Unnecessary pretense

Elijah

Ian

"Pretenses aren't really necessary with me." As they walked, Ian reached up and undid one of the buttons on his shirt. Somehow he managed not to trip or look awkward, despite the fact that he couldn't see where he was going. Maybe he'd been here before. Maybe he was just that obnoxiously graceful. After a moment though, he turned around and fell in at Elijah's side, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The wind opened up the top part of his shirt, playing like a soft caress against his skin.He seemed almost at home here. More relaxed than he'd been in the restaurant. Ian seemed to like the sound of the water, and he drifted closer to it as they walked."If I'd known you were Kalen's apprentice I wouldn't have slept with you."He didn't say it as an admonishment. More of an observation. (Perhaps even an apology.) Likely Elijah wouldn't see the need for it, but Ian said it anyway.

Elijah

"Good," he replies, "because I hate coming up with them." Pretenses, that is.

He looped his thumbs through his belt loops as he walked. his posture was relaxed, his eyes were on Ian instead of the water. The sound was relaxing, in some instances, but the sound was also a reminder of something. He was content to let Ian be as close to the water as he wanted, because it meant that Elijah was not going to have to be on the side with the stream and dealing with something whose depth he couldn't necessarily judge and whose presence he couldn't quite stomach.

Not yet, anyways.

The next comes, and it doesn't make him slow, doesn't make him take his eyes off of the man next to him. There as a lopsided grin on his face, the ever-present one that seemed to be his default expression. "Are you and Kalen that sort of close?" he asks.

Because he has to ask, he doesn't seem to understand, didn't see the need for- what was it, an apology? For, arguably, one of the best lays he's had since he get to Denver, and that was without the assistance of MDMA. Though, there was a bit of curiosity that came, "are apprentices in his tradition not allowed to have sex or something? Because if they're not, I'm out.

Elijah

{edit: "Are apprentices in his Tradition not allowed to have sex or something? Because if they're not, I'm out.")

Ian

"I told you I met him the same way I met you. What did you think I meant by that?" Ian's expression flickered with amusement, though Elijah could have just as easily meant it as a question of their emotional relationship. (After all, there was a vast difference between hooking up and falling in love.)

"I'm pretty sure sex isn't a thing the Hermetics bother putting restrictions on, but I'm not really an expert. I just don't like when shit gets complicated."

And things with Kalen had gotten very complicated. Whether this thing with Elijah would impact that remained to be seen. But it had happened, and despite his words, Ian didn't seem especially regretful. They were coming up on the playground area, and Ian veered off the path away from the water, walking with a relaxed stride through the grass.

"Not much point worrying about it now, though."

Elijah

"Good, because I've noticed that I'm not being particularly thwarted by half decent food or low lying tables right now," he said as he continued on through the grass. He could follow Ian anywhere, his eyes fell on the playground area, on the lone swing set and the climbing things and the lush grass and it was self control that kept him from bouncing, or perhaps an enjoyment of the company.

"And I'm not big on overly complicating things."

Would things be complicated, though? Perhaps, Elijah as casual enough, calm enough for now but there was that grin on his face and his eyes roamed over Ian's collarbone up the line of his neck and his eyes flickered off towards the swing set again, imagination getting the better of him.

Ian

"There's a point in your favor." Ian shot Elijah a wicked smile and broke into a jog. When he reached the playground, he sat down on the steps of the jungle gym, leaning back to rest his elbows on the plastic-coated flooring. Once upon a time, playgrounds had been made of wood. Then one too many kids had gone home with splinters. Now they were all brightly colored and cheap-looking. Ian didn't particularly care for the smell of it, but the breeze made it tolerable. He tipped his head back to gaze at the sky as it darkened into dusk on the horizon.

"Still want me to show you something?"

Elijah

these things did have a smell to them, something plastic and forgettable. Something that could stick to your senses, while the faintest scent of cedar wood chips toyed with the senses. The air was sweet, though. The breeze made a lot of things tolerable, and when Elijah caught up to Ian he was more than content to take a seat a couple steps beneath him, far enough that he had to look up ever so slightly to see the other man.

Did he still want Ian to show him something?

"Of course," he said. Why not? he said without saying.

Ian

[Life 1 (-1 diff because practiced)]

Dice: 2 d10 TN3 (6, 10) ( success x 2 )

Ian

[And one more to share? +1 diff, -1 for going slow]

Dice: 2 d10 TN3 (5, 6) ( success x 2 )

Ian

Ian undid the next button on his shirt, letting it fall open to expose the top part of his chest. 

