[ it would so damn easy to just lose himself in this, in him, chase away whatever terrible memories might be coursing through the elf's head after the last four days. he's tempted but it'd be better to indulge in a more comfortable bed, in a more familiar room. ]
Ridiculously endearing.
[ with a great amount of effort he pulls himself off and away from Zervan, finding his coat in his discarded coat and dialling them a taxi. he spends the wait tending to the worst of the elf's surface wounds, using his shirt as a makeshift bandage to wrap up anything still bleeding before throwing his coat over the other man's shoulders. dangerous, that survival side of his brain hisses, giving his disguise up for the more battered and bruised elf. Mollymauk can lie through his teeth, and he does, and tell the driver he'd been attending an early Halloween party or even something about a passion for costuming.
it takes about fifteen minutes for their cab to arrive, for Molly to guide Zervan to the curb and into the cab. it takes ten minutes for Mollymauk to lie to the driver, using the Halloween party excuse to shake off the weird looks the man gives him as they clamber inside. it appeared to be enough to satisfied him as the drive from the motel room to Molly's apartment goes incredibly smoothly. as does the trip up to his floor and down the hall to his apartment proper. ]
Come on, love, you're gonna finding laying on my bed noticeably better than motel's.
[ now within the safety of his apartment, Mollymauk gently guides Zervan towards the bed and pealing his coat off of the elf's body. he tosses it aside, to be forgotten, placing a quick and cheeky kiss to the man's jaw as he guides him. ]
No rouge springs digging into your back, no suspicious stains, no weird smells. [ another quick kiss along the jaw. ] Me tending to your every want and need.
[It really would be. Everything about this is easy - except the broken bones. That part is definitely painful.]
How else can I keep the people interested, hm?
[He sighs, though, when Molly pulls back, and doesn't put up a fight beyond that. Just the dramatic sigh. There aren't many bloodied places, thankfully. The fighting and the buildup to the Baron's combat mostly consisted of blunt force injuries. But he's not going to argue against Molly's help. Like the touch to his face, like the kiss, it's all a wash of relief - to have genuine, gentle contact instead of the fighting. Something, in all the preparations, has him wrap a hand around Molly's arm, leaning on him with an affected wobble. To steal away attention if he has to, by playing the drunk.]
[He doesn't - in fact, it's impressive, how easy his companion can sway the driver. A mental note to tell Molly that much, as soon as they're out of earshot. Still, he makes an effort to seem intoxicated. That way, if the driver questions him favoring one side, he can pass it off as the drink - no one questions it when people in their cups weave around in their steps.]
[It stops as soon as they're safely indoors. For a moment. Love - a step hitches. He's heard the endearment before. It's a turn of phrase, and he knows it, genuinely. He actually shakes his head at himself, jumping at verbal shadows. A pity he couldn't make the Baron pay more for throwing his thoughts out of line like this, practically touch-starved and clinging.]
You have quite the way with words. You had the driver wrapped about your fingers.
[There is absolutely no resistance to being guided around. He's grinning, the hand still at Molly's arm sliding to his waist.]
Oh no. A handsome man is assessing my needs... why did I ever think to hide away? And how ever shall I repay him for his selfless deeds, hm?
It's easier to lie than let them pepper me with questions about the horns and the tail.
[ he doesn't want to think on that too much because his thoughts are likely to venture down a dark path he isn't in the mood entertaining. he'd rather focus on Zervan, on soothing physical hurts with his hands and lips, on chasing away any of those lingering thoughts and feelings brought on by whatever the elf had experienced in that realm.
it's also helping Molly, keeping him distracted from his own thoughts and worries and that ugly feeling sitting in the middle of his chest. he almost lost Hugo and Lycaon both, almost lost this handsome elf he's grown terribly fond of. he almost lost people he cared about again, they almost slipped through his fingers like sand. he hates it, hates that he had been right beside Hugo when the man vanished, hates that he had been so powerless to stop it all. if Caleb had disappeared too? gods, he doesn't want to think what he would do. who he wouldn't become.
but those thoughts are chased away by Zervan's voice, the hand on his waist, the lips on his own. he needs a distraction, Zervan needs a distraction, and what better way to distract yourself than to lose yourself in the pleasure of another? so he will indulge in the elf, give him everything he needs to feel better, to forget, and everything else? the rest of the world and their respective messes waiting patiently for them to re-emerge from the throws of passion? all of that can fucking wait until morning. ]
What a good thing it is I prefer to pepper you with other things?
[On that note, it's time to stop thinking.]
[He's never been more pleased to have run into this man. To find someone who just seemed to get it. You didn't always need to talk, didn't need to rehash everything and drag the nightmares back out into the light. Sometimes, you just needed to staunch the bleeding and leave things be.]
[It also does something to assuage the weird guilt for wanting to leave at all. Cut off another tie, because what if it was lost again? What if something else happened, and the connection he'd just started to make was severed? It happened among the Crows, it happened with the Warden and the party and...]
[No, he is not thinking. He is enjoying, and he is giving. Lips and hands and that clever, clever tail. That's all that matters right now.]
