Lord Chris Sonom (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chrisisofaith) wrote2020-08-20 12:31 pm
chrisisofaith) wrote2020-08-20 12:31 pmIC Contact
UN: ravens
You've reached Chris Sonom, previously of Melvaunt Deismyr, please leave a message.
chrisisofaith) wrote2020-08-20 12:31 pm
UN: ravens
You've reached Chris Sonom, previously of Melvaunt Deismyr, please leave a message.
cw: torture, humiliation continued
He flicks his right hand from his side casually and the man that had been Tarent lets out another muffled cry behind his gag as his arms jerk themselves stretched outwards. "I'll take solace, though, in knowing you can't impose your miserable self on anyone else. I'm doing you a favor, really, if the only way you can get off is by forcing your tiny cock into submissive's face by surprise."
The air grows heavy and the guard gags, struggling to breathe both as he can't expand his lungs past a certain point and as the fabric in his mouth is forced further down from the shift in gravity. Hawke remains impassivly standing above. "Know that you died at the hands of yet another submissive who knows what his place should be. Know that you died for daring to touch your betters."
Hawke leans down, pressing one knee to Tarent's chest as he brings his face close. The guard is struggling, straining with bulging eyes and veins clearly defined along his head and neck. One eye has gone completely red for the blood vessels behind it that could not take the strain. "Know that you killed yourself the second you even thought of laying a hand on Chris Sonom."
He pats the side of his face gently and retreats to kneeling at his side instead. Even the pressure lifts and Tarent gets one difficult breath into his lungs before, like Calus, his shirt tears of its own accord to expose the hollow of his chest. "I'm just doing you a favor by informing you."
Words carve themselves in bloody scrawl here too, longer and with painstaking clarity. Hawke's hands rise like a conductor, fingers moving to direct the wounds as they appear, and once they're drawn - and only then - he lowers his hands to his sides again, leaving Tarent still and passed out with dripping letters etched into him. Blood drips in turn from Hawke's face and front. He runs a hand through his beard, staining the snowy white in red streaks, surveying his handiwork.
YOU'RE WELCOME
A simple push of force magic and the corpse tumbles to meet the other, cracking against rock after rock the whole.
Way.
Down.
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Pathetic.
Hawke gets his chance for vengeance, hate, and anger without interruption. Cold echoes out of him and it feels good as the filth at their feet slowly succumbs to the pressure on his chest, the fabric in his throat, the loss of blood from so many wounds.
Then, just as simply as that, he's tossed over the edge and sailing to be judged in his afterlife.
It helps. It helps so much. Knowing he's dead or that they'll break his neck soon and that it'll be the end of it. But there's still work to be done.
The Shadow Mistress reaches out, touching a man so cold her fingers almost burn from the contact with his face. She catches his eyes, and dreams is everything about him difficult to resist. A fire burns in her she wishes she could quench in the chill of him, to press against until they're both nothing but embers and ash.
Later. Their work must be finished, and then she'll take him home for whatever else he'll allow.
"We have to follow them down. Put them out of easy sight. Let's see this done, then we'll go home."
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He ducks down and kisses her, unable to help himself for the emotion that rises to choke him. The kiss is thawing, his skin still chill but mouth hot and needy, a small grunt of pure emotion and adrenaline sounding against her lips and teeth as he pulls her crushingly close for a long moment.
Another and he parts from her, breathing heavy pants against her lips as he nods. There's weariness there now that the deed is done and the feral energy that has suffused and sustained him ebbs and tells him he's overextended his abilities. He's no longer seeing red but coronas of soft color edge her form and that of anything that lives or gives off light, signs of mana imbalance. But she's right, they need to make sure this can't be traced.
"I'll get us down." Another kiss, placed softly on her forehead, and he pulls away entirely to create the disk that can get them silently and safely to the bottom in order to complete their grisly work.
---
No more than an hour later sees them in the elevator back to the Up. Hawke's turned his cloak inside out to hide the splatter, too drained to utilize a cleaning spell for it and not sure he wants to anyway. He needs to feel this still, smell the iron tithe they'd forced due to pay for the wrongs done to one of their own.
He leans against the wall, head lolled back and not dozing but resting his eyes, comforted by having coaxed Amelia up into his side if she's willing. The hand at her back rubs absently but in soothing circles, more just feeling the texture of her clothes than aiming for any meaning in his touch.
