is at seeing through him. ( rafayel voice ) he thinks he knows me, but he doesn't. (he does) ]
How cruel, dangling that potential in front of me and telling me you're in a long meeting.
( because that's exactly what wriothesley intends to happen; that bed looks so inviting, doesn't it? and speaking of inviting, he makes his way there and stretches out on it, a hand slipping into his jacket to practically cup his own pectoral, taking a selfie just to send it to him. consider that a little encouragement. )
weird... i remember a certain someone promised me they werent going to make me wait anymore and then they ran off on tour for several weeks but thats not you right
[ apparently, there was a razor thin line between encouragement and torture. he feels it when his eyes glance over that selfie and he almost misses a step. by the time he actually gets to the exit door and he's already typing a response, he barely gets through half a text before there's the click of the hotel door. ]
im co
[ he's already slipping out of his shoes and throwing aside one of the many accessories on his wrist.
considering the photo, he's obviously in the bedroom, right? ]
That might be a little bit of me. But didn't the vacation I took you on after make up for it?
( to be fair, rafayel really did wait for him, and he's grateful for that. he hears the door open and familiar rustling sounds, harried and careless, and he smiles. of course rafayel would jerk him around like that; the man sometimes never means what he says.
he sits up now, tossing his phone aside to call out to him playfully, full of anticipation and the desire to pull him close and do all manner of filthy things with him. to him. winning is a good look on rafayel, if you ask him. ) Hurry, Mr #1. Or I'm going to get started without you.
[ if rafayel knew that text was somewhere in between almost being read, he may have walked back out of spite. not that he disagrees that their time spent together (after) only solidified their connection, or that he hadn't enjoyed their short reprieve together— it was more the principle. rafayel was often a man of contradictions, and as much as he embraces the sense of competition between them and gaining some metaphorical upper hand, he also can't help but want to indulge.
just like how he can't completely deny the heat that he already feels beneath his skin and settling somewhere at the pit of his stomach. when wriothesley casts aside his phone, he's already angling one leg over his, hovering above him as he leans in and lets his tongue find mister "number two" before his teeth does. he playfully pulls on his lip, before he sets his eyes back on him. not unlike how a predator may view its prey, or a fish to bait.
as far as he was concerns, this was wriothesley's fault for finding himself in his territory first. ]
( oh, then it's a good thing he hasn't walked back out, because the press of the man's lips on his is a welcome sin, soft but passionate and far too short. teeth and tongue, a glimpse of what wriothesley can expect as he takes this up a notch, fully intending to play.
he reaches up then, fingers unbuttoning rafayel's shirt as he leans up to kiss him again, gently biting his lower lip to tease. goodness, but one can drown in the look in his eyes; how nice it is, to be wanted by the world's foremost pop star. )
[ it's nice not to have to have to preface his actions. it's even nicer to feel it reciprocated. you know, aside from the way, he already feels like he wants more. he presses his hand on the side of wriothesley's neck, letting the pads of his fingers massage into the connection between his neck and shoulder.
he applies a bit more pressure as he angles himself in for another kiss, letting his lips press against his once, and then twice, before he barely picks up on his words. ] You're so demanding. Or should I say you're, like... very presumptuous.
[ yet, his eyes are gesturing to his phone in the pocket of his pants. ]
I thought it was common courtesy for the subject to at least pretend it isn't about them.
( the pressure on the hollow of his neck feels like a warning, but wriothesley leans into it all the same, reveling in the edge of danger that his distinctly non-human lover possesses. they kill people, someone had said before, in a long-forgotten memory, but wriothesley supposes he wouldn't much mind being dragged to the depths of the sea if rafayel's with him.
he parts his lips, inviting him in while his hand moves to his pants, taking out the phone and tapping in the passcode: easy, when it's wriothesley's own birthday - won't their fans have a field day with that?
he breaks the kiss only to look for the song, and set it to play. fucking to his #1 chart-topper, isn't it exciting? he laughs softly and pulls him down by the collar, releasing his hold only to slide it down, down to cup between his legs, palm rubbing up against his cocks. )
Outside of here, sure. ( he hums against his mouth. ) Here... I wanted to ask, did you fantasize about fucking me while you were singing?
