bolderfell | Prismatica Inbox

Not when I come armed with a map and a marked point of entry, no.

[...Oh. Well. That's sort of nice. An excuse to touch hands, that's — awfully sentimental, really. And warm. And so very, very human.

Once he's in the window, he unshoulders a bag he'd brought with him, offering it up to Therion. It's a bigger sort of bag, but one clearly from a clothing store — with that sort of plasticky feel and broad width — with some softish-looking lumps inside.]

I brought this for you. A bribe, and something to play with, if you're willing.

A bribe.

[He takes the bag, eyebrows raised, but a thought interrupts whatever he's about to say next. Bringing the bag along, Therion returns to his desk, retrieves a mechanical cube obviously of Lunatian origin, and sets it down on the desk. It activates, but whatever it does isn't so obvious from in here.

Must give Therion some peace of mind, though, because he relaxes the subconscious effort to keep his voice low as he pads over to the bed against the wall.]

What sort of 'adventure' do you have in mind you think you have to bribe me for?

[He sounds more amused and curious than anything as he lay the bag's contents out on the bed.]

[Two items spill out of the bag as Therion tips it over, one black and one white, but one is so much more thicker and extravagant than the other that it commands all attention immediately. Lush and richly quilted, a black robe with gold embellishment lands on the mattress, silk-lined and full-sleeved and fit for an emperor. It's unmistakably the work of either Caihong or Amegahara. It's also unmistakably expensive, not just from the craftsmanship but in the way the design rides the very edge of ostentatious without quite treading over — the sort of luxury that only the very rich can get away with to begin with.

The other, more unobtrusive in its nature, is a plain pullover nightshirt made of soft cotton, formless and unisex, but about the right size for someone of Therion's height.]

First, tell me if the bribe is good enough for you to even entertain my offer. The black one is yours if you'll wear the white for me, with a few conditions attached.

[If he doesn't stop reacting like this, Therion thinks even as his eyes widen involuntarily, Kurama's never going to stop showing off. It's a thought so stupid and irrelevant to the subject at hand that he dismisses it utterly in favor of tracing his fingers along the unfurling leaves of gold on the sleeves, in favor of listening to Kurama watching him take it in. Therion sees it first for its value, but only because everything, the materials, the design, the skill, speaks of its value. None of it is inextricable from its expense.

It's nothing he'd ever wear where someone could see him, because someone would see him, if he went out dressed like this. Its sheer existence calls attention. But neither would he sell it. He glances up to meet Kurama's eyes. It's a gift.

Not for the first time, he wonders what Kurama knows about him. What he's figured out, managed to guess, assumed.

He lets the black robe be, then, and picks up the nightshirt, holding it up as if to examine the fall of the fabric.]

I'm listening.

A taste of intimacy.

[He runs his tongue over his lip, not out of any particular desire to be seductive or coy, but just to wet it before it can threaten to go dry.]

An experience I'm fairly certain you've never had the luxury to indulge, before this. I want to introduce you to something new — something more to remember me by. I know what I'm about to ask of you, but hear me out.

I want to tie you up. Beautifully. And I want you to put your faith in me, by allowing it, and have that faith be rewarded.

...

[He just looks at Kurama for a moment over the top of the nightshirt.

That's an astonishing thing to ask. Therion knows it. Kurama knows it. This time, they can both rest assured Therion knows Kurama knows it. He may be frozen, a bit, but he's never seen Kurama look even a little nervous before, either.

They take risks, both of them, in pursuit of richness and rarity. Therion looks away first, glancing at the door out into the hall. No one in the house can hear them now. Does Kurama know that? He's been caught before; he's been bound, locked up, at strangers' mercy and, worse, the mercy of one he believed in. A brother. None of it was beautiful. If he allows this, if he puts himself in Kurama's hands and it goes wrong, here in this house he picked out with everyone, when none of them will hear him if he calls out--

Faith.

The words aren't Cordelia's this time. They're not Ophilia's or Alfyn's. Faith will be your shield. They're engraved on a dagger every bit as important and deadly as the one Therion now keeps closest. He lowers the nightshirt to the bedspread again, smooths it out flat in front of him with his palms.]

The way you say it, it's more for me than for you.

[He looks up, not wanting Kurama to take his yet-indefinite answer for a no.]

I had a speech.

[He says, softly, like he's standing on the roof of a hospital at sunset, a night or two before the proper full moon.]

I knew you'd ask what I get out of it. My reasons, my motives. My greater plan. I had a very good answer all ready. Anticipating someone's next move, and preparing for it — that's. It's what I do.

[But then he doesn't so much stop as he does falter, and for a minute all his carefully-crafted presentation seems to go by the wayside as he grasps instead for something else — his own vulnerability, unintended, but drawn to the forefront whether he likes it or not.]

But — the truth is, I just...want to.

[Therion breathes out long and slow.]

...All right.

['It's worth one shot' or 'If it means that much to you,' he should say something like that to lighten his agreement, but he can't. Feels like flower petals in his stomach, brushing against his insides on a nervous breeze, and he presses his hands flat to keep from fidgeting like a boy with them.

Kurama's words come out halting and sincere, and Therion's hardly come at all. Master thieves. What a pair they make.]

What does the nightshirt have to do with it, though.

To go between your skin and the rope. So it won't leave marks.

[Among other things. Of course he's got ideas, but he also knows better than to push his luck — or Therion's tolerance — too far all at once.]

You'll feel the pressure of it, of course, but it won't bite. I thought you'd prefer it that way.

Well, yeah.

[Thoughtful of him to consider rope marks as different from other marks Kurama's left on him, from the marks of nails and teeth or other, subtler things. Scents. Changes more indelible that are nonetheless harder to make out.

Even with an apothecary caring for it the whole time, the weal from wearing the Fool's Bangle took a long time to fade. This isn't for other people to see, Kurama's promising, and that's. Gracious of him, really.

Therion has his own clothes, is the thing. Not many, maybe, but enough to protect himself from rope. He thinks about saying something, about pointing out he's wearing clothes right now, but in the end his appreciation for the thought wins out over the unformed question and he nods.]

...Did you bring rope?

I brought vines. Again, with your...comfort in mind. If we had to stop in a hurry, I would need to cut you out of the ropes — which, believe me, I could do quickly. But a plant under my power, I could do instantly.

[He's quiet a minute, before moving to sit on the edge of the bed and offering his hand, palm-up, to Therion.]

I wouldn't leave you bound for even a moment longer than you wanted it.

...If I didn't believe that, we wouldn't even be talking about this.

[When he puts his hand in Kurama's, he makes sure he offers the first careful squeeze.]

I said all right, Kurama. I'll hang up the robe and we can get started.

...Come here first, will you?

[He doesn't let go of Therion's hand; quite the contrary, he uses it to tug him closer, trying to get him to sit down with him.]

Let's start like this. Come sit down.

Pushy.

[But he doesn't mean it. He sits and he lets Kurama keep his hand, side by side on his bed, knee by knee.]

...What is it?

It's not a heist.

[He angles his body slightly, turning in toward Therion, enough so that he can lean over and in to nuzzle against his hair.]

If I'd let you go, you would've come back and stood there, not knowing how to begin, and you would've said, "Okay, what do we do first?" Plotting every detail and obstacle.

[He rumbles a soft laugh against the shell of his ear.]

Let's try something a little more organic.

[The answering chuckle puffs quietly along Kurama's cheek. Therion draws their joined hands close to his chest, leans further into Kurama's space.]

Anticipating my next move, are you.

[This may not be a heist, but his pulse has quickened like it might be. He breathes in, filling his lungs with the now-familiar, flowery scent of Kurama's hair, and fails to stop thinking.]

Mean to take the edge off before we get serious? [He brings Kurama's knuckles up until, speaking, his lips brush against them.] The way I see it, there won't be much for us to do past a certain point.

It's a habit I can't easily turn off.

[But there's something unmistakable in the way he proceeds, a quality about his conduct that slowly becomes apparent: his commitment to spontaneity wasn't just lip service. He may have an idea where he wants this to end up, but this time there's no meticulous plan for getting there.

It's there in the way he holds still and lets Therion indulge as he likes, nuzzling back against him, touching lips to his hand. It's there in how he doesn't seem to have an immediate response prepared for that, and waits a little while before running his hand down Therion's shoulder and over his chest in return.]