The doors part and he's slow to move, bringing Amelia alongside and forcing a natural smile to the SIN guard at the checkpoint, their cover story of a wild night of play with pain and blood given in drunken-sounding pieces until the guard rolls her eyes and waves them out into the much more chill air of the Up.
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Damn the weariness. Damn the pains and soreness. She's going to take them both to new heights after this.
The sharpness of the cold air makes her draw a breath, cheeks flushing as she instinctively leads them toward Shadows' Rest. Her lips are still parted as drags a hand along his arm, pupils wide and eyes unblinking as she looks up into his face.
"I want you home with me," she murmurs. "My home is closer, and I've a shower to melt away everything that isn't us." She raises their entwined hands to brush her lips across his knuckles, her breath warm and soft as she clasps her free hand around his. "I need you, Wolfe, as soon as I'm free of every stitch and weapon."
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Still, his mind works and memories play like visions that chase away peace for each sound in the night, and the sight of his loved ones faces as they were preparing to leave keeps resurfacing. They were going to go home. Get rest. Right?
If it were reversed, he’d want blood. He’d want to taste it in his teeth and feel it on his skin and drag the remains to the feet of his person so they’d know it was done.
They’d tell him, wouldn’t they? Not if they thought he’d have stopped them. He would have stopped them. Those men didn’t deserve more of his thought or attention than they already had, and they certainly didn’t have a right to put hands on his family if something went wrong.
If something went wrong is the thought that sends him out of bed. He can’t get away with getting up twice, but he presses assurances and promises to Jacob’s lips before shoving on his boots and stealing one of his boyfriend’s jumpers from his days as a younger man.
Chris gathers a first aid kit and bandages and an extra knife and heads out into the forest to make his way to…the elevators? The people Zoo? He’s not sure. He’ll start with the zoo, even as the thought stutters his heart, he has to check. Thankfully, he doesn’t get that far. Luck or providence has his trajectory turning a corner to spot them at the end of a street emptied by the late hour.
He opens his mouth to call to them, closes it, and lets his feet carry him instead, eyes already sweeping over them for a limp or careful movement that might give away an injury. What he sees instead is blood. Drying and flecked on skin and hair and hands and his stomach plummets as much as it soars in relief. Three steps four. Five. His bag shifts on his shoulder as he reaches out first for Amelia.
She’s even worse for touch than he is most days, but it doesn’t stop him now. He grabs for her and pulls her close, arms wrapping tight around her as he presses his lips to her hair. Her cheek, wherever he feels he can. When he pulls back, he takes her bloodied hand and presses a kiss there too, uncaring of the traces it leaves on his lips.
He cares just as much when he turns to Hawke next and takes hold of the front of his friend’s shirt to pull him in and press a kiss to his lips. It’s a slow, appreciative thing. Soft for all the evidence of violence they carry. Chris pulls back, a hand on each of them as he bows his head.
“Please tell me you weren’t hurt.”
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"Chris, what are you-" He's too slow to start speaking and isn't through his question by the time his friend's hands are on his collar and pulling him into a kiss he hadn't expected. He goes rigid for a moment. He'd not been ready to let go of the frigid grip on his chest yet, tried and emptied of power as he is, and Amelia had not seemed to ask it of him. He'd been prepared to let the enmity stay as long as it would, fuel that joint experience and come down from it slowly with Amelia in the privacy of her shower and her bed, but that kiss cracks something in him. Thaws it forcefully and with too much ease, and Hawke brings his arms up around Chris without thinking, melting a kiss back into him. When Chris pulls away, he's panting steam again, his shaking fingers having left three red streaks against Chris' jaw.
"No," he responds, voice thick with emotion and exhaustion both. "And neither will you be, never again at those hands."
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She swallows down the desire to ask after it. Now's not the time when Chris is on edge, she and Hawke are covered in blood, and she's still wearing most of her Shadow Mistress mantle.
"It's over," she confirms softly, drawn back completely from both men. It feels... wrong to put herself so close when they're having some kind of moment. She forces down all of her emotions, kills the desire still screaming inside her, and takes a breath as she tries to catch Chris' attention.
