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Aug. 22nd, 2025 08:53 am
dregs: by <user name="skybuns"> (Default)
[personal profile] dregs


☎️💬📽️

Date: 2025-12-17 01:53 am (UTC)
eighthday: (honks that clown nose!)
From: [personal profile] eighthday
[He hadn't expected Aventurine to lean into the kiss. Aventurine had. If there hadn't been yapping up until that point, he- probably wouldn't have kissed him in the first place. It was a stupid, impulsive decision because Aventurine had spoken for a moment too long about something that didn't really matter-

Anyway. And he hadn't expected that spoon to clatter, and he hadn't expected Aventurine to be so dumbfounded because of how glib the gambler's tongue usually is. Of all the things to shut him up, it's a kiss, and Sunday finds himself touching his lip and then, belatedly, hiding that with a wing because he's not sure if he wants Aventurine to see, and then not because he's probably blushing because what the hell just happened? But also, if he gets too far into his own head they won't get anywhere with this.]


I was...

[Going to go to the kitchen, but leaving feels fraught, staying on this couch feels fraught, and everything feels fraught at the moment. Fraught, fraught, fraught. He'd ask himself why he did that, but also if he hadn't Aventurine would probably still be talking. (Probably.) So he knows why he did it. He'll stand by this decision. Made his decision with eyes wide open. No matter the consequences, it's better than the alternative.

But also Aventurine's reaction wasn't...

It wasn't supposed to be that. It-

Okay, now both of them are overthinking it.]


It seemed like a good idea.

[Fuck if he knows. Fuck it. Actually, yeah, fuck it, he's grabbing Aventurine's cheek, his chin, leaning in again, and this time kissing to preemptively shut him up from anything else he might be saying, but this time kissing him like he's. Fond. Of him. In some weird way they don't really need to worry about. Obviously. If one kiss shut down both of their brains, another kiss will get them working again.]

Date: 2025-12-19 03:29 am (UTC)
eighthday: ("I don't need over 100 icons" I said)
From: [personal profile] eighthday
[At some point in the kiss, his wings lift up to veil their faces from the rest of the world...even if the rest of the world consists of the cat cakes. (And Sunday likes the cat cakes.) It's just reflexive. Some things he doesn't want to share with anything around them. It's soft. It's gentle. It's various other things. It doesn't matter what those things are, it just is.

Eventually, though, Sunday breaks the kiss with a quick nip of Aventurine's lips, and then a quick kiss, as if in apology. (As if he had bitten that hard, but as an apology.) Sunday searches Aventurine's eyes, his hand still on Aventurine's cheek, thumb (nervously) stroking skin, and then-]


I-

[His eyes momentarily glance aside, a blush on his cheeks, chewing his cheek nervously, but then- he nearly touched divinity. He nearly touched heaven. Why is he hesitating? Sunday's gaze meets Aventurine's own once again.]

If your kitchen is barren we can order in something. [And, also.] But if you want me to stay longer I'd like to stop by my apartment and pick up a few things.

[Up to Aventurine to decide what he means by longer, what sort of longer would entail having to pick up a few things.]

Date: 2025-12-23 05:04 am (UTC)
eighthday: ("Who needs that many?" I said)
From: [personal profile] eighthday
[He finds himself- well, he's probably blushing, but he's still blushing, or maybe blushing harder in a shade to rival Argenti's hair, because Sunday has no idea when it was that he had earned that sort of warmth shining from Aventurine's eyes, but it's the sort of sight that takes his breath away, that makes everything worth it, and he's lost control of a lot of things. Sunday knows this. There were a lot of things he had a grasp on, and he's lost control of every last bit of it. And he actually doesn't mind? He should. He knows. He doesn't. The kisses were a mistake- well, okay, not really, Sunday thoroughly enjoyed every last second of them, but they were a tacit admission of...

Something, that they were also tacitly ignoring.

But also, that something was getting hard to ignore, so it was maybe inevitable.

Regardless, he watches, like a vole numbed by a fox's riddle, waiting to be eaten, as Aventurine scoops up a little bit of cake on that spoon, and puts it in his mouth. Aventurine presses against his shoulder; he moves to support him. It's like a stupid dance as they kiss again, and Sunday's mouth immediately opens with a little desperate groan because in the end, he's eager to please. He'll take whatever Aventurine gives him, and he's eager to please. His tongue is in his mouth, trying to taste every last bit of the cake, or just famished after having denied himself certain things for a while, and Sunday still wants to please. Maybe the sushi just decanted something that Sunday had been keeping bottled up the second he had seen the fucking IPC envoy in the first fucking place and he had fucking convinced himself that all he wanted to do was to wreck him (not in a good, sexy way, and then in a cruel-yet-sexy way, and then it got really complicated), but maybe all of that, too, was a lie.

He'd crawl onto his lap, but there's cake in the way.

He should never want to crawl into anyone's lap. What the hell has Aventurine done to him?

Sunday breaks for air. He breathes, shuddering, and turns out that while he hadn't quite crawled into Aventurine's lap (cake, plates, things in the way) his leg did start to move.

Words.]


It tastes better than I remember.

[Idiot.]

Date: 2025-12-26 02:51 am (UTC)
eighthday: (22)
From: [personal profile] eighthday
[Sunday, of course, eagerly meets that kiss. He didn't even think he was capable of eagerly meeting any kisses, but here he is, eagerly meeting that kiss. His mouth opens, his hand reaches up, touches Aventurine's cheek, threads through his hair. He doesn't need to breathe, all the air in the world is in the Stoneheart's lungs. And then, his tongue desperately in Aventurine's mouth, he-

His knee hits a plate. Again.

The cake, and the plate, is in the way. He is ending the kiss. Fingertips cover Aventurine's mouth if he tries to chase after him.]


Here-

[He's taking the plate from Aventurine- don't stop him, he's taking the plate. It's his plate now.]

I enjoy what you're doing with this a lot, but it's in the way, and it's starting to get frustrating.

[Sunday's moving as he's talking, leaning away- he's putting a hand on Aventurine's chest if he tries to move. Stay. Shoving that plate on that surface. The one over there, that table that's a safe ways away from the two of them, and hopefully high enough the cat cakes can't get at it. Nothing would ruin the moment like pet food poisoning.]

There.

[And now he's seating himself on Aventurine's lap like he owns it. Better! Sunday smiles a little pleased smile at Aventurine. It's very pleased. He's very happy. Isn't this much better? Doesn't this make more sense?

A hand is back in his hair, lightly tugging on it, and Sunday's meeting Aventurine's lips with his own, inflicting another kiss onto him- don't stop him. Once again, chasing after kisses, chasing after this, something he denied himself for whatever reason, something that tastes like sunlight, like summer in all of the best of ways, something he wants to bask in, and Sunday denied himself this. For what? Don't ask him why.]

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