"Give me your hand." He reached out to pull Elijah closer into his space, wrapping his fingers lightly around Elijah's wrist, then pressed the palm of Elijah's hand over his heart. The skin there was warm and soft beneath Elijah's fingers, and Ian's heart beat a deep, steady rhythm. Ian closed his eyes and listened to the beat of his own pulse, focusing past it to Elijah's pattern... and then to the vast web of life that lay around them.

Gradually it all came into focus. Like a chorus of blood and breath and photosynthesis. The plants, they had a kind of pulse to them too. It was different - less like a heart and more like the earth. A steady verdant warmth, and the flow of water and sap. Ian let these senses flow into Elijah so that he'd feel them too. The trees. The grass. The flowers. Minnows. Insects. Birds. All of these sounds. All of these tiny heartbeats. And Ian like a focal point at the center of it, his body vibrant and alive.

Elijah

[Have a little decorum, Poirot!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (7, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 4 )

Elijah

Elijah Poirot courted death daily. He woke up to the sound of people talking, the quiet insistence that the land of the living still need pay credence to the denizens of the underworld. He was aware, and had been aware his entire life, that there was something that happened when you held on too tightly, when you had business to attend to. He took risks, he skated too close to the edge, and sometimes he did fall over it and pulled back more aware of his own heartbeat when he did.

This was different.

This was beautiful.

He gave Ian his hand, and there was that steady rhythm of his heart. Elijah didn't even know how to take a person's pulse, so that steady rhythm was hard fought, and gradually, that beat became easier to feel. Easier to focus on. He started by looking at Ian, looking past the man and trying to focus on what was there. Gradually, ever so gradually, it came to him. Life. Living, breathing, exquisite life. It played on his senses, beat in his own chest and there was warmth on his skin and his eyes widened, his own breath caught in his throat-

There was that feeling, that primal elegance, that graceful cunning, that feeling that was so incredibly Ian mingling on his senses with the whole of creation and there was awe on his features. Something pure and unadulterated, something that had his hand pressed against the man's chest and pulled him forward to press his lips to Ian's in a sensation that was nothing but green and golden gratefulness, overwhelmed but still well within his mind because he had his hand on the man's chest as an anchor and the whole overwhelming grace of the living world around him, and he felt joy.

Yes, joy.

Ian

They were in the middle of a city park, and it was not yet so late that they could expect any degree of privacy. Other human patterns hovered just at the edge of their shared senses: a man jogging around the park's perimeter, and two older women walking together beneath the trees beyond the crest of the next hill. Had Ian possessed the capability to extend his senses further, they would likely find more.

And they did not feel alone. How could they? With such keen awareness of the multitude of living things around them. But it felt safe somehow. Like the world existed for them to be alive in it.

Elijah felt joy at that. Ian... felt something else. But it was no less reverent. And he smiled against Elijah's lips when the younger mage kissed him, opening his mouth to steal the air from Elijah's lungs. He made a sound, soft and velvet, and put his hand up to slide his fingers through Elijah's hair.

Elijah

It made sense that Elijah would learn how things broke down before learning how they were built up. Perhaps that was something telling about him, the things Elijah learned at the very inception of his enlightenment. That time was malleable, that the world was breaking down around him, that there were places beyond what he could touch right now. But then there was this sensation, that they were here to be alive and that life was here to be lived. That there was a thrum and pulse and sensation and how it felt like everything here was connected.

It wasn't so lonely, that. The world felt more intimate, relatable. Perhaps that was what he was looking for, and at that juncture had finally found a glimpse of how where and when were irrelevant because everywhere was here and every when was now and the world could be both infinite and singular. His lips parted, and his lungs lost their breath and he sighed. Elijah didn't break away, instead let his tongue explore the other man's mouth- hardly a tentative thing- while his fingertips kept themselves from being idle by toying with the buttons in Ian's shirt, coaxing them into yielding.

He pulled back a second to catch his breath, only pulling back just enough that he could, in fact, breathe, "C'est magnifique."

Ian

It didn't take much effort to get the rest of Ian's shirt open (there were only a few buttons left.) And then his chest lay bare and exposed in the evening air, and the breeze danced delicately along his skin. Elijah pulled back to breath those rapturous words, and Ian let their eyes meet across the scant distance of space between them.