"You shouldn't be out right now. What happened to resting? What were you--" She cuts herself off from berating him like instinct tells her to, taking another breath. "You could have messaged us. We would have answered." Eventually.
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Not when their words carried so much already. His spoke of safety and vengeance and a sweep of gutting relief that stings his eyes he shouldn’t be feeling. Hers spoke of love and concern even through a berating tone, and he wants to bury himself in it. He won’t. Seeing them while is enough.
“I got scared. Something you said before leaving sat ill in me and I worried for you two, that you’d get hurt on account of me. I couldn’t sleep. I thought…I’d start with the zoo and go from there, I forgot I could-” text. Call. He did it so often and yet sometimes, instinct ran first and his phone sat forgotten in his pants pocket. “I’ll not keep you now that I’ve seen you, I just…I…”
His hand at Amelia’s waist and Hawke’s arm tighten and his eyes lower to look away from them as his emotions fail him and them.
“Thank you.” I love you.
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He smiles, a tight but genuine thing that looks sinister with the blood streaking his beard. They'd wiped what they could from their faces but it was little enough help having already dried and the blood they couldn't clear away is frightful enough. Even so he tucks Chris close, one arm curled around him even as the other reaches for Amelia's arm too, unaware of more meaning behind the kiss. He's worn and obtuse in his exhaustion and unable to untangle affection and concern if turned towards him. And for reciprocation? Well. Every kiss he's given Chris since he arrived back months ago has been a silent declaration. It's been present since that night he got off the train.
"We're alright, Chris. We'll actually go home now, I promise you, though I think both to Shadows' Rest." He nearly invites Chris along, his need to keep both of them close to outweighing reason, but he's not so far gone as that. Things are still new and being felt out with Amelia and he feels he must be careful with his priorities lest she thinks she's not one of them.
Even so, he can't just leave Chris alone on the street. He glances at Amelia in thanks for her patience and kisses the top of Chris' head, trying not to leave blood there too. "Do you want escort back to the Hollow? We can take you that far."
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"It's all right. Had I been thinking, I'd have offered to send you updates." That would have kept him from coming out here, at least. She can't be upset at him for thwarting what had built in her when his thoughts are so scrambled, when everything in him is off after being violated in such a way. He needs time to recover, and she's fine. Recovery from too little sleep, a flood of adrenaline, and bearing such emotional weight should come first.
She's fine. She doesn't need anything as much as Chris does.
Exhaling a little breath, she kisses Chris' cheek again and shifts her hand to his lower back. "Where do you want us to be tonight? We need to get clean, but if you need us under the same roof, you'll have that. At mine or Jacob's, or even Marzipan Terrace." Her chest tightens, but it doesn't show in her face as she kisses Chris one last time. "We're here for you, however you want."
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And all at once, something dark fills in where the relief had washed through before. Guilt. Shame. A flash of his family's faces laughing and joking as he stands at the edges of the room to watch them. He should have stayed home. Texted them. They're right, what could he have done to help regardless, with his magic gone and his scythe back home? He just worried them. He brought them to violence that could have seen them captured or hurt...still could. What if one of the birds had caught sight of them?
He feels sick and hollow and hateful, not to them but to himself. He should have kept quiet.
He steps back and out of their physical reach, that same detached expression from earlier back in his face as he lifts his chin. "I'll see myself back to the Hollow. Get home, please. Clean up. Take care of each other...and maybe keep your heads down a couple days. Good night, loves."
If he lingers, waits for them to answer, they might...say something. Push. He couldn't give them the chance. Maybe it made him look foolish, to show up and then leave so quickly, but maybe he should. He shouldn't have come in the first place. Shouldn't have involved them. He gives a nod and turns to head back the way he came, bag resituated on his shoulder and a hand wrapped tightly around the strap.
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"I was scared too. We both were, we couldn't-" He tries to find words in his mess of a head, trying to find the right thing to say as comes so easily to him normally. The thing that will break the tension, that will convince Chris not to march off alone into the woods and leave them standing on the street with this heartache. Or that's just him, he doesn't know. He can't tell. He has to pull himself together. "I-I need to know this hasn't- That you'll be alright."