[ despite being a lemurian, a being who was both born of the sea, and would inevitably find their end beneath the same waves— he discovers it's actually quite easy to drown. it's simple when he finds his guard, as well as his inhibitions slipping beneath his proverbial grip. while others may have claimed that lemurians with their sharp scales and haunting voices were enough to draw any number of sailors to their death, he'd argue that wriothesley and the bond they shared was just as dangerous.
the fact that he knows his passcode more in muscle memory probably speaks a lot to the secrets they share. not just verbally, but also through their bodies. it's a sentiment that he feels all the more when he can feel wriothesley's hand tracing over his arousal. he sucks in a tight breath, before he presses his forehead against his collarbone. rafayel almost sounds strained when he already starts hearing the intro sequence to his song. ]
You think just fantasizing is enough? [ he lifts his head back up to place his nip at the skin on wriotheley's neck. ]
My song won't be the only thing on top tonight. [ help me...
there's a certain desperation behind the way he straddles him, fixing his position to make it easier to grind against him. it's barely been a minute since he's walked in here and yet he feels like it's been an eternity of waiting. ]
( he hisses softly at the nip, already unzipping his lemurian lover's pants and expertly pushing them off of his hips to free him. they can drown together again and again, only if they're twined with each other just like this.
rafayel is a drug he returns to, time and again, and as the music washes around them, he guides the other man to shift, so that he can kick his pants off properly. calloused hands smooth over soft skin, heated and ravenous. )
Tell me, ( he breathes, low and rough as he looks up at him. ) What else is going to be on top tonight? Are you going to ride me?
( his own cock is straining, aching, and there is something intoxicating about getting to fuck this man while the song that knocked his off the charts plays. )
[ as much as rafayel does revel in taking control, there are times where he become a blissful victim of the opposing dynamic. he can't help but also enjoy the way wriothesley so effortlessly guides him— a contrast of the gentleness you'd treat your lover and a certain roughness you reserve for someone who was used to riding up against your boundaries. the way he moves his hand on his body fills him with both anticipation, but also with this pressing sensation like he was being satiated off the attention alone. off the way wriothesley's gaze would settle on him, and in turn, he also looks at his body— the remnants of scarred tissues against taut muscle.
by the time he shifts and gets back into position over him, his hands are already reaching to grab hold of wriothesley's cock. he leads it against his own cock, letting their tips touch with the slickness of his own anticipation, before sliding it between his thighs.
i mean, it's rafayel, so he had to play around just a little. he pretends like he isn't aching for it. ]
Yeah, I'll use you until you beg me to stop. [ he cants his head just a little to kiss the edge of his lips. ] I'll ride you until you're totally drained. I mean, you look like you go pretty fast, yeah? [ he feigns a certain ignorance as if he doesn't know what his lover is capable of. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text, @2am
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[ jk he knows who it is, but he enjoys rafayel's whimsy ]
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if you guess wrong even once then you have to grant the wish of this stranger
[ so it is really three guesses or just one. ]
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[ he absolutely doesn't know a terry. he's just up for granting wishes. ]
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the "you know other men?" meme... ]
terry? dun know him
youre really bad at this
like reeeeaaallly bad
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but wriothesley smiles when he sees the succession of texts: ]
Maybe I'm just in the mood to grant you a wish.
What do you think, Rafayel?
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instead of a wish you might also need to make this up to me
too bad if you got it correct from the start
i was thinking i might have extended your rafayel membership
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I'm sorry, it has been a few days, hasn't it?
What a pleasant surprise, I was just wondering how I would go about with an extension of that subscription. Do I get an upgrade on the tiers, or do I have to make it up to you first?
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a small temper tantrum instead it is. ]
its been exactly 800 years actually
there will be no discussion of tiers or increases in services until the current one is fully paid out
your subscription is on the verge of cancellation
luckily for you i know of a method
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oh but that temper tantrum is kinda endearing! ]
What is it? I'm sure I have my wallet around here somewhere...
[ nevermind that rafayel is richer than him ]
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is it funny that he also thinks wriothesley offering up money is kind of cute, too? ]
i was thinking of a different kind of payment
since youre up i figure i could come to collect it
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OH he also realises that that means............ ]
like a booty call?
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[ but, maybe he's on his way to see him.
give him however long it takes to get down there, brb. ]
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when rafayel arrives, the door will open automatically for him! and there will be wrio, shirt half unbuttoned and tie discarded, sleeves folded up to his elbows, rearranging some books. ]
I bought a few art books. They reminded me of you.
