Elijah
[Did you survive last night?]
Dice: 4 d10 TN7 (1, 2, 9, 9) ( success x 2 )
Ian Lai
[For the lulz - Dex+Performance]
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 10, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 2
Ian Lai
It was early into the later part of a Friday evening, and the line outside Beta Nightclub already stretched down the Blake St sidewalk. Ian, of course, wasn't in the line. He'd skipped past it earlier, because people like Ian got to do things like that. Maybe it was because he was charming or handsome or just a tiny bit famous with the right sort of crowd, or maybe it was because he had abilities that most of the other people there that night did not. (And let's face it, Ian was absolutely the sort of person to use mind manipulation to get inside a club without having to wait in line.) However he'd managed it, he was inside now, dancing with an ever-growing crowd of young and beautiful people in the center of the main floor.
The DJ was playing something dark and electronic with a slick pulse of bass. The lights in the club were cooled down to match the tone and tempo of the music, and the dancers were bathed in shades of blue. All of them looked as though they were having a good time, lost to the beat and flow of the music and the pulse of life moving around them. A few of them even looked as though they actually knew how to dance.
Ian... really looked like he knew how to dance. It made him stand out, the way the other dancers shifted to give him space. They way the people at the bar watched him with dawning envy. There was grace (elegance) and athleticism to the way he moved here. Like an animal in its natural element. And tonight there was something especially triumphant about it - that he was still here. Alive, and not trapped in some hyper-realistic mindscape. That his body was still his. That he could still do this even after being in a coma for three weeks.
He'd been taken that night from a dance club that was even larger and more sophisticated than this one. But Ian wasn't about to let that stop him from going back.
There was a blend of techniques to his movement - a flow of inspiration from hip hop to ballet. Mostly here he kept the jumps and spins to a minimum, but you could still see the influence of his classical training sometimes. The way he held his balance. The way his muscles shifted with controlled precision. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and fitted jeans with a faintly shimmered finish, with a handful of leather bracelets tied about both wrists. Fashionable but simple. Clothes that were easy to move in.
It didn't seem as though he was there with anyone in particular. Possibly he'd come with the intention of finding someone to go home with, though at the moment he seemed pretty content just to dance.
Elijah
There was a certain degree of self medication that came with being a man of Elijah Poirot's rather unusual talents. There was a certain degree of white noise that he had grown accustomed to hearing-
Well, let's not say grown accustomed to it. He'd grown to accept it as part of his life. He'd grown to just accept that there was always going to be a constant hum of conversation and poking and prodding and insistences that he was going to hear and feel and deal with until the inevitable day that he died. While this sounds morbid, Elijah actually wasn't terribly concerned about his ever-so-much-creeping-closer demise. No, Elijah would be lucky if he was one of those people who made it part twenty-seven, and he still had a long ways to go. Then again, being the Jimi Hendrix of the magical world didn't seem like too bad of an idea, now did it?
But all of this was beside the point. Adjacent to it, but not directly on top of it. It didn't acknowledge why Elijah was where he was. He was at the club because the sound of a thrumming, heavy and steady bass. Bass you can feel long before you can hear it. Like a good boy, he waited in line, didn't mind the wait because he was not that special brand of special that warranted being able to skip in line, but he usually came to these types of places with his room mate in tow- though tonight Jenn was nowhere to be found. Girls' Night, which meant that Jenn was getting towed around with her girlfriends to other clubs where people stared at her tattoos and tried to come up with clever retorts about wanting to find out if she was painted up like that everywhere.
Eventually, though, he did get in, because he was tall and thin and pretty and generally harmless in the event that someone needed to throw him out. Plus, his ID said he was golden, so why not let Mr. Poirot in? There are always those moments in line when he isn't sure if he'll get in, but the anticipation was nice, plus the now thrum of people made it less apparent when he young man in the white V neck shirt and some gray pants. If he turned right , the outline of the Aberlemno serpent stone was present- all cobalt blues and dark outlines. He had about half a dozen bracelets on his left wrist, because why not? and a vest, because he needed a place to put his pocket watch.
Because pocket watch
Ian Lai
[Per+Awareness]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )
Ian Lai
Ian wasn't the only person there that night who was Awake. He knew that. He could feel the tumultuous energy of Elijah's resonance bleeding into the rhythmic pulse of the music. It was an unfamiliar sensation, and one that drew enough of his attention that he let his focus shift to track that resonance back to its source. He didn't stop dancing, but his eyes found Elijah where he stood by the bar. Found him and gazed at him the way a tiger might gaze at a stag. Alert and hungry.
He didn't approach him though. There was an entire evening left for that, and right now... this was about as close to happy as Ian usually got. Dancing like this. Feeling the pulse of his own heart and the woven patterns of the people around him.
Elijah
[Per+aware, other mages?]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 4, 5, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
Elijah
One of these things is not like the others. This young man just isn't the same, he feels like a mess. He may look nice, but he feels like a boisterous, chaotic, turbulent happening. To call him a force of nature was to limit what nature was- whether he was a primal force or a force inside of man or one that was on a more intimate level. What was Elijah Poirot? He was most easily likened to a hurricane, because what could one calla hurricane but tumultuous but even then hurricanes were predictable- spent days at sea before hitting main land and could still be horrific and devastating, but this much Elijah knew.
You didn't live in New Orleans and not know something about hurricanes. We digress.
The stag takes a second, shot in hand and his eyes fall on Ian briefly. Just briefly enough that he feels something. Something that most assuredly is primal, and it is like being in a room with cunning grace. Dangerous, alluring elegance, and as much as he wants to look away, he can't because the man is a force of creation, something or someone who can dance like that is certainly worthy of noting.