It's a stupid thing to say. He's not sure what he would have said instead, but he hates what came out of him. Desperation, a clinging reedy quality to his voice that wavers in the wake of what feels like everything that had been keeping him together no longer supporting his weight. He's not the one who needs time and room to fall apart, he shouldn't be asking for anything from Chris, he should be propping him up and telling him that he'll be alright. He should be certain. Decisive. A pillar of support. Instead he's standing covered in blood on the street between two people he loves dearly and unable to be of use to either one because he's too worn and too greedy to pick up his own pieces and set the world right.
"Chris." Softer, with no thread of desperation running through it now, but no less pleading. Please.
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She steps forward and reaches for Chris' hand, not yet out of her reach with her own energy still propped up by their violence. Her mask still hides most of her emotions, but it can't hide the concern she feels. Something happened just now, something she doesn't understand, and he can't be left to think he's done something wrong. He didn't. Amelia doesn't need to understand what she's seeing to know that.
"Chris." Her tone is soft, but warm. "At least let us get you back to Jacob. We want to know you're safe." She gives his hand a squeeze, and briefly turns her gaze to Wolfe as she rests her free hand on his forearm. He looks so disoriented by all of this, and she can only imagine it's compounded by his heavy use of magic tonight.
Her voice firms a little as she draws herself closer to Chris, offering what comfort she can while they're out in the cold in the middle of an empty street. "Whatever you're feeling, I swear to you, you've done no wrong. Please, we won't come in if you don't want that, but we want to know you make it back safely. If that's too far, come to Shadows' Rest. I've space and food enough for all of us."
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Hawke's voice is a plea and Amelia's concern is clear where there'd been almost nothing before. There's too much running through his mind and over it all, the guards jeering at him. What a pretty mouth he had, too bad he used it for back talk and sarcasm. They had a fix for that.
They were right about one thing, he certainly never seemed to use it to find the right words.
He takes a centering breath, not to subside the storm in him, but simply to set it aside. Now wasn't the time. Hawke needed Chris to be okay. Amelia needed him to show it. He could do that. He turns back to them, expression gentle and smile not full or even trying to be, but affectionate all the same. "I'll be alright. I can't stay away from Jacob, he'll worry too much, and I've more'n one knife on me and a first aid kit, I can get back just fine. I've been in this city three years without incident, one day won't change that." He doesn't address the rest of what Amelia or Wolfe says, he can't...but he can do this.
"Please. What I need is for you two to get home and cleaned up and take care of each other. Getting caught out with too many questions helps no one." He at least bites back the apology that threatens to bubble up. That's not helpful right now.
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What's not addressed is left to lie, Hawke too tired to notice or too wound up and weary to follow through. He doesn't kiss him again either, though he sorely wants to. It would be easier, a wordless communication of everything he wants to get across, but that wouldn't be warranted either. Instead he lets out a helpless breath and squeezes Chris' shoulder, his thumb lightly brushing the side of his friend's neck. "Alright. You win. Just send me - send us a message when you're up in the morning, alright? I know you probably have a hundred other people who want to know the state of you but... indulge me."
Swallowing a lump in his throat, Hawke finally manages to pull together somewhat. He's not helping, otherwise. He moves his hand from Chris' shoulder and places it over Amelia's on his forearm, knowing the decision he's made is probably not exactly as she would have done. She'll want to see him all the way there, whatever he says, but it's true it's not far and if he gets caught with them looking like this he'll be in more trouble than otherwise.
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"One when you get back to the Hollow too, if you please." She offers Chris a wry smile before withdrawing, taking Wolfe's hand between both of hers to offer him something steady to hold. "Rest well, Chris. We'll talk again on the morrow."
She lets the cleric retreat first, watching his form disappear from view before she finally releases a breath she'd held for fear of things falling further apart. It's not an ideal situation now, but it's what they have. There's nothing more to it than that.
Squeezing the cool hand in hers, she turns her smile up to the mage, worry more freely written in her face now. "You look tired," she murmurs, reaching up to caress his cheek. "Let me take you home, then we'll get cleaned up and find something to eat before bed, all right?"
There's no real space given for him to dissent as her feet are already on the move, leading them toward Shadows' Rest. Aloïs will have to forgive the mess they'll leave in the larger of their bathrooms, because she already knows everything they're wearing will be left across the floor. The first real victim to all the violence they committed today.