He could feel Elijah's pulse. Elijah could feel his too (it was faster now.) There was something about sharing a thing that made it new again. 

"So are you." The words were soft. Not tentative but... private. Ian's hand found its way to Elijah's belt, hooking behind the buckle to give a light tug. "You're wearing too many clothes."

Elijah

He could feel his pulse, faster but still rhythmic, something that spurred him on like the beat of a drum and the insistence in his ears. He had never been one to argue with music, with rhythm and the beauty of it all. There was that moment of sharing, of seeing it all new and exciting for Elijah that had him wanting to explore the other man's body as though this were the first time he'd seen it. Elijah pulled back just enough to wrestle his vest off and carefully (yes, carefully) lay it on the ground.

The rest of his clothing did not ever receive such tender treatment, as though the vest held precious cargo.

you're wearing too many clothes, Ian tells him

"I'll stop that," Elijah replied with a grin.

Ian

Ian

It didn't take much effort to get the rest of Ian's shirt open (there were only a few buttons left.) And then his chest lay bare and exposed in the evening air, and the breeze danced delicately along his skin. Elijah pulled back to breath those rapturous words, and Ian let their eyes meet across the scant distance of space between them.

He could feel Elijah's pulse. Elijah could feel his too (it was faster now.) There was something about sharing a thing that made it new again.

"So are you." The words were soft. Not tentative but... private. Ian's hand found its way to Elijah's belt, hooking behind the buckle to give a light tug. "You're wearing too many clothes."

Elijah

He could feel his pulse, faster but still rhythmic, something that spurred him on like the beat of a drum and the insistence in his ears. He had never been one to argue with music, with rhythm and the beauty of it all. There was that moment of sharing, of seeing it all new and exciting for Elijah that had him wanting to explore the other man's body as though this were the first time he'd seen it. Elijah pulled back just enough to wrestle his vest off and carefully (yes, carefully) lay it on the ground.

The rest of his clothing did not ever receive such tender treatment, as though the vest held precious cargo.

you're wearing too many clothes, Ian tells him

"I'll stop that," Elijah replied with a grin.

[reposts!]

Ian

With the vest off, Ian had more leeway to get his hands beneath Elijah's t-shirt. There was a patient kind of insistence to it, the way Ian pushed his hands beneath the fabric and slid the shirt upward, craving the contours of Elijah's back and chest. He paused to trace a path down the center of Elijah's stomach, pushing in with the tips of his fingers to scratch lightly at the soft skin just above the hem of Elijah's jeans. Then he pulled the shirt all the way off.

They were safe still. They could be this exposed without drawing unwanted attention.

Ian wet his lips. He traced his eyes from Elijah's chest to his face. "Tell me what you want."

(Because that worked out rather well for them the last time.)

Elijah

What did he want?

What would he want and they could be safe and they could play it cool at that juncture and there was only so much one could do without the risk of being caught but that was part of the thrill, wasn't it? Elijah's eyes seemed darker at dusk, pupils wide and his lips upturned  and there was an insistence, a yearning, a need at that juncture that was well and truly a need. As much as he needed oxygen, as much as he craved sensation, Elijah needed this.

what did he want? "Everything," he insists.

"I want to taste every blessed fucking inch of you," he breathed, his voice low and intended only for Ian, the playfulness still in his expression, her breath caught in his throat and his mind blown by the sheer magnitude of the universe around him. Alive, breathing, warm.

Elijah

[*his breath. Jeez, Heather, pronouns)

Ian

"Mm, I don't think we'll manage that before someone catches us." Ian traced the edge of a finger above the waistline of Elijah's jeans: this slow, taunting gesture. But his lips were parted and his eyes were dark and with their sharing of senses there was no mistaking him for detached. On the contrary.

There was the earth and the water and the open air, and it was summer and the world was alive. They were alive. Ian's pulse jumped hard and quick when the wind touched his skin.

"But you're welcome to try."

Elijah

"Isn't that part of the fun?" he asked. Rhetorical, yes, and his breath came out in a shudder and his eyes closed for just a second, just long enough that he could savor the sensation teasing tempting touching on his skin and his lips part and there is elation, there is reverie in the moment because it was such a glorious, glorious moment, he leaned forward, pressed his lips to Ian's before he settled to a comfortable place on his knees.