Elijah does his shot of tequila- because you start the evening off right- and when his eyes come back tot he dance floor, he's lost Ian. So… why not investigate?
"Into the fray," he said to himself, and Elijah Poirot opened a tab and was off to go dance.
Elijah
[okay, CAN you survive dancing?]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 4, 8) ( success x 2 ) [WP]
Ian Lai
[Dex+Stealth -2 diff because people and shadows and loud music]
Dice: 7 d10 TN4 (1, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8) ( success x 6 )
Elijah
[do I notice? Per+alert]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (6, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9) ( success x 6 )
Ian Lai
The crowd shifted as more people filed onto the dance floor, and moments later Ian was gone from sight. But not for long. He was lithe and subtle, the way he slipped through small spaces. And his dancing relaxed as the song quieted and the beats blended into something new. He moved across the black-painted floorboards, sliding through dancers who either moved out of the way or sidled up against him. One touched his arm and whispered something in his ear, and he glanced at her as though to mark her face to memory, then smiled and slipped away.
And suddenly he was there as Elijah's side. Elijah would likely feel him approach before he saw him. That cunning, primal resonance winding ever closer. Ian hid himself beautifully, but Elijah's senses were everywhere.
And Ian was dancing, winding his torso in a smooth flow with the music as he merged into Elijah's space. He made it look natural, like he'd just ended up there somehow, and when their eyes met he tilted his head lightly and smiled in a way that said I know what you are.
"I don't think we've met." He had to raise his voice to be heard over the music.
Elijah
There is a way that prey animals keep alive, and that stag is keen and vigilant. That stag is sharp tonight, his senses everywhere they needed to be- on the woman whose body he brushed against. On the man who's arm he brushed- and he grinned like it was nobody's business because the world was beautiful and that grin was a perpetual feature and he didn't care what he was doing so long as he was out there with the hum of the crowds and in that mass of people. He wondered if their hearts all beat the same, like a metronome to the steady thump of the bass and Riddick drills in his ears something about hyper sleep, how it doesn't shut off the primal part of your brain.
The other man is stealthy, is careful and graceful- damn is he graceful- but Elijah somehow managed to keep track
I know what you are, that smile said. That grin of his widens to a smile, and there isdelight, wonder in that expression of his because why not? Why should he not be delighted?
Oh, there are a world of reasons. Not everyone who has awakened means you well, dear child, but in this instance fate is kind. Or at least, fate is not cruel, "we have now," he replied, "I'm Elijah."
Like the prophet.
Ian Lai
I'm Elijah.
Ian leaned in until his breath brushed the ridges of Elijah's ear. "Ian." They were the same height, and when Ian pulled back their eyes were perfectly in line.
He didn't ask if Elijah wanted to dance, because they already were. And if Elijah wished to put more space between them, all he had to do was drift away into the crowd and Ian would find someone else to be near. Someone else's ear to breath words against. Someone else's pulse to keep time to.
But that was only one of many possibilities. And right now, neither of them seemed interested in leaving. But a crowded dance floor was hardly the place for real conversation, so Ian didn't ask Elijah if he was with a Tradition or what he did for a living or any of the other standard getting-to-know-you questions. Instead he got to know Elijah by the way he moved, by the way he felt, and by the way his heart beat.
Ian was a very good dancer. Elijah had already seen that. But right now he was more focused on keeping time with Elijah - on the weave and flow of their bodies as they moved into and around each other - than he was on showing off. Not that he wasn't still beautiful to watch.
Elijah was beautiful to watch, too.
[The Web of Life (aka Life scan), diff 4 -1 (hella practiced)]
Dice: 2 d10 TN3 (2, 4) ( success x 1 )
Ian Lai
[he's going to extend that to last the scene]
Dice: 2 d10 TN4 (5, 5) ( success x 2 )
Elijah
Ian.
And damned if his breath wasn't warm on his skin and made his throat want to seize up if only because of the sensation of it all. He was governed by these things, anchored by a world of movement and touch and not-quite-there-yet-ness because that is how he could remind himself of what was real. If he could taste heartbeats and feel the pulse of another person beneath his hands and if he could move with them.
Elijah Poirot needed sensation as badly as oxygen, because what was the point of having breath in one's lungs if you couldn't feel it?
His body lies, though. His body lies in the most convincing of ways that his pattern can't. While he might seem calm and collected and coy his heart is pounding and there is a flush just riding beneath the surface. He moves without care, but he is careful- a nice contradiction. Knows where his limits and his boundaries are. He's not even drunk yet, but he knows those boundaries because he knows how hard he has to push them and how far he can push them before he goes toppling over the edge. And that's what this is. That's what dance, movement, all of this is. He's pushing himself, and even if it doesn't take much he pushes himself because-
Well, because.
He can't get the smile off his face; that much of him is genuine.
Ian Lai
People lied in a thousand little ways every day. Skin and clothes hid things that autonomic responses gave away. And Ian fed on that. The flow of life that lived just beneath the surface - wild and honest. When his senses opened and found Elijah's pattern in the sea of beating hearts, Ian closed his eyes and listened to the pounding drum of Elijah's pulse. The vivid energy of it. The way it reacted when their bodies touched.
Maybe it was the dancing. Maybe it was Ian. Either way, Ian was drawn to it. Like a predator, yes, but that metaphor gets a bit uncomfortable after a point. This was indeed a kind of hunting, but it wasn't the kind that took from anyone. Ian wasn't a vampire. He was something else entirely.