She's quiet the rest of the way to the house, eyes focused on every shadow and corner they pass to keep watch for any who might stop them. The trip is thankfully quiet, a blessing of the hour. Once they're inside, up the stairs, and into the bathroom, she finally breaks her silence as she takes his face between both hands and truly looks him over. Dreams, he's a mess, all the ice from before gone, a mirror of her own dampened fire. It makes her frown softly, but it's not what she remarks on when she speaks.
"How are you feeling? I thought I lost you for a moment when Chris found us."
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He sheds the cloak first, then his shirt without preamble as she leads him to the bathroom and pauses to bring her fingers against his cheeks, burning hot to his chilled skin even if logically he knows she must be cold as well. There's still snow on the ground outside.
He takes a moment just to breathe, to find himself again and force himself to be here, now, with her and a softness comes over his eyes when he opens them again, his cheeks gaining back some color. He brings his hands around hers and moves to kiss the fingers of one, lips warmed as he makes himself settle. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me; I just couldn't stand him leaving like that. Shutting down..."
He shakes his head, not sure what else to say. She probably needs reassurance too. He's not the only friend Chris has, not even here in this room. "He'll be alright. He's strong and he won't let this beat him."
Doubt threatens that statement. What had he said to Amelia when they'd panicked about this before? That Chris would be alright. That he can protect himself. He can, on any given day, but.
But.
He leans forward, pressing his forehead against Amelia's and sliding his arms around her. He can't handle anything more painful tonight. He'll grieve and he'll feel guilty tomorrow but for now he just needs to feel peace. "Let's get cleaned up, alright? You've got red in your hair."
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She allows her eyes to close briefly as she leans into him, exhaling a heavy breath. She can't set everything down yet, not until she's certain he's in bed and resting, but she can start. They're both inside now, away from any guards, far from the scene of their vengeance. They are, for the moment, safe.
Another breath, and she opens her eyes and finds a small smile for him. "Take off what you're wearing. I'll get the water running. You can tell me if it's too hot when we get in."
She's slow to draw away, but once she manages, she walks over to the shower and start the water running. Her weapons, pouches, and belt get deposited on the stone vanity, her boots ditched in a corner by the tub. Her bodice gets a little more care, laid across her things on the vanity after it's unlaced, but the remainder of her clothes are tossed without a thought into the tub. It's where they'll start getting washed tomorrow anyway.
Her hair comes down last, her tight braids let free with a single tense breath. It feels vulnerable, letting her tresses loose in this way, and she has to remind herself that Wolfe is safe when the ingrained fear threatens to rise up in her. Her breaths are harder than she means them to be when she faces him again, and she hopes he's too tired to notice as she takes his hand and leads him under the cascading rainfall of water waiting for them on the other side of glass doors.
"We can sit, if that would help," she tells him, motioning to the bench as the water starts to seep into them, washing away the first layer of blood. Her hands find both of his again to get his attention as she looks up at him, so much taller when she's barefoot. "Anything you need, I want you to have right now. I'm here for you, and only you."
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She's gorgeous. It occurs to him this is the first time he's actually seen her fully undressed... Maybe? That doesn't seem right but his addled mind that's telling him sounds are tastes and tastes are colors isn't too hung up on the point. He just looks at her, hair down and poised with confidence and grace and when she reaches to guide him kindly into the shower under the spray of blessedly hot water, it's all he can do to lean in and kiss her.
Slowly.
Reverently.
He's tired and horribly mixed up in the dregs of the emotions the night has wrung from him, but the kiss is certain and for her alone if she'll have him. She's been nothing but a solid, supportive presence despite how he knows she must be feeling and he knows he has something to make up to her. Even if he can't name it, he'll give her all he can to right it. Mind, body, and soul.
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The heat that builds in her isn't the same as it was before, when he was pure ice against her in his lingering rage and anger. A fire then, fueled by her own unspent emotion, the violence sharpening her hard edges so she might cut into him and never let go. Now it's gently stoked embers, soft and comforting like the touch of warm night air on her skin. She doesn't know the feeling at all, doesn't understand where it's coming from or why it exists, but it's... wonderful. It's poured into her as if she's a glass to be filled, and it... it's... so much. Dreams, it's too much, and yet it's somehow not enough.
What is this feeling? Where did it come from? How did he...? How is it...?