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considering how many years of his own exhaustive life that he's spent waiting, it feels a bit odd to experience the reverse of having someone else waiting for him. though, obviously that amount of time feels like a mere drop in the bucket compared to the "800 years" he's used to toting around.
in spite of it, when he watches the man arrange some books, he seems a bit surprised. the surprise then dissolves, akin to sea foam, to something a bit more subtle and lighthearted. a smile drawn across his lips. ] You don't think there were other ways to get to know me better, "Your Grace"?
[ he says, as he closes some of the distance between them. his voice is airy and playful, but also there's a slight tension in the air, especially as his fingers touch the back of wriothesley's hands as he organizes the texts. ]
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he looks into those twilight-coloured eyes, and thinks they hold the universe, beautiful and fathomless. for a moment, a fragment of memory surfaces, of sunlight witnessed within the water's depths, and he has to pause. it's been happening more and more lately; the bizarre memories of talking fishes and enchanted moonlight, of stark, impossible loss that he feels in his chest even when he wakes.
dreams are a funny thing.
he turns, gaze flickering to that touch. he turns it, gently grasping rafayel's fingers before he can decide to pull away. lovely nails, soft fingertips, and yet the callouses belong to one of a skilled fighter. ]
Are we talking biblically, or is it going to be a treatise on different artistic styles?
[ because renowned artists totally turn up at his home at 2am for the latter. ]
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or perhaps, that's simply a projection of how rafayel feels. especially, with the heat of his touch. the fact that wriothesley catches him before he can slip out from his grasp— the constant ebb and flow of him coming too close, and inching away gradually. not unlike a fish in water, actually. he absently hooks his thumb over the duke's hands, delicately feeling the outline of his knuckles. ]
I tend to like a more hands-on approach. [ his eyes brush to their joined hands briefly, before they flicker back up. with his other hand he idly adjusts the collar of his shirt. they seem to trail over the scars on his body, and he almost has to wonder why he had endured so much.
... perhaps, time and time again, or so his suspicions may have indicated to him.
but, that's all they are. loose whispers in the back of his head, and the lingering feeling of familiarity as they're in close proximity like this. ] Does that suit the interest of the Duke? [ ( rafayel voice ) do you want a good, honest boy, or... ]
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he knows those eyes are on the ragged scars that reach deep down underneath his collar, and he revels in the gentleness of that touch. the gorgeous artist's words are loaded, as they often are. occasionally, those words fly over his head, so inexplicably bittersweet, but in this moment, everything is perfect. ]
I'm very interested in your hands-on approach. [ it feels, oddly, like they've done this before. that he's wanted him before, in long-lost days he has no memory of. he's gentle, curious. ]
But I would like to know... you don't usually do things without a reason. Why are you here?
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he feels like it is, and as usual, he does his best to circumvent making this fact too obvious. which means, he turns the attention back to wriothesley, which isn't too hard when he's just a touch away. there's a playful glint in his eyes, as if masking his desire as he tilts his head, just ever so slightly as his hands move a bit lower, finger getting "caught" on the first button, which has it undone in a snap.
he mouths a quiet sort of "oops" as he then looks back up to his last sentence. why was he here, indeed. ] I don't know. Maybe I just thought I should do more house calls. Especially when your gaze seems to be wandering towards other artworks.
"A time with Terry," for example. [ he says as if he were reciting a name of a piece in a gallery. but, there's something a bit more serious to his gaze that suggests, there's far more to it. ] I might have felt if your eyes wandered too far, they'd never come back.
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rafayel's missed him. that, and he can't quite stay away no matter what he says. the man before him is a living mystery, as flowing and mercurial as the seas. a time with terry, he says, the words loaded with meaning that he understands even if his intentions are beyond him. something in his soul stirs, long buried and forgotten.
he thinks of the aching, yawning chasm of loss, and can't remember why. his hand comes to curl around his wrist, then shifting to thread them along rafayel's in a gesture that is familiar. intimate. his other hand comes to gently cup his cheek. ]
Show me the way back to you.