And Elijah... so far, he was a lovely mystery. A mystery that Ian was already beginning to unwind. Like the fact that he was younger than he looked. That he'd probably used a fake ID to buy that tequila shot Ian could smell on his breath. And maybe that made him slow down just a little. Because Ian was hardly an old man, but he had enough years and enough experience on the apprentice to make their power-dynamic ever-so-slightly skewed.
It didn't make Ian walk away though. And where he might have tried to touch Elijah with his lips, instead he let his hand brush against Elijah's wrist and wind a trail up the inside of Elijah's forearm with the tips of his fingers.
[Per+Awareness-as-Empathy, because he wants to know how Elijah is reacting to all this.]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 8, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
Elijah
[what can I get away with here? Per+awareness]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 4, 8, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )
Ian Lai
[How careful is Ian being about not giving things away? Manip+Subterfuge]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )
Elijah
It's a different kind of hunt. The kind where the stag does not flee but, instead, waits to surrender or perhaps pull back just enough that there was a chase. And the chase, thatwas the fun part of this. It was… well, it was more like dancing. More like balance. More of a give and a take and a push and a pull and only the stars know what else.
There are things Elijah doesn't know, but he knows what he feels against his skin and on his senses. There's a tension in his body, but not the kind that comes with apprehension. No, quite the opposite. There is a tension, different, in his wrist. Something stiff. Something that hasn't quite worked itself out, something that aches on cold days and the memory of pulling too hard to reach for-
Exhale.
They aren't talking about the past; they aren't talking at all. Elijah is almost protective of that wrist, but not quite. Trusting enough of this complete stranger- any complete stranger- that they can touch with such casual intimacy. When he moves, he pushes back, His intention was th stay close, to brush him when presented with the opportunity. When there is a push, Elijah pushes back. His interest is clear, Ian could have well asked him to jump off a bridge at that juncture and Elijah would have probably done it. At first, there was that moment of surprise, but never was there disdain. Never was there dislike. No, quite the opposite- perhaps there was desire but there was more than desire.
Elijah was fascinated with Ian.
Ian Lai
Elijah was Kalen's apprentice, but if Kalen had ever mentioned Elijah to Ian, there was no memory of it. And it seemed likely that Kalen had not spoken of Ian to Elijah either. (At least, not by name or description.) If either of them had known who the other was... would it have changed things?
Possibly. But they didn't.
So Ian touched Elijah with his hand, and Elijah pushed into the touch just as he pushed his way into Ian's space when they danced. And then Ian stopped dancing entirely so that he could raise his hand to Elijah's neck and trace his thumb down the side of Elijah's throat. He could feel the pulse beating there. Could even see it jumping quickly beneath Elijah's skin. Ian didn't need any of these senses to know how Elijah's pattern was reacting, but it made the fascination and the temptation all the more immediate.
Ian was still. Still and quiet amidst a sea of motion and sound. And although he was far from tired, his own heart beat quickly, and his need for breath was visible in the deep rise and fall of his chest. He leaned in, and his lips touched where his thumb had been, open and soft against Elijah's neck. His tongue pressed once, teasingly, before he pulled away (tasting Elijah's skin.)
"Want to go somewhere?" He asked, dragging his mouth back to Elijah's ear.
Elijah
It might have changed things, or it might not have changed things at all. what did Elijah and Kalen discuss when they weren't discussing magic? Any number of things, but Elijah was not familiar with Ian. Not by name, not by anything other than the lingering effects he had in Kalen's countenance. if he had known, perhaps things would be different, but they could talk of hypotheticals all night, but what mattered were the facts.
Elijah stopped dancing, and there was that moment of stillness. That moment where his heart was beating hard and fast at a near dizzying pace. there was a tunnel vision. A narrowing of scope. Elijah could not have cared less about the other people in the club, and there comes a moment when his mind narrowed and his ping pong ball attention was on Ian. His eyes bright and curious-
Right up until his hands met the sides of his throat, and his breath came out in a shuddering exhalation. He bit his lower lip, eyes closed and the first thing he could think of to do against the sensation of the other man's tongue on his flesh was to nod. Words wouldn't come and there is the taste of honeyed sweat on his flesh. Of passionate turbulence, and what did the tumultuous young man taste like?
Chaos, darling. He tasted like chaos, it lingered soft on his senses.
"Yeah," it's all he can manage to get out.
Ian
One could possibly make the claim that Ian was at his best when he was with strangers. When he could be this creature of fascination. When all anyone knew about him was that he was primal and beautiful. How many times had he done this? Seen someone he wanted in a club or a bar or a fucking museum and just... gone for it? No hesitation. No preamble. Like a dance, familiar and instinctive as muscle memory.
Some people disliked that about him. Perhaps that dislike was justified.
Yeah, Elijah said. And Ian smiled and took his hand - the one that did not bear hints of an old injury - and started to lead them both out of the club. Elijah would probably need to stop to pay his tab and collect his credit card. And if so the bartender would glance between him and Ian with a softly amused expression, but he knew better than to offer any direct comment. Then the two of them were outside in the warm night air, and Ian paused and looked at Elijah, contemplating the details of Elijah's face in the bright city lights.
"Your place? I can drive if you want."
Elijah
"If you could drive, that would be great, I've only got one helmet," that he didn't bother wearing eighty percent of the time but the young man wasn't terribly concerned with having a closed casket funeral. They weren't talking about helmets, though, and Elijah was probably intending to go pick up his motorcycle later, given his propensity for not staying sober at these sorts of establishments. The fact that he hasn't had the damned thing stolen yet was really a blessing, or perhaps the mediocrity of Elijah's choice in vehicles was something that worked in his favor.