All questions without answers, and for once, she doesn't care to find them. It doesn't matter when he's here.
An arm wraps around his torso as she presses herself into him, her other hand resting along his jaw as she parts her lips and invites a deeper connection between them. This isn't the rough or playful treatment she's come to associate with their more intimate moments; this is loving, offered with a depth and meaning she doesn't know or have words for. She craves more of it, but holds herself back, a lingering part of her mind still worried for his current physical state.
They shouldn't do this, not after everything that happened. She... she can hold back. She can put distance between them to keep them both safe. To keep him safe. They'll have time later. In the morning. Just... not now.
It's physically painful to break her lips from his, and it shows in her face. Her mask is slipping, her grasp on it failing under the weight of this moment. She's panting softly as she tries to put the smallest distance between them, exhaustion beginning to color her features.
"Wolfe, we should... We need sleep." Her lip trembles a little as she tries to force a small smile. It doesn't work at all. "Rest, then we can do anything you like. I promise."
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"I'll stop," he tells her in a near whisper, still crowding her space with his elbow to forearm resting against the wall of the shower. He stays there, mouth so near hers, with the water running over him in steaming rivulets, his much too long hair in his face. The blood's run from his beard now, at least, changing color back to white. "If you want me to stop, I'll stop."
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The words sit at the front of her mind, pushing her to utter what will get him to stop. She is the Shadow Mistress, and she does not need anything after a night of violence, pain, and heavy emotions. She does not want for things either. Wants don't exist for her.
He lingers close, not letting her move an inch until she speaks, and her heart starts to pound in her chest. Time and again he's told her she can have what she wants. Others have, too, but Hawke is-- Wolfe is always telling her to let herself have those things. To not deny herself for the sake of others. It's hard to let that go, especially when she's spent the last several hours putting those she loves first. Chris needed her. Wolfe did, too. They had to come first. Their wants were her needs. But now... Now...
She draws her hand over his face, pushing his hair from his eyes so she can see him, and she... breaks, in the most wonderful way.
"I want... to be with you." Here. Now. Dreams, she wants to wash away everything that isn't them to just exist with him for a time in this feeling he's invoked in her. She takes a small breath, then tugs him in again with the arm around his chest, pressing their lips together as she surrenders to this. To his body against hers. To the desire for him. To everything that is him being with her while this feeling lasts.
She won't regret this. Her mind wants to believe she will, but her heart is certain: this is everything she needs while the chance is still hers.
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One arm around her waist, he pulls her against him, sliding her into his lap as he rolls his tongue lazily against hers, in no hurry and finding new sensation in his current state. She tastes like love and he couldn't tell you what that would translate to if he wasn't crosswired, but it's the perfect flavor and he leans into her for more, making soft needy sounds against her lips.
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She follows his tug, holding nothing back from him as she presses the whole of herself to him as best she can, lips parted and tongue seeking-- something, anything to explain this feeling. Her fingers dig into him, not harshly but to give herself some stability, to keep her mind from drifting so far as to convince her this is some dream or fantasy she never dared entertain until he kissed her like this and meant it.
Her mantle is gone, the Shadow Mistress returned to shadows, but she can't let go of the tension in her chest. He loves her, and she him, but this is... it feels so... at war with what she knows, with everything she's ever had. What if she does this wrong? What if she pushes and it's too far? Will he still love her then? Will it send him fleeing?
Darker thoughts take hold enough to affect her breathing, causing her to break away from their latest kiss. She presses her forehead to his, eyes closed to keep him from seeing the redness in them. "I need a moment," she whispers between pants. "I'm-- I'm fine, but I need..." Something. She doesn't know what. She swallows hard and exhales a shaky breath.
"I'm all right." Maybe if she says it enough, her body will believe her. "Let me catch my breath, then... then everything."
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She is that, to him. Precious. Like a gem, hard and sharp and beautiful, forced under pressure into a shining beacon. She shines in his eyes and he'll give her all the time in the world if it means she'll allow him to touch her again, to whisper gentle words and light soft touches to her skin. She's a warrior, a fighter, and simply because she is these things he wants to show her an entirely other sort of glory.
He waits, unable to stop himself slowly carding his fingers through her hair, a hand on her shoulder in the warm spray, until she can breathe again.
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Wrap <3