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but, unlike those false tales humans craft about sea creatures and those who lurk within its depths, rafayel knows the reality could be no crueler, and yet his desire to see it through to a different end takes the reins. much like how despite his own way of pushing and pulling seems to stop at this. his resolve found, he leans into the touch, his own hand touching the back of wriothesley's as his cheek presses further into his palm.
he rubs against him, almost as if it natural and involuntary on his part. as if he were simply lulled by everything that wriothesley stood for. ] You need to be careful what you wish for. You might just get it. [ he says, but his voice is almost a pant as he pulls back from the touch to press a kiss on the man's palm. then his wrist.
then, his eyes seem to settle on his lips, and rafayel gets the distinct feeling like he's no longer in control of himself. ]
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oh, how does something so simple manage to be so sensuous? wriothesley meets his gaze, darkening with a yearning he can't quite put a name to. but he doesn't wait; no, because he's darting forward, grasping rafayel's chin so he can kiss him deeply, fiercely, exploring his mouth and tasting him for himself.
the duke presses up even more firmly against him, registering the promise and threat for what it is, and he smiles. )
I wish for you. ( a low, throaty murmur against his lips. ) And everything that comes with it.
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while theyβre facts rafayel would never allow himself to put into spoken words, theyβre burdens he carries, and carries alone. the weight of these memories only made a little lighter by their connection of their lips and body. he finds a soft moan escape from his throat as he leans in, as he struggles to string a response back. the hand that he once laid kisses on, all he does is desperately grip it, let his fingers intimately lace with wriothesleyβs for a moment before he moves back to trying to undo each of the manβs buttons. ] You know, fish canβt resist trying to grant the wishes of those closest to them. Especially, ifβ¦
[ itβs a request from their bride, the words get cut short as he tilts his head, giving into another heated kiss.
with wriothesleyβs chest now exposed, he clumsily, presses his own body back up against them, skin against skin. the sensation of scarred skin leaves his head swimming with infinite thoughts (of desire, revenge, or any number of considerations)— but, in equal reverence, he pulls his lips away, letting them fall back on each scar, as if to display the depth of his devotion. his own fingers tremble for a moment, and he wonders if this mix of fear and want will ever change. ]
college prof. au...
perhaps, wriothesley's memories were just like that.
dispersing with the next lap of sea foam. or that must have been the case, since he didn't seem to remember him. while it was as painful as a realization as any, rafayel wasn't the type to simply throw in the towel. much like a prized artwork, he kept at it with dogmatic persistence. enough to even become a professor at his university.
as per the college message boards, it's probably clear what kind of instructor rafayel was. but, he didn't actually have as much of an interest in that as much as he was in a particular student. probably one in which he chastised, or suggested to take a seat up front to help him "keep notes." in reality, he knows they probably both knew it was deeper than that. he felt it when their eyes would lock mid-lecture, or when he grabbed his wrist for a second too long when trying to stop him from leaving.
it probably showed in the way he kept him after class. or even now where he's asked him for help on his independent project. they probably both knew he rarely painted people as subjects, and yet here is behind closed doors to his private atelier in which he is sitting across from mister
dukecollege student himself. ]Hm, I'm not feeling the lighting. [ he reaches to the side of the nearest wall, dimming them, before looking back at wriothesley. when their eyes meet, not unlike the way they do when he's standing behind the podium at the lecture all, he already feels his heart beating in his chest. ... and so, he turns away. ]
Maybe you should try a different pose.
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in this life, wriothesley finds him again and thinks, oh, what beautiful eyes he has. what a beautiful face. what a sharp tongue and temper, and how charming he can be. he thinks he's known him in another life, the taste of his skin like sea salt and smoke, like forbidden fire. but it must be his imagination, because surely this is the first time.
but attraction leaps between them sure and true, from that grip on his wrist to the ways he keeps him after class. wriothesley's folding up his sleeves, revealing muscular forearms and giving him a crooked smile. to him, this is simple: it's a chase, and he means to know if professor rafayel tastes as good as he imagines him to be. )
Like what?
( he doesn't look away, gaze steady before he leans back on the expensive couch, stretching his long legs and laying there like he belongs. like he never left. and if he pops a button on his shirt... well... )
This? Gonna paint me like one of your French girls, Professor?