His hands trailed up the outside of Ian's thighs before his attentions went to the toned inner portion. Ian was a dancer, Ian had a body like someone who cared about what happened to them, whose livelihood depended on being fit and being in tune with his physicality. His eyes flickered up to the other man's face, mischief on his expression.

He'd intended on taking his time, of course he would, but his own lack of impulse control meant that he could not and would not deny his own urges for terribly long before his hands found the top button of Ian's jeans and with casual ease, Elijah freed that first step. His hand traveled again, caressing teasing, touching exploring and seeing what he could feel and what would provoke a reaction from Ian's pattern.

Ian

That was often the difference between men who went to the gym to look good and men who were actual athletes (though Ian could have just as easily fallen into both categories.) The strength distribution was more practical. And in Ian's case, a lot of it was in his core and his lower body. He did have nice legs (and a pretty great ass, for that matter.) Elijah had already seen all of that, just as Ian had already seen every part of him. But that didn't make it any less intoxicating to revisit now: both the perfections and the imperfections. Everything that made them human - or in some cases, animal.

Like the way that Ian leaned back when Elijah's hands traced their way up his thighs. The way he curved his spine and stretched out like a cat on those playground stairs. His neck had an elegant shape in the silvery half-light, and his blood pulsed against the delicate skin in the hollow of his throat.

Isn't that part of the fun? Elijah said, and Ian just smiled in response. Because it was, but it was also irrelevant. The mass of the jungle gym hid them from view of the street, but anyone walking through the park might still catch sight of them. Ian kept a small sliver of his attention on those women behind the hill, but it wasn't the thrill of being caught that made his pulse jump. Elijah pulled open the top button of Ian's jeans, leaving them still mostly intact, and Ian closed his eyes and exhaled audibly. He didn't try to push Elijah to go more quickly, although they probably did not have much time.

Here's the thing: Ian loved being touched. Not always. Not in the way of some people who craved constant contact (his senses were too sharp to tolerate it casually,) but like this - yes. His pattern was acutely reactive to it. It happened when Elijah touched his legs, and more when he moved inward. This electric warmth of sensitivity; a flush of blood to his skin. He was hard (yes, very) and almost excruciatingly awake to every single nuance of sensation.

Elijah

He was aware, he could tell hat worked and what didn't and oh heavens, Elijah wanted to know every bit of Ian's skin. he wanted to know every taste and every sensation and, at that juncture, this would simply have to do. Elijah was not a clumsy creature, if anything he was focused. Tonight there were worlds upon worlds of sensory sensations and input for him to process and the only thing he could focus on was carefully dragging the zipper down on his jeans and pulling them back just enough to reach his trunks and do the same with them.

He took the man's length into his hands, his tongue tracing a deliberate circle across the tip. He waited for sounds. he waited for that flutter of his pulse. He waited for any number of things before telling his tongue explore down his shaft, over the underside and taking in the finer details. He had been explicit. He pulled back enough to purr, "Je suis un cochonne chanceux, oui?"

His lips upturned again, mischief in his expression before he moved back down to continue his rather thorough exploration.

Ian

Ian had showered just before meeting Elijah for dinner, so he smelled and tasted clean. He didn't moan when Elijah's tongue touched the head of his cock (still distantly conscious of the need for discretion,) but his breath gave this little stutter and one of his hands curled around a metal pole in the playground structure's frame. There was something altogether wrong about doing this in a place where children played, but that thought could not have been further from Ian's mind at the moment.

When Elijah spoke, Ian licked his lips and laughed softly. "I have no idea what you just said, but it sounds sexy as hell."

To be fair, a lot of things sounded sexy in French.

And then Elijah ducked back down, and this time Ian did not quite manage to contain the moan that caught in his throat. He looked at Elijah with this half-lidded gaze and wound his fingers into Elijah's hair - not pushing (yet) but... perhaps wanting to.

Elijah

Arguably, they could have picked a better location, but then again there were a number of illicit things done on playground equipment, but we digress. Of the things on Elijah's mind, the propriety of blowing a guy in a playground was probably not on the highest on his list. He moved downward again, not providing a translation for whatever it was that he had just said… for now. His attention more on the man's cock in front of him, more on taking him into hois mouth and letting his hand stroke the other man's length in deliberate, timed bobs as he moved.

There was a moment when Elijah lauded, when he relaxed his throat and moved downward to take all of Ian into his mouth before he pulled back up for air. His breathing was quick, his heart was pounding, and Elijah could care less if there were people near a hill or cars in the parking lot or any other person who came up on him, because frankly the only person whose arrival Elijah was concerned about was Ian Lai's.