In the light outside, there are things that become apparent. His nose is straight and his eyes are green. Not a pale green, but something like the color the sky turns right before a storm. Something that skewed turquoise in the club but leaned closer to amber in the street lights. When he grins- and he does grin bright and alive and playful- his mouth turns up more on the left than the right. The expression came easily, as though he had no reason to not be delighted with the universe. His attention was focused, direct.
There was reason for that. Outside of the club, away from the music and the lights, there was a whole different world that vied for Elijah's attention and the dead did not care that he still had a life to live. Loud and bright and fast.
"I can navigate us where we need to go, my place isn't that far- it's over a floral shop around here."
Ian
Ian nodded and tipped his head toward the parking garage across the street. "My car's this way." When the lights turned in their favor, he led them across the intersection at a brisk stride, glancing down the street at the line of downtown traffic. It wasn't quite late enough for the flow of cars to let up.
Once inside the garage, Ian led them up the stairs to the second level, where his black audi was parked in a corner space just to the right. The car had been washed recently, and the paint glistened darkly beneath the overhead lights. Ian pulled his keys out of his pocket and pressed a button to unlock the doors. Before he got in, he turned to regard Elijah again, and there was this quiet moment... like he was considering something.
"You sure you're okay with this?"
There was absolutely nothing about Elijah's countenance that suggested he wasn't, but either way, it was a chance to reconsider. Without the pulse of the music and the lights from the club to cloud his thinking. And if he did reconsider, Ian wouldn't try to change his mind. But if not, he'd lift the corner of his mouth in a wry smile and slide into the driver's seat, leaning across the cab to open the passenger-side door for Elijah.
Elijah
"This is not my first rodeo," and the south crept into his voice, perhaps a ruse or perhaps a hint of his own origins. He gave too much away, yielded too easily his secrets- at least the trivial ones. He was just another southern boy relocated (displaced), save for the fact that this young man had the capacity to rewrite creation to his will. To make the world bend to his whims. He was learning, and he was learning quickly.
"… I probably should have more concerns about bringing strangers into my home for various and sundry purposes, though."
As though it just dawned on him that he probably should be a little more careful about these things. like he knows he should be taking better care of himself but why? He was young and vibrant and when one is young and vibrant they are struck with the idea of being indestructible. Everything about him was living without regrets. Living because he would die tomorrow so why not live with the breath they had? A thought exercise, but one that occupied his mind occasionally instead of thinking about how the car was like Ian- sleek and classy. About how his eyes flickered over the man's frame in the driver's seat and to other features of his anatomy and Elijah, darling creature that he was, had his thoughts wandering.
Like will we make it out of the parking lot?. He settled into the car and gave the other man a half nod, and soon enough was ready to give him directions as to where he should be headed.
Elijah
The building is old.
That's the first thing that one can say about the building. It was old. It was old and it came up while the city was growing. It was eaten when the city came up and urban sprawl decided to erect more impressive structures around it. The building had its own charm. brick, clear enough windows. Some interesting glass work, and no discernible modern conveniences. Elijah's apartment is situated above a florist's shop that had since seen better days. His landlord wasn't a particularly attentive sort, but he gave a discount so, for that, Elijah was grateful. These types of places only do business during two times of year- when people having weddings or having funerals. Denver hadn't seen nearly enough dead people to warrant a lot of foot traffic, but the shop was doing okay enough.
Getting to the front door wasn't difficult, and the door had most assuredly seen better days, just like the carpet in the hallway had. Once upon a time, someone had loved this place. Whatever happened, someone fell out of love with Floral and Hardy real damned quick once somewhere newer came along.
Elijah fished for his keys and soon enough unlocked the door to B52. The silhouette of the place paid it more credence than it deserved. There were the telltale signs of someone who had just finished moving in. Flattened out boxes. Art leaning against the walls instead of hanging on it. He has a cheap IKEA coffee table and no television. The place seemed to have a fair bit going for it, though. The ceilings were high and somewhere nestled in the back under an extraneous balcony-like structure there was a tiny kitchen with a breakfast nook shoved under the stairs. In the back there was an actual, legitimate room and a bathroom. The floors were wood, and there was the indication that, once upon a time, there had been another room-like structure in the open living room-like area, but the exposed beam seemed to hint that it met an unfortunate end.
In the kitchen, there were a set of French doors leading to a balcony…
With a view of a wall.
It looked structurally sound, but the loft area's staircase was finally back in commission and given Elijah's current trajectory, it would seem that the loft area would be where they were no doubt headed.
Ian
This was not Elijah's first rodeo, and in addition to that wry smile, Ian's head gave a little tip - as though to say fair enough. Then they were in the car and pulling out of the lot, and Ian docked his phone and started some music playing. The song had a trippy, retro lounge feel, and it filled in the silence between the punctuation of Elijah's directions.
He didn't live far, so it wasn't a long drive. Still, Elijah had time to study Ian in the shifting glow of the street lights. The profile of Ian's face had an elegant line. Aqualine nose, full lips, high cheekbones. Even if Elijah had never seen Ian before, it'd be easy to believe that he was a model. He had the right bone structure for it (and the right metabolism.) A few weeks ago, when Ian had just come out of his coma, he'd been thinner - his muscle mass noticeably decreased. He hadn't quite gained all of the weight back yet, but his face no longer had a gaunt cast, and the light, etched shape of muscle was more visible in his arms.