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even when itβs just in the corner of his peripherals—
rafayel isnβt impervious to the subtle peek of skin. all the more coming from the subject of his long, withstanding affections. perhaps, thatβs why he feels it more intensely than most would have. the show of the taut muscle of his forearm, and even the way he opens yet another buttonβ¦
his mouth feels dry for a moment, and he licks his lips just to moisten them before he actually begins stringing his thoughts together. per usual, rafayel is quick to try and regain any sort of mental bearings he may have lost in that moment. in a way, itβs similar to how he often lost his train of thought in his lectures, except now it had less to do the artistic chaos of his mind when discussing his passionate pursuits, thenβ¦ whatever this was.
he feels overly conscious of everything about wriothesley, including the way his chest rises and falls. he isnβt sure if itβs because of the overlap of memories, or if itβs another type of desire completely. admittedly, he had his anxieties about finding out which one it was. but, who doesnβt fear vulnerability? ]
As you already know, people arenβt normally the subjects of my work. [ this is the exception. no, heβs the exception. but, he doesnβt want to suddenly bring focus to this fact. as if masking a clear weakness heβs exposed, he continues. ] You should be asking me to paint you like the sea. [ finally, he feels like he can move in closer. his hand moving on wriothesleyβs thighβ¦
to pull a piece of paper he left from before from out under him. lol. ]
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in the spaces between their words, wriothesley can divine a whole host of expressions in those lovely, lovely eyes. so often, rafayel remains a mystery to him, elusive and just out of his grasp. the moment passes quickly, especially when rafayel is so very skilled at gathering himself and putting that mask back on, but that's enough for him.
how strange, wriothesley thinks. sometimes, he gets the impression that rafayel is looking through him, beyond him, to something long-forgotten. even so, he's still, filled with anticipation when he draws closer, closer, and wriothesley wonders if he'll finally touch him the way he's wanted him to since the moment their eyes met across the classroom.
but ββ he doesn't. he can't help a soft noise when he tugs the paper from under him, the crinkle of it filling him with surprise and a touch of amused dismay. still, before rafayel can stray too far, he grabs a hold of his wrist. )
Why the sea?
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[ the words come out before he can even really think them through. as if the answer had always been pre-established, or as if he read it from some lengthy textbook. the only thing that seems to offset them is the almost playful smile that returns to his lips. especially, as his eyes seem to fall towards where wriothesleyβs has grabbed him. despite his initial fluster at their proximity, or within the prospect of his feelings being made obvious— thereβs none of that remaining on his features.
still holding the paper within his fingers, he lets them flutter out from his grasp and fall back on wriothesleyβs lap. ] But, the sea is also unyielding and unpredictable. As well as an object that many view with both devotion and yearning. [ he tilts his head just slightly, a sort of wry confidence to the way he seems to take comfort in the idea that he may have laid out the perfect bait here. ]
But, I think the real question is, what are you planning on doing with that hand?
idol au.
Still celebrating?
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it's hard to ignore that specific shade of beige.
but, obviously that's not the only thing he's focusing on when he gets that video message. despite being in public, he couldn't help but to look, and he can already feel his throat feeling particularly dry. if he wasn't already impatient to get back to his room, he literally feels like he's dying. even if he's.. at least going to pretend to play it cool. ]
if this is supposed to be a distraction
think you gotta go a little lower
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right now, he knows that thirst trap worked. )
Oh, you wanted the entire world to see what's a little lower?
And here I thought you wanted it just for yourself.
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im giving you advice as someone who just hit number 1 lol
[ including the special surprise he's got saved for wriothesley...
being thirsty doesn't cancel out spite, sorry. ]
besides i think someones got the wrong room yeah
[ but, does that mean he isn't already rushing over? no. ]
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( it's playful, because he's so endeared by that spiteful pettiness. rafayel's competitiveness, like his stage presence, is magnetic, and wriothesley is sometimes a glutton for punishment. and also, a glutton for indulging in inter-species fuckery. and make no mistake, wriothesley's just as possessive of what he can have of rafayel behind the scenes, the things they can never share with their fans. )
I'm right where I need to be. You aren't. Although I think you've probably ditched your people, right? This room smells so much like you.
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hmmmm i dunno
sounds kinda fake
[ funny enough, if wriothesley was with him, he would have kicked up a complaint on how much effort he's putting into seeing him... but, as it stands, he skillfully heads up the stairs and only laments the fact they gave him an upper floor for privacy. ]
the room might not be the only thing thats gonna smell like me
yknow assuming i can get out of this loooong meeting
[ he says this even knowing he probably doesn't have the element of surprise anymore. as much as rafayel puts on a front, he knows well enough how good wriothesley is at seeing through him. ( rafayel voice ) he thinks he knows me, but he doesn't. (he does) ]
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( because that's exactly what wriothesley intends to happen; that bed looks so inviting, doesn't it? and speaking of inviting, he makes his way there and stretches out on it, a hand slipping into his jacket to practically cup his own pectoral, taking a selfie just to send it to him. consider that a little encouragement. )
I think I'm getting a little impatient, fishie.