His free hand moved to caress the inside of the other man's thigh, a moan caught in his throat the moment the other man's hand ran through his hair. Not pushing, not yet, but that would happen more than likely. During those moments of breath, it would seem that Elijah took some time to give the man a French lesson. "Je suis un cochonne chanceux, I'm one lucky slut."

Ian

There were things people discovered about each other in these moments, things Ian and Elijah would already know if they'd been more familiar. Like when and how it was okay to push. Ian was more careful here than he had been that first night they'd been together, but some of that care was slipping. He managed to keep still through most of Elijah's attention, letting him control the speed and depth, but there was that point... when Elijah swallowed him down and Ian rolled his hips and gripped Elijah's hair and actually held him there for just a scant second, that his willpower gave way to more instinctive urges. And he uttered another small, contained moan.

"Fuck."

If Elijah didn't like it, Ian wouldn't do it again. But if there was no indication of discomfort, then Ian would let his fingers stay wrapped in Elijah's hair, and there'd be some pressure on the back of Elijah's head whenever he slid down the length of Ian's cock. Not forceful, but guiding. For Ian it was all warm heat and wetness and the smooth slide of Elijah's lips and tongue, and Elijah would sense every moment of it in Ian's pattern. The way it made him come alive with heightened awareness and arousal. The rapid, greedy pounding of his heart.

He laughed again, this distant, breathy sound, when Elijah offered that translation. It sounded like hunger and wry humor and bliss all at once. "Jesus, you're fucking amazing."

(Funny, that. The way people could invoke the names of deities and religious figures they didn't even believe in.)

Elijah

[per+empathy- what am I supposed to do when we're done?]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 4, 5, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )

Elijah

He moved, his attentions on Ian. Ian held him there for a second, and for a second he froze, but only a second. Only long enough to become accustomed to the sensation before Ian could do it again. There was no indication of discomfort, no trepidation, just commitment to what he was doing. Focus in what he was doing, and his movement became faster, his attentions direct, and he knew precisely what he wanted. He wanted to make sure that Ian finished. After all, it was what Elijah said he was going to do, what Elijah said he had wanted. His mind had not wandered, his being present in that moment.

And there was something to be said about being present, about savoring the feel of the man's length on his tongue, about the deliberate strokes and the pressure there and the sensation of his hand in Elijah's hair- he liked keeping it longer for a reason and this? This was part of it. Feeling someone's fingers tense there when he'd done well and feeling that guiding pressuree to urge him on. A dare. A challenge, something he gladly accepted.

there would be no trace the two had been there, sad for memories and the slightest disturbance of wood chips beneath them. He was spurred on by that compliment, that cry of jesus, you're fucking amazing, and whatever retort he may have had was lost on the task at hand. He doesn't stop until it's all done and over, taking pleasure in that moment of release and taking his cues to keep things as streamlined and clean as possible. Once he pulled back, his cheeks were flushed, he struggled for air in a  completely different fashion and he couldn't get the damned smile off his face.

"C'est magnifique."

Ian

There were things Ian wanted to do, half-formed drives and urges that lurked in the back of his mind when he started to get close. Things that he would not do to someone whose boundaries he didn't know. He always had a hard time holding back at the end. Holding still. Not just...

He rolled his hips and thrust into Elijah's mouth, guiding Elijah's head down. The motion was slow and controlled, with an edge of restrained aggression. Riding the edge of that beautiful fucking arc of pleasure until it crashed.

Ian didn't cry out. Not here. Instead he rolled his head back and opened his mouth in a sudden exhalation before quickly clamping his teeth down on his lip. There was the taste of copper and salt in his mouth (blood.) And he did moan, soft and reedy.

He didn't really have the presence of mind to notice whether they were making a mess or not. Later, he'd be grateful that they hadn't. But for now... 

Ian came down from his orgasm slowly, as the muscles in his body uncoiled one by one. He felt light-headed, breathing hard as he lay back against the stairs and closed his eyes. The hard ridges of plastic were beginning to feel uncomfortable against his back.

And there was blood on his lip. He licked it slowly and sat up.

"We should get out of here." There was something in his tone that seemed to imply so we can finish. He managed to get himself presentable before another jogger came into view.

And then, if Elijah seemed amenable, they'd make their way back to Ian's car. And from there, likely, Elijah's apartment.