[ P ] the woods are lovely, dark and deep

He felt the strings between them, as if connected. A subtle head tilt drew him closer; a grunt into his ear summoned him further up. Though his muzzle offered touches and kisses always at the edge of where they were most desired. He was being generous, but one couldn't be too giving when the night was still so young and unfulfilled, so he was also being playful, prolonging that burning desperation by only offering enough kindling to keep it stoked. An immature flame was all too easily snuffed.

Thankfully, his efforts were not in vain; he sensed the heat building where they made contact. Bastien felt it in himself too, warmth and desire that spread obsessively through him. His body ached for it when they separated, hardly able to endure the absence, only sated when the gap sealed anew. He could see his yearning reflected in stolen eyes, and grinned. "Dinner and drinks," he purred, despite that his still sat unmoved, condensation beginning to bead on the cup. "And a defeat soon to be in your future. I'm rather good at bringing subjects to heel." Cheeky – and arrogant, too.

His chest rippled where Nicharion's paw dragged across it; Bastien was sure from the frenetic response that it would soon burst. Accompanied by the soldier's goading and lascivious concession, he was almost undone. His breath hitched; before the lost breath could be found, it was replaced by Nicharion's, the exhales against his lips tasting delightfully of cider. The fire roared. Reflexively, he melted into the kiss, deepening it, his body responding at once. This constant contact, this intimacy, they were things Bastien had deprived himself of – when last had he been touched at all, let alone in a way that inspired his whole self to spring to life – and things that he was acutely aware of now and ravenously in need of. He did not break their embrace until his lungs were shuddering in his chest, and then he did so grudgingly, eyes wild with hunger. "Then have me," he taunted, demanded, begged.

Berries, booze, the bed – they were the furthest things from his mind. Something had to give, or he'd just start taking, irregardless of their location.

It was a dance Nicharion knew the steps of all too well, having performed it countless times. Yet even as indulgent as he was, the experiences under his belt were not all made equal - some were worth remembering, while others blurred and blended together. But each was given a fair chance, he was determined to cherish every new taste as if it kept starvation at bay... to grow apathetic and unable to enjoy himself would be a fate worse than death. To fade out in the very act that's supposed to make one feel alive would be such pitiful irony.

Perhaps his age was showing in the way such thoughts lingered somewhere in the back of his mind, even when his veins thrummed with a frantic rhythm and his lungs burned. In his haughty youth, there used to be less philosophy in his lovemaking. Or is that he simply hadn't come to understand it yet?

He shuddered at the black and white male's impatient demand. So eager, so.. delectable. If this was a less civilized tavern like the Seagull, perhaps he wouldn't even stop to hesitate to humor such a request, not when every fiber of his being desperately wanted to comply. Here, however, he could only allow himself to pretend.

So he pushed his body against Bastien's, not sparing any strength in forcing the man to lay back as he loomed over him. "You are worth the scandal..." he muttered, staring down into crimson eyes with frenzy in his own. He let the moment hang between them, waiting for the pressure to become overwhelming, for their racing hearts to fall into a shared rhythm.

Ah, the thrill of forgetting reason might have been more tempting than anything else Bastien had to offer. A disregard for any consequences - a taste of true freedom. Alas, it was not theirs to have. "...but I imagine the notoriety would inconvenience you." It was a small consolation that he could pass it off as a courtesy.

Frustration was plain to see on his face as he pulled himself away, but it was not all for naught. His impatience, his anticipation, it was all deliciously ripe... and he hoped it was the same for his companion. "You might want to drink that. It'll be a long night." he barked over his shoulder as he stepped away from their table, tail raised confidently, not so much inviting as outright *expecting* the other's gaze. "But you better not make me wait." With that said, the lieutenant made his way to their room, grabbed a small cluster of berries prepared to Bastien's request, and lied down on his side on the bedding, in the most *inviting* manner he could muster. His teeth pressed down on the fruit and he sighed in delight as the juice spilled over his tongue, though his mind was occupied by something else entirely.

And every second he waited was another second too long.

manip + code: clae

Sure, he could resist the pressure in an attempt to see how far Nicharion was willing to go to make him submit, but there was an equal beauty to be found in relinquishing all control that made him insatiable. His breath hitched as his back embraced the bench and his sight was filled by a face his mind would not soon forget, his ears with a promise that would not be unheard.

It was with a whine he mourned the moment their bodies parted. His paw twitched, barely suppressing the instinct to reach out. "I hope it is," he managed to purr, lustful gaze watching his companion's purposeful retreat before sliding to the glass that remained untended to.

There were few things that were stronger than alcohol. His self-control was not one of those things, and he knew that just one sip would steal the last reserves of it. Bastien wasn't the young buck he used to be. Age and experience made him acutely aware of how deeply connected he became with even the briefest, most minute touches after having been refused it for so long. And already he felt the strings tugging him in the direction Nicharion had gone; one sip, and he'd happily nail his own hands to the cross.

But right now, uninhibited, he could still walk away if he so chose. There would be a brief mourning period, of course, and he'd be plagued by what-could-have-beens, but his free will would still be in tact. Strings were easier to sever than nails in his experience...


When he finally left, two empty cups sat on the abandoned table.


After all, it was only the beginning of a night still young and full of possibility.

- fade exit -