{ to be fair, there's a whole number of things that could be classified as hot--the most immediate is his own body from having sunday on his lap along with multiple layers. but he could be stupid and say sunday himself is. he could be honest and say the kissing itself is.
maybe it's all of the above. (it is all of the above)
it's precisely why he huffs when he's reminded that he was supposed to be eating to begin with. a small huff, but still a huff.
his hands do not let go. in fact, they pointedly shift until he can dig his fingers in a bit better. }
What if... what if... my answer to that question is you?
[-and he stops and he stares for a long moment. Breath held. Still and quie- a low hiss as he's held, and he starts breathing again as Sunday has to fight his instincts, so maybe not that still and quiet after all. But for one moment, he was still and quiet, with eyes so wide, because he's never been wanted like that and he doesn't know what to do with it.
He's looking at Aventurine's lips again.
...licks his own, swallows, his mouth dry.]
You are a strange man. [This is said very distantly. And Sunday leans in and kisses Aventurine, just for a moment, just so he doesn't ask what he means by strange, just so he doesn't get the wrong idea. Okay, maybe for just a couple of moments. Maybe he meant to kiss him for a moment, and it ended up being a small handful of moments. Maybe he should stop kissing Aventurine before he loses the point of what he was going to say-
{ he honestly expects the moment to be ruined. expected for whatever moment that seems to have formed here to burst, like a bubble that's had too much air pushed into it and it can't contain itself anymore. maybe that magic finally breaks. sunday stays still, seems to hold his breath then hisses and aventurine flinches to pull his hands back, lets them awkwardly hover in the air for a moment.
but he's paying close enough attention to everything else going on. sunday wouldn't be looking at him like that if he didn't want it... right? }
You- { thankfully he is stopped before he gets full words out, and this time his hands move to hold onto hips, settle gently as he makes a noise in the back of his throat. it's inquisitive. maybe a little confused. maybe it doesn't matter. }
...Yeah. Not unless we want an audience.
{ his eyes shift to where the cake cats are playing together, clearly happy to just get on with it now they don't have to watch their dumb dad. someone else is there for that now, apparently.
but he'll shift up, one hand moving to press onto the couch by himself so he can lean up. he doesn't kiss him on the mouth, instead pressing his lips to sunday's jaw. }
You'll... have to stand up first though, I don't think I can carry you at the moment.
{ would he have tried normally???? maybe. disaster thankfully averted- }
[And Sunday frowns. He really doesn't want to get up, actually, as there's a part of him that half-expects one, the other, or the both of them to remember who they are and what they are and then all of this would stop. And there's another part of him that's really enjoying being on Aventurine's lap, and that part of him shifts and almost immediately regrets it because it just makes him want to continue shifting, and then that'll bring them back to the entire audience and making a scene thing.
But, also, Sunday knows how to deny himself, and he pulls away before he can get carried away with the shifting, and a little displeased noise just escapes his lips because the air is cold and Aventurine's warm and he hates the necessity of standing up even as he understands it.]
Would you have tired to carry me under different circumstances?
[It's asked curiously, as Sunday reaches for Aventurine's hand, either to help him up or for the sake of holding onto something, or perhaps a mix of both that Sunday isn't inclined to think too hard about. He's trying to grab onto smoke, trying to catch the sun in his hands, bottle light and stopper air in a place outside of dreams. Or maybe he already died and this is one strange long final dream and he's a bit of gently fragmenting memoria.
It's either focusing on whether or not Aventurine would carry him, or worrying about what will happen the second Aventurine stands up, or worrying about what will happen when they get inside of his bedroom and his absolute lack of any meaningful experience comes into play, or a hundred thousand other things he could be thinking about, things that would result in their, uh. Friendship. Ending up irrevocably ruined. Even more so than the time he tried to kill Aventurine and the time Aventurine tried to die, somehow.
It's also either focusing on that or immediately grabbing a hold of Aventurine and pulling him into another kiss, which, while nice, would delay the entire bedroom, clothes off, what comes next thing. A man can simultaneously have his eyes on the prize as well as worry about what the prize might entail. Sunday does know how to multi-task.]
{ it would probably have helped if he'd said his idea wasn't necessarily to get down and heavy with this instantly anyway. that his plan is actually to just move into the bedroom in case, but if all they end up doing is curling up together under the covers where it's warm and cozy and they just keep kissing that is also fine.
he's tired. he's emotionally wrung out. he isn't actually trying to chase a high with this, he's... well. whatever he's chasing is softer, and something he's definitely not mentally lingering on. it's too complicated to think about right now. }
Maybe one day you'll find out.
{ he makes a small noise when the warmth is gone again, but it's small and brief and then his hand is reaching out to be helped up and towards him again.
he reaches down after, picks up sunday's phone, presses it into his free hand. }
For later.
{ and then he's... picking up the plate with the cake and spoon or fork or whatever it was on it. he holds it steady, glances at the cat cakes, but they're fine--
--and then he'll start walking towards the bedroom.
he's actually quiet on the way, places the cake down on the bedside table once they're in there. then he hums, thoughtful, and lets go of sunday's hand so he can pull the sweater over his head. it probably tugs the t-shirt up under it for a moment, before he can smooth that down--and the sweater gets flung onto the floor to deal with later. it's once that's off he pays attention to what sunday's wearing. sure, he doesn't have to actually strip but-- } Why don't we get you more comfortable as well, hmm?
[And then they'd both have to consider what the hell 'I want you' means in an undeniably softer context, no, that would be terrible. If Sunday knew that, he'd definitely be forcing Aventurine to take a nap, order in groceries, cook, and he sleeps on the couch while Aventurine takes the bed.
So, they go. They enter Aventurine's bedroom. Many mistakes had long since been made at this point. They're both quiet. Sunday's trying very hard to not think about what it is they're doing, whatever this is, but that unfortunately means he's focusing on Aventurine which isn't much better, and then his mind goes back to whatever-this-is, and then he wonders why he thought it would be normal to kiss him to shut him up, and-
And they're inside.
Since Aventurine isn't immediately pinning him to a wall, Sunday feels two things: an undercurrent of something being wrong, and also not being entirely sure what Aventurine wants from him. He barely knows what he wants from himself most days. What would other people want from him? How is he supposed to know? Maybe he'd have been happier if he lost himself to Order- not as a leader, but as a follower, mind broken and in eternal thrall to Ena.
He doesn't know. He does know he hears a cue, and it's not like he has any reason not to get comfortable, so off goes his outer layers: coats and things, loosely folded and set aside.]
However you want me.
[Belt, coiled atop his things. There's a part of him, engraved onto his soul by his father, which screams at him to take control of whatever-this-is, to have Tuning coil in Aventurine's bones and make him...
...probably take a bath and get some rest, but that, too, is control. Sunday takes that bit of himself and ruthlessly stomps it down. Ignores it. Decisively says-]
I'll follow your lead, Aventurine. [Takes his need for control and surrenders it to Aventurine. Gifts it to him, the world's shittiest present.]
{ don't think about it!! at least that is how aventurine is not getting caught up in a mess of thoughts right now.
to be fair to aventurine, the last time they'd been in this situation he was high on aphrodisiac and his thirst had been amplified from it. he doesn't feel the need to pin the other to the door since he isn't about to hump anything around him for friction, thank you very much.
no, instead he's giving sunday a look for the 'however you want me' because there had been a thing he'd said during the whole sushi incident that hasn't left his mind the past couple of months, but it likely isn't the best time for it. probably. he considers it, pauses, then puts it back into his pocket again for later. }
In that case... come on.
{ he steps backwards, tugs him gently by the hand those few steps until the back of his knees hit the bed. one foot slides up and on, then the other. he twists to nudge the covers aside as he turns around, then finally moves to a point where if he lays back his head will be on the pillow. }
[...what was that look for what did he say what did he do...
Sunday allows himself to be led. He follows. He watches as Aventurine settles onto his bed and pats his lap, a clear invitation. And Sunday knows that he should, probably, be hesitating. Ask questions like if he is certain about this. They should talk more. But instead, here he is, following