If you'd like that, I'm not opposed. My notion is what brought me here, but that doesn't mean it has to be the only thing.

[He nibbles at the shell of Therion's ear.]

You're allowed to have notions, too.

[A soft noise. Eyes closed, he exhales across Kurama's fingers, tightens his own in the bedspread between them.]

Mm... No. I think...

[Of course Kurama's suggestion is untread territory for cagey little Therion, that's beyond a shred of a doubt. So, too, is this: putting real effort into conveying a thought, sharing something internal and soft on purpose when vulnerability's already pulled so many defenses down.]

I agreed because I--because it's you. Just need some time like this-- [Nuzzling and nibbling and kissing and all that naturally follows, wrapping themselves up in each other and only that.] --to remind me it is you. Just you.

[He lets go of the bed covers to sink his fingers into Kurama's hair instead, guide it back from his face.

It can only be Kurama, here, now. His past isn't invited. The edge can stay on, besides that.]

[Therion's breath is warm. His body is, too. His hands, when they reach to touch, when they comb through his hair and push it away for a better look into his eyes.]

...I won't let you forget.

[He leans into the hand in his hair; it's so easy to do it. Letting go isn't, he knows, but falling is.

Therion knows about falling all too well.

Small wonder he needs time, really.]

I won't let you get lost — any more than you want to be.

All right.

[He frees his hand from Kurama's to stroke it down the side of his neck--to free Kurama, too, to do as he will two-handed. On his own part, Therion draws himself up and in for kisses, soft and light, one more act he associates mainly with Kurama. With all the strange good that's come out of their arrangement.

There's no moon out. Neither Cordis nor Iris holds any sway over them today. The request came from Kurama alone; the only influence that can push Therion to say all right is his own trust in him. The reassurances Kurama voices remind him of that, like ripples thrown into a still, still pond. The touching, the closeness, the mingling of their breath reminds him why. Why he trusts. Why that seedling trust was able to take root at all.

In all the time he's known Kurama, Kurama's been careful with him, even before he'd given him any reason to care. Not only has he offered his own vulnerability when neither of them like to give themselves away, but he's protected Therion's. Though it's only been months, he's had opportunities to take things Therion didn't want to give.

But Kurama hasn't once yet betrayed him. It's just that. And that's everything.

The fluttering in Therion's belly remains, his heartbeat keeps up its nervous pace, but as he presses kisses to Kurama's mouth and face, as he slides his arm around to hold him properly, as the scent of his hair overcomes the scent of wood shavings in the room, the defensive tightness of his neck and shoulders melts gradually away.]

Mmmn. That box you picked up earlier...

[He lets himself go pliant when Therion's arm curls around him, like he's melting into the touch and allowing himself to be supported. This isn't really about him, and so maybe he shouldn't, but — it feels right, and easy, and all things considered he's trying hard not to think too hard about all this as it unfolds.

It's nice to be kissed. Nice to be held. Nice to listen to the sound of Therion's jackrabbit heart and taste his scent on his palate.]

What was it for?

[Faintly surprised--he'd forgotten about it, and forgotten his own flash of anxiety about having turned it on--Therion huffs a laugh against Kurama's skin. His own warms around the face.]

So no one can hear us.

[He slides his nose down to nuzzle into the crook of Kurama's neck.]

Four people currently live here, including me. Fifth's got a room she could use if she wanted. They're all already nosy enough.

Oh, well then.

[He gets his hands up between them, as best he can, digging his fingers into Therion's shoulders while his head lists to the side to make room for him. Almost experimentally, he lets out a soft moan, and hums afterward like he's found the sound of it to his own liking.]

I won't try nearly so hard to be quiet.

Ah--

[He inhales it more than says it as Kurama's fingers find their purchase, bites Kurama's shoulder like an automatic retort. When he looks up, it's to lick his lips.]

Should've known you'd like that, you damn show-off.

Half the fun is seeing the result of your efforts. Or hearing...mmm.

[His back arches, eyes falling closed as he hisses approval at the sting of the bite.]

It's not so bad, is it...?

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