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[ apparently, there was a razor thin line between encouragement and torture. he feels it when his eyes glance over that selfie and he almost misses a step. by the time he actually gets to the exit door and he's already typing a response, he barely gets through half a text before there's the click of the hotel door. ]
im co
[ he's already slipping out of his shoes and throwing aside one of the many accessories on his wrist.
considering the photo, he's obviously in the bedroom, right? ]
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( to be fair, rafayel really did wait for him, and he's grateful for that. he hears the door open and familiar rustling sounds, harried and careless, and he smiles. of course rafayel would jerk him around like that; the man sometimes never means what he says.
he sits up now, tossing his phone aside to call out to him playfully, full of anticipation and the desire to pull him close and do all manner of filthy things with him. to him. winning is a good look on rafayel, if you ask him. ) Hurry, Mr #1. Or I'm going to get started without you.
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just like how he can't completely deny the heat that he already feels beneath his skin and settling somewhere at the pit of his stomach. when wriothesley casts aside his phone, he's already angling one leg over his, hovering above him as he leans in and lets his tongue find mister "number two" before his teeth does. he playfully pulls on his lip, before he sets his eyes back on him. not unlike how a predator may view its prey, or a fish to bait.
as far as he was concerns, this was wriothesley's fault for finding himself in his territory first. ]
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he reaches up then, fingers unbuttoning rafayel's shirt as he leans up to kiss him again, gently biting his lower lip to tease. goodness, but one can drown in the look in his eyes; how nice it is, to be wanted by the world's foremost pop star. )
Turn your song on. It's about me, isn't it?
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he applies a bit more pressure as he angles himself in for another kiss, letting his lips press against his once, and then twice, before he barely picks up on his words. ] You're so demanding. Or should I say you're, like... very presumptuous.
[ yet, his eyes are gesturing to his phone in the pocket of his pants. ]
I thought it was common courtesy for the subject to at least pretend it isn't about them.
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he parts his lips, inviting him in while his hand moves to his pants, taking out the phone and tapping in the passcode: easy, when it's wriothesley's own birthday - won't their fans have a field day with that?
he breaks the kiss only to look for the song, and set it to play. fucking to his #1 chart-topper, isn't it exciting? he laughs softly and pulls him down by the collar, releasing his hold only to slide it down, down to cup between his legs, palm rubbing up against his cocks. )
Outside of here, sure. ( he hums against his mouth. ) Here... I wanted to ask, did you fantasize about fucking me while you were singing?
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the fact that he knows his passcode more in muscle memory probably speaks a lot to the secrets they share. not just verbally, but also through their bodies. it's a sentiment that he feels all the more when he can feel wriothesley's hand tracing over his arousal. he sucks in a tight breath, before he presses his forehead against his collarbone. rafayel almost sounds strained when he already starts hearing the intro sequence to his song. ]
You think just fantasizing is enough? [ he lifts his head back up to place his nip at the skin on wriotheley's neck. ]
My song won't be the only thing on top tonight. [ help me...
there's a certain desperation behind the way he straddles him, fixing his position to make it easier to grind against him. it's barely been a minute since he's walked in here and yet he feels like it's been an eternity of waiting. ]
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rafayel is a drug he returns to, time and again, and as the music washes around them, he guides the other man to shift, so that he can kick his pants off properly. calloused hands smooth over soft skin, heated and ravenous. )
Tell me, ( he breathes, low and rough as he looks up at him. ) What else is going to be on top tonight? Are you going to ride me?
( his own cock is straining, aching, and there is something intoxicating about getting to fuck this man while the song that knocked his off the charts plays. )
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by the time he shifts and gets back into position over him, his hands are already reaching to grab hold of wriothesley's cock. he leads it against his own cock, letting their tips touch with the slickness of his own anticipation, before sliding it between his thighs.
i mean, it's rafayel, so he had to play around just a little. he pretends like he isn't aching for it. ]
Yeah, I'll use you until you beg me to stop. [ he cants his head just a little to kiss the edge of his lips. ] I'll ride you until you're totally drained. I mean, you look like you go pretty fast, yeah? [ he feigns a certain ignorance as if he doesn't know what his lover is capable of. ]