chrisisofaith | IC Contact

A curious eye might notice it does indeed have...scales? Probably. At least, they're ridges in a similar color to Chris' scales and feathers that encircle the base.

In the torn moment of not being sure how to say what's in his head, Chris at least manages to resist the urge to let his cock lose its rigidity and...move as he'd learned it could do. Even like this, he knew a slightly prehensile dick might be too much for his poor Archivist. He does reach up to dig his fingers into Jon's short hair, causing his talons to scrape briefly along his scalp.

"Hand is...yes...just kiss me."

It's barely a request as he lunges up to press their lips together. The force of it catches both of their lips on the edges of his sharp teeth and he swirls his tongue over the nicks as apology before seeking more. Deeper. He's closer than he should be...but Jon had that effect on him, whether he liked it or not.

Jon's heart races, as much for the scrape of very sharp talons and teeth that could rip his throat out as the fact that he's chosen to do this to help settle his boyfriend down. Chris... likes sex, though. A release might help him? Maybe. God, Jon doesn't know if that's supposed to actually help.

But Chris seems enthusiastic now. The consent given on both sides? They might have to have a conversation later about whether there's any sort of issue there caused by the siren's instincts.

He tastes blood winces as their mouths meet, and Jon lets the other man take him there while he continues to work the scaled, feathery length in his hand. An effort is made to try to... catch some of the feathers. Just a sort of flex of his fingers when he's down near the base. If this like stroking someone's pubic hair? What are the mechanics for a bird-fish creature?

While his hand does it's best, Jon's lips know this dance far better. Albeit, there are fewer teeth involved in their usual snogging sessions. With the way Chris is positioned, Jon can go up on his tip-toes to get a better vantage to for tipping the siren's head back and deepen the embrace. He can do this. What his hands are doing are secondary. At least one part of this can be good.

The hand on him might not be amazing but it’s functional and still with someone he loves with every ounce of himself. With Jon. That was bonus. He can feel his body tensing and focuses more on the kissing.

There’s something in him that revels in how his partner looks over him with how he’s angled. A tangle of lips and a hand on him…

Jon’s name slips from him in a very needfully human way as his nails very lightly prick the skin beneath them and Chris’ head tips back in surrender. To Jon. To the moment. To how his body shudders and his cock pulses as orgasm overtakes him and he spills over his lover’s hand.

It’s not a song that breathes from his throat, but a gasping whispered sound of Jon’s name.

Jon bites his tongue as he feels the nails dig into him. It's a small bit of pain, and that, he can take. At least Chris isn't trying to bite him on instinct with his very sharp inhuman teeth. There's some satisfaction in the end, though, even for the Archivist. Hearing Chris so plaintive in the aftermath makes his heart flutter a little. However inexpert, he's managed to do something that's made Chris feel good, if but for a fleeting moment.

Jon lets go quickly and holds his hand so the water rinses the cum off. His other arm continues to brace him near the siren. "You're all right. We're going to get through this and you're going to change back," he murmurs. "And Amelia's going to come back. We'll handle this. Together."

With his hand mostly clean, he wraps it around Chris' back and pulls him into a hug. "I love you, Chris. Whatever you do, whatever you are. I still love you." It seems like the least he can offer after the kindness the cleric has shown him.

For a moment, the world and his head feel a little more at peace, the fog in both leaving him thoughtless and unfettered.

It’s not until Jon has his arms around him again the thoughts return.

He killed Amelia.

And she’ll forgive him for it.
Jon forgave him for it.

He keeps his breathing even, shuts his eyes tight, and keeps Jon close. A few tears slip through despite him, but they’re lost in the shower’s spray.

“I love you as well…without you, I’d…” the words die, not for brambles in his throat, but for too many answers to offer. All resonating similarly: he’d be long since lost. He takes another breath and focuses on the feeling of Jon in his arms to keep the rest of his thoughts, inhuman or otherwise, out.

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