[And if during the night, he ends up staying close, staying in contact as much as possible, with Molly, then, he can blame the past events.]
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no subject
Ridiculously endearing.
[ with a great amount of effort he pulls himself off and away from Zervan, finding his coat in his discarded coat and dialling them a taxi. he spends the wait tending to the worst of the elf's surface wounds, using his shirt as a makeshift bandage to wrap up anything still bleeding before throwing his coat over the other man's shoulders. dangerous, that survival side of his brain hisses, giving his disguise up for the more battered and bruised elf. Mollymauk can lie through his teeth, and he does, and tell the driver he'd been attending an early Halloween party or even something about a passion for costuming.
it takes about fifteen minutes for their cab to arrive, for Molly to guide Zervan to the curb and into the cab. it takes ten minutes for Mollymauk to lie to the driver, using the Halloween party excuse to shake off the weird looks the man gives him as they clamber inside. it appeared to be enough to satisfied him as the drive from the motel room to Molly's apartment goes incredibly smoothly. as does the trip up to his floor and down the hall to his apartment proper. ]
Come on, love, you're gonna finding laying on my bed noticeably better than motel's.
[ now within the safety of his apartment, Mollymauk gently guides Zervan towards the bed and pealing his coat off of the elf's body. he tosses it aside, to be forgotten, placing a quick and cheeky kiss to the man's jaw as he guides him. ]
No rouge springs digging into your back, no suspicious stains, no weird smells. [ another quick kiss along the jaw. ] Me tending to your every want and need.
no subject
How else can I keep the people interested, hm?
[He sighs, though, when Molly pulls back, and doesn't put up a fight beyond that. Just the dramatic sigh. There aren't many bloodied places, thankfully. The fighting and the buildup to the Baron's combat mostly consisted of blunt force injuries. But he's not going to argue against Molly's help. Like the touch to his face, like the kiss, it's all a wash of relief - to have genuine, gentle contact instead of the fighting. Something, in all the preparations, has him wrap a hand around Molly's arm, leaning on him with an affected wobble. To steal away attention if he has to, by playing the drunk.]
[He doesn't - in fact, it's impressive, how easy his companion can sway the driver. A mental note to tell Molly that much, as soon as they're out of earshot. Still, he makes an effort to seem intoxicated. That way, if the driver questions him favoring one side, he can pass it off as the drink - no one questions it when people in their cups weave around in their steps.]
[It stops as soon as they're safely indoors. For a moment. Love - a step hitches. He's heard the endearment before. It's a turn of phrase, and he knows it, genuinely. He actually shakes his head at himself, jumping at verbal shadows. A pity he couldn't make the Baron pay more for throwing his thoughts out of line like this, practically touch-starved and clinging.]
You have quite the way with words. You had the driver wrapped about your fingers.
[There is absolutely no resistance to being guided around. He's grinning, the hand still at Molly's arm sliding to his waist.]
Oh no. A handsome man is assessing my needs... why did I ever think to hide away? And how ever shall I repay him for his selfless deeds, hm?
[Maybe by leaning up to kiss him back.]
no subject
[ he doesn't want to think on that too much because his thoughts are likely to venture down a dark path he isn't in the mood entertaining. he'd rather focus on Zervan, on soothing physical hurts with his hands and lips, on chasing away any of those lingering thoughts and feelings brought on by whatever the elf had experienced in that realm.
it's also helping Molly, keeping him distracted from his own thoughts and worries and that ugly feeling sitting in the middle of his chest. he almost lost Hugo and Lycaon both, almost lost this handsome elf he's grown terribly fond of. he almost lost people he cared about again, they almost slipped through his fingers like sand. he hates it, hates that he had been right beside Hugo when the man vanished, hates that he had been so powerless to stop it all. if Caleb had disappeared too? gods, he doesn't want to think what he would do. who he wouldn't become.
but those thoughts are chased away by Zervan's voice, the hand on his waist, the lips on his own. he needs a distraction, Zervan needs a distraction, and what better way to distract yourself than to lose yourself in the pleasure of another? so he will indulge in the elf, give him everything he needs to feel better, to forget, and everything else? the rest of the world and their respective messes waiting patiently for them to re-emerge from the throws of passion? all of that can fucking wait until morning. ]
no subject
[On that note, it's time to stop thinking.]
[He's never been more pleased to have run into this man. To find someone who just seemed to get it. You didn't always need to talk, didn't need to rehash everything and drag the nightmares back out into the light. Sometimes, you just needed to staunch the bleeding and leave things be.]
[It also does something to assuage the weird guilt for wanting to leave at all. Cut off another tie, because what if it was lost again? What if something else happened, and the connection he'd just started to make was severed? It happened among the Crows, it happened with the Warden and the party and...]
[No, he is not thinking. He is enjoying, and he is giving. Lips and hands and that clever, clever tail. That's all that matters right now.]
[And if during the night, he ends up staying close, staying in contact as much as possible, with Molly, then, he can blame the past events.]