They made it to Elijah's apartment, and Ian did not try to kiss him in the car, although he did consider it. He let Elijah lead them up through the old building, and once inside, Ian glanced around the vaulted space with keen, measuring eyes.
There was some evidence that Elijah was not the apartment's sole resident, but right now they were alone. And there was a loft. And stairs.
Ian stepped into the living room ahead of Elijah and turned to look at him. There was a pause. A few beats of silence. Then a closing of space as they drew together. As Ian stepped into Elijah and put a hand out to run fingers over the buttons of Elijah's vest. Ian's eyes were on Elijah's lips. So was his breath. And then his mouth was there too.
The kiss wasn't rough or insistent. Not yet. But it wasn't tentative either. Ian put his hand up to cup Elijah's jaw and kissed him like he wanted to know what his lips tasted like. Heady and exploring. Slow and captivated.
Elijah
[Entropy 1- finding a weak spot. Diff 4, because this is totes coincidental]
Dice: 1 d10 TN4 (5) ( success x 1 )
Elijah
His hands moved. There was a pause, a breath and a beat of silence before they were closing the space between the two of them. The loft could wait. The stairs could wait, it could all wait because soon enough they drew together and frankly Elijah didn't care that he hadn't locked the front door yet, what he cared about was letting his hand run across Ian's hip.
Certain. Yes, he was certain.
True enough, his lips were like his skin, and that turbulent passionate exuberance lived there. That chaos, that disaster spiced with tequila that was Elijah Poirot. He couldn't stop himself from touching, though, couldn't stop his hand from moving from Ian's hip up his chest and there is a spark a flare of something before his hand tensed in Ian's shirt and something caught in his mind, and there was a place to remember and too damned much clothing in the way at that juncture.
He pulled back just a little, just enough to warn him-
"I'm going to owe you a new shirt."
Ian
At first, Ian was too absorbed in the kiss to realize what Elijah had in mind - that the hand traveling up his torso was intent upon rending the soft cotton fabric that was in its way. But then Elijah pulled back and uttered that warning, and Ian's eyebrows lifted lightly and drew together. His placed his hand atop Elijah's, curling his fingers around Elijah's wrist in a light grip - at first to hold it there, then to pull the hand away.
"How about we skip that."
But since Elijah seemed so intent upon removing the shirt from his path, Ian lifted it over his head and pulled it off, dropping it on the wooden floor. Then he wound his fingers into Elijah's vest and pulled the buttons free, ducking his head to kiss the skin beneath the corner of Elijah's jaw. The kiss was open-mouthed, with a slow press of his tongue followed by a scrape of his teeth. And at some point he pushed the vest off of Elijah's shoulders and slid his hands beneath the hem of Elijah's t-shirt.
Ian had been in the sun recently. His skin had a light tan, and the muscles in his core were tight and visible. (Slim, but athletic.)
Elijah
However it happened, it didn't matter, because soon enough he had that grin on his face again, which faded to a smile most assuredly appreciative but the effect was the same-at the end of the moment Ian's shirt was off and there was the quiet, lingering feeling of the world being nudged aside in favor of something that suited Elijah's current wants a little more.
his vest hit the floor with a surprisingly heavy plunk, kicked aside hastily to save his pocket watch from meeting some cruel fate. He tipped his head back, breath caught in his throat and his eyes closed for a second, just long enough that he let his hands do the seeing for him , that his fingertips grazed Ian's cheek, ran through his hair and he marveled at the texture of him.
he was intent, yes, but at that moment the light graze of teeth had him forgetting any words except "Merde-" he breathed, he exposed his throat and a frame that was thin, but not quite holding the same athleticism as Ian's. He had potential, but at that juncture all Elijah had was potential and it wasn't transferred to the kinetic. Toned was a nice word for him.
Ian
Ian's lips formed a light smile against Elijah's skin at the sound of that soft curse. When he pulled back, he looked at Elijah with a curious expression. "Are you from New Orleans?"
He had his hands beneath Elijah's shirt, feeling the smooth contours of Elijah's torso (his back and his hips and the soft dip of his stomach,) and there was perhaps less urgency on Ian's part, because he gave Elijah time to answer the question before he pulled Elijah's t-shirt free and dropped it loosely with the rest of their accumulating clothes. There was this... dark shine to Ian's eyes. Like some part of him took that curse as a challenge (or an invitation.)
Either way, he wanted more. So he kissed Elijah and pushed him back toward the staircase, giving a delicate bite to Elijah's lower lip before indicating the loft with a tip of his head. "Bedroom?"
Elijah
"Originally, we moved to Baton Rouge after the hurricane," he replied, though he was young enough that he no doubt remembered Katrina not in the ways that an adult did. No, he remembered it as loud and terrifying and full of wailing dead and screaming, screaming wanting water flooding levies breaking chaos. Things he couldn't make sense of because, until then, the voices in his life had not been so loud and had not been so numerous. but there was a beauty in being young, eventually… eventually things are less scary.
It was harder to focus, though, past sensation and his breathing caught in his throat for a better reason. He wanted to look into Ian's eyes, catch that dark shine and there was that damned grin of his again. He pressed forward, his lips against Ian's and there was the movement towards the staircase. it wasn't so much yielding as acquiescing. He was the type to push back, to give an take, yes, but inevitably it didn't matter. Inevitably, Elijah was content to be herded wherever it was he needed to be and let out some heady sigh of contentment.
He took Ian's hand, and carefully started up the staircase once they had enough space to do so, "yeah, c'mon… room is more of a formality."
More like bed space.
Ian
Ian could be like this at times. Not pushy, exactly, but focused. The way he moved them inexorably toward their intended destination. So he started them up the stairs, and Elijah took the cue and grabbed Ian's hand, pulling them upwards in a heady spiral.
The chaos in Elijah's blood - it had an infectious quality. The air around them roiled with it, like the drum of crashing waves. But Ian was never the sort to fling himself into the ocean. For him it was more of a controlled dive. He could have asked Elijah more about the place he'd grown up. About the hurricane. About what came after. But that was a conversation for another time, when he did not have his lips and his teeth pressed against Elijah's skin.
When they got to the top of the stairs, Ian laced his arms around Elijah's torso from behind, so that his chest was pressed tightly to Elijah's back, and bent to graze his teeth over the line of muscle that connected Elijah's neck and shoulder. Ian's eyes were on the bed in front of them, and if Elijah let him, he'd direct their forward momentum that way, dragging one of his hands down the front of Elijah's chest until it dipped below waist-level. Ian's fingers pressed into the skin there, below the navel.
Elijah would be able to feel Ian's heart beating against his back - this hard, steady drum of life and wanting. Ian dragged his mouth up the side of Elijah's neck and exhaled.
"I like how you taste."
Elijah
It was maddening, that. It was admirable, that. The way that Ian could stay on task, the way that he knew precisely what he wanted and what he was doing for. It was a strength of will and a focus Elijah could have admired, and at that juncture he certainly did if only because he could reap the fruits of this man's strength of purpose.
He was content to be directed, content to move where he needed to move and roll with the forward momentum and he could feel his heart beat faster and harder in his chest. There was a moment, ever so beautiful, that he was locked in that moment of anticipation. He could roll in it, embrace is, put his hands over Ian's and wordlessly insist that he stay that close, that the graze of his teeth be a more permanent fixture. Elijah moaned- unapologetic and unafraid to be precisely as vocal as he needed to be. .
He rolled his hips, the motion subconscious and needing. His eyes were closed, his mind was open.
I like how you taste, Ian tells him
"Then don't stop," Elijah replied in a shuddering breath, the struggle for English was clear. Precise. It took all the focus he had to say it in a language he was pretty sure they both spoke.
Ian
Hunger was an animal drive, the way it gnawed and clawed from the depths of desire. Someone had claimed once that Ian was the kind of person who would never not feel hungry, and maybe that was the reason why he didn't seem to tire of this. Of biting and kissing and skin on skin and people whispering don't stop.
Don't stop.
Ian pressed his palm into Elijah's stomach and pulled him back tight against his hips. There was an edge of the involuntary to that as well, the way Ian almost but did not quite try to fuck Elijah through their clothes. He was hard enough now that Elijah would be able to feel it. And this time when he bit Elijah's neck the press of his teeth was just sharp enough to leave a fading mark.
They were just beside the foot of the bed. Ian unwound his arms and pulled Elijah around to face him. When their lips met, the kiss was hungry and open-mouthed, and Ian threaded his hand through the back of Elijah's hair, winding strands tightly around his fingers. He released his grip when their lips broke contact, then pressed his palm against Elijah's sternum and gave a hard push. Hard enough to send Elijah falling back onto the foot of the mattress.
Ian followed suit shortly after, climbing onto the bed to sit with his knees pressed into the mattress between Elijah's legs. He grabbed Elijah's hips and pulled him closer, trailing his hands down the outside length of Elijah's thighs, then back up the inside, pressing down with his thumbs, until his hands found their way back up to Elijah's belt and started working it open. Ian had his lips slightly parted, and he ran his tongue over the tip of his canine and smiled. The expression was a bit wicked and dangerous on him.
"Only if you ask me to."
Because otherwise, no. He was not planning to stop.
Elijah
Don't stop.
It was a mantra. It was a chant. It was a prayer- don't stop. God, don't stop. Again and again, the beginnings of something that came too easily and didn't come fast enough and the only thing keeping Elijah in the moment of not losing himself entirely was the insistence that he hold on to English grammar and he pushed his body against Ian's so that he could feel him, get a taste of his rather insistent anatomy.
And there it was, the challenge, the drive to see how long it would take until he could see every perfect piece of Ian Lai- because the man was alluring. The man was perfection. Elijah's heart was pounding hard and fast and all he could hear was the drumming in his ears, and there was that exhilaration there. That Ian didn't have to be gentle with him and introduced a whole world of sensations- the sharp feeling of his teeth on his skin. "Don't stop," he gasps.
He gasps, turns, and that open mouthed kiss was needing. wanting. Desirous. He kissed him, hungry and insatiable. Insistent sand his body tensed in anticipation and he toppled back. His hands tensed in the fabric of the mattress beneath him. his cheeks were flushed and his mind was swimming. He moved his hips upward, hands moved to assist with the belt and he found himself- "baise moi, s'il vous plait."
Because he had his manners, he did realize that what he said was the equivalent of absolute filth wrapped in a pretty package- fuck me, please, ever so politely, because in his mind he knew he had to ask if he was going to get what he wanted. His length strains against his pants, hard and wanting and more than ready.
Ian
Ian had this down to an art - this dance of bodies and hands and lips and breath. This flush of blood and need. The way it broke people down into their most basic selves. He could ride the edge of it for a long time, hungry and turned on and just. barely. holding himself back. But Elijah was a different force altogether, his need breaking and immediate and demanding in a way that crashed up against Ian's resolve and wore it away like sand.
Ian didn't speak French, but he knew a handful of words. Most of them had to do with ballet. Some of them had to do with sex. There was a moment, right after Elijah uttered that plea, when Ian's breath released in a soft shudder, and were it not for the dark of his irises, Elijah might be able to see how blown-out Ian's pupils were. How practically fucking drunk he was on all of this.
He was quick to get Elijah's belt open, sliding it free from the loops of Elijah's pants and throwing it somewhere onto the floor, where the buckle clattered against the wood. Then Ian pulled the zipper and worked the waist of Elijah's pants and underwear down past his hips - just far enough to free Elijah's erection. And here he did pause, just briefly, to look down and run his fingers over it. Then he bent over and pressed one hand into the mattress at Elijah's side, pressing a rough trail of biting kisses down the center of Elijah's chest and stomach. The way they were positioned, Ian had to curl his spine to reach where he needed to go, and he let his knees slide back a little so that he could reach Elijah's cock with his mouth. Then Ian ran his tongue in a slow, hard swipe up the base of it, and when he got to the tip he wrapped his lips around it and breathed in. He ducked down once, slowly, swallowing Elijah's length into his mouth until it pushed down his throat.
When he came up, he had to catch his breath.
There were at least two condoms in the wallet in his back pocket. Hopefully Elijah had more. Reluctantly, Ian slid off the bed so he could finish getting undressed, kicking off his shoes as his hands moved to undo his own belt and slide his jeans off his hips. It only took a moment for him to get the rest of his clothes off, and he grabbed one of the condoms and stuck the edge the wrapper between his teeth as he crawled back onto the bed.
If Elijah hadn't gotten rid of his own clothes by then, Ian would help him do it. Then he dropped the condom onto the closest night-stand and pressed himself back between Elijah's legs. This time there wasn't anything in the way, so Elijah could see and feel every detail of Ian's body.
Ian got lost a bit, there. Pressed their hips together and moaned into the hollow of Elijah's throat as he kissed him there. He had his hands all over Elijah's skin, rough and claiming and just shy of clawing into Elijah's sides with his nails. There was a beautiful, frustrating friction in the way their erections pressed together between them.
"Fuck," Ian rasped softly, biting at Elijah's collar-bone. "Say that again."
Elijah
It was a different sort of high. A different sort of pleasure and joy, something that left his skin slick and left his mind racing and the only thing that mattered right now was sensation. Perhaps this was that experience he was chasing, if only for a night or an hour. Perhaps this was the elation he sought, the culmination of wonder. Ian wasn't gentle with him, not in the traditional sense, and for that Elijah was grateful.
In fact, it was easy to see precisely how grateful Elijah Poirot was at that juncture.
His hips moved forward, and Ian had taken him into his mouth and Elijah's eyes- bright and green and living- close tightly and his breath caught in his throat. there was a hitch, and his hands tensed in the fabric beneath him. He wanted nothing more than to touch Ian, to run his hands through his hair and feel him, but there was that fear that he mightstop, all that was on his mind was finding some way to convince this man to keep going. his muscles twitched, his breathing hitched, and the world faded away to just sensation. He had to force himself back to the real world.
When he had a moment, he was almost lost watching Ian undress.
Elijah bit his lower lip, and there was the quirk of his mouth. The delight in seeing the other man like it was the best thing in the world. Wonder in that expression.
Elijah had a decent time getting undressed, needed a little coaxing at first to remind him that he was still wearing clothing but soon enough the young man had rendered himself less overdressed for the occasion. Shoes gone. Socks discarded, pants skittering against the half open wall of his sleeping quarters. Once they were pressed together once more, he wanted to feel every inch of his skin, and he explored. His hands over Ian's body, feeling details testing his pulse and his body pressed tight against his. He moved, hoping to alleviate that friction or find some solace for his own frustrations.
"Je veux que tu me baises-" he insisted, his breath caught in his throat and he moaned, some gentle keening needing sound "-Dure et rapide- right. fucking. Now."
Because it was through force of will alone that he managed to get out those last three words in english. Right. Fucking. Now. Because the feeling of the other man's erection against his was maddening and his own hands tensed against Ian's skin and he felt like he might topple over the edge where they were simply bodies and this was sensation and truly, would it be that terrible?
The best.
The very worst.
Elijah would love every ticking second of it.
Ian
Ian only partly understood what Elijah asked of him, but those last three words... that much he understood quite clearly. There was a low, throaty laugh interspersed with his heavy breaths, and Ian closed his eyes and put his hand to Elijah's neck and kissed him there slowly. Savoring the taste of Elijah's skin as he tried to keep himself focused, because Elijah was literally asking to be fucked (right fucking now) and it would have been very, very easy to do exactly what he was asking.
Ian moaned a little, softly. His cock was so hard it was almost painful.
Without asking, he leaned over and opened the drawer in the night-stand, rifling through the contents until he found what he was looking for. He had to prop his weight up on one arm, and when he found the bottle of lube he looked down at Elijah and just... took him in for a moment. Like he was seeing him for the first time. The different shades of green and amber in his eyes. The flush of color on his skin. The way his hair spread out against the pillow beneath him, tousled and wild and beautiful.
Then Ian grabbed the condom and sat back on his heels. Elijah liked to look at him, and he'd have time to do that now. Ian wasn't shy by any stretch of the imagination. He tore open the wrapper and slid the condom on one-handed, with this kind of smooth, practiced motion that made it fairly obvious how often he did this sort of thing. Then he popped open the bottle of lube and poured a some onto his hand, smoothing it over the length of his erection with this slow, drawn-out stroke of his fingers. The picture of it was downright pornographic, the way he rolled his lower lip between his teeth and let his eyelids fall partly closed.
He returned the bottle to the nightstand and leaned over Elijah again, putting his weight on one arm, before he dipped his head and pulled Elijah into a long kiss. Intimate. Overwhelming. Hot and wet and slow and finished with another graze of Ian's teeth.
When he pushed into Elijah, it would probably hurt a little. Because Elijah hadn't wanted to wait. Maybe Elijah was okay with that, but if he asked Ian to stop, he would. Otherwise, there was very little at this point that would ever convince Ian not to keep going. He gave this slow, deep thrust of his hips and let out a low, resonant moan. Because the kid was so. very. tight and so fucking beautiful.
"God, I want to fuck you all night."
Ian pushed Elijah's legs back and shifted to get a better angle. And when he thrust into him again it was harder, and quicker. Faster than he usually went at the beginning, but Elijah seemed to want that. The rolling crash of overwhelming sensation. Like waves. Like drowning. And Ian let his senses focus in on Elijah's pattern, listening to the sound of Elijah's pulse as it beat a kind of primordial rhythm.
Elijah
Elijah liked to watch, to take in the finer details of the man- Ian wasn't shy, and why should he be? Elijah had a moment to take in the details of his body, the finer points of him and every inch of his length that he would no doubt feel soon enough. There were confessions to be had, but in truth the confession was mild- Elijah may have done this a few times, but when it came to other men he typically was not the recipient of such affections. Typically, he was the one who pressed forward, who acquiesced when his partner insisted take me, but there wasn't any taking here.
Whatever Elijah Poirot had to offer was most assuredly freely given.
There was quite a bit to look at. His eyes were held lidded and there was a smile on his face that was somewhere between lust and playfulness. His cheeks were flushed, his hair was golden and tangled and wild. the blues and cobalts and darker navy black hues inked onto his side serving as the one adornment on otherwise unmarked flesh.
He sat up to meet Ian halfway, his lips pressing against Ian's and parting. he let his tongue explore. He let his whole aching body give way to pleasure in that moment and the dead could wail and the void could insist and it did not matter because Elijah was here. And now. And the moment was all that mattered. He let out a sound of elation, yeselation once they pulled back. Only to find that he was holding his breath when Ian pressed into him. He hadn't wanted to wait. He had to take a moment, but he was holding his breath and he was tight and these and a shuddering breath and a moan- involuntary but warranted- finally escaped his lips once that slow and deep thrust came to fruition. Full and not yet satisfied, it was a promise of what was to come.
His heart beat hard and fast, a primal and intent sound, and with his legs in the air and the angle changed, Elijah found himself reaching the grip the metal of his headboard for support, "fuck-Ohmigod-" and it was the last coherent thing he could say at that juncture. Harder, faster than he usually went, and Elijah's body moved with his, the roll of his hips, the throbbing ache in his body, that tension exquisite. Whatever he had to offer was most assuredly freely given, without regret; he was too lost in the moment for such trivial. things.
Ian
Ian didn't know that Elijah wasn't used to being the more receptive partner. Maybe he would have gone a little slower if he had. But there was something to be said for getting lost in the moment. For letting go and becoming this creature of raw, feral energy. Elegant still, but less a thing of sleek control. It was athletic, the way they fucked. Ian's muscles stood out, and sweat beaded up on his skin.
He'd been in a coma a month ago. Sometimes a month felt like a long time. Other times it felt like yesterday. And this wasn't the first time he'd slept with someone since then, but it still felt like a kind of victory. And maybe because of that, Ian pushed himself a little harder than he needed to, but Elijah didn't need to know that.
The way Ian pushed himself, he had to hold his weight with both arms. So there wasn't any room for him to touch Elijah like he wanted to. But he fucked him hard and fast, driving ever-forward in an attempt to wring more of those beautiful sounds out of him. Sometimes Ian closed his eyes, and when he did, it made him look softer somehow. But mostly he kept his eyes on Elijah, because even like this he was always so much in the moment. So aware of the person who was immediately within his focus. Whose body he was inside of and whose scent he breathed in and whose skin he could still taste on his tongue. He watched Elijah and met his eyes as though he could trap Elijah's tumultuous energy and hold him there.
And maybe that was an impossibility (wild things can never really be trapped) but the challenge itself was half the fun. Kalen had always said that Ian had a kind of gravity.
"Fuck... Ah..."
Ian shouted when he came, and the muscles in his arms and torso shook with the force of it. He kept going for a few minutes after that, riding out the waves of his orgasm until the fluid motion of his body began to slow - began to wind down into something less visceral and needy. And then his lips curled into this luxurious smile and he kissed Elijah slowly, lingering over the taste and feel of Elijah's mouth.
They weren't done though. Because Ian wasn't that selfish. And when he pulled out he slid his mouth down Elijah's neck and over his chest, pausing to roll his tongue over one of Elijah's nipples before continuing down to finish what he'd started earlier. He wasn't teasing this time, the way he sucked Elijah off. He wanted to make him come. And when he did, Ian closed his eyes and gave this deep moan and exhaled hotly against Elijah's skin - like he'd felt it himself (because in a way, he did.)
And maybe after that, they'd take a moment to just lie next to each other. Or maybe Elijah wouldn't want to rest. But either way, Ian made good on his promise and stayed the rest of the night.
They didn't sleep. Didn't talk much, either. And by the time he left, the sun was rising on the horizon and the city lay silent and sleepy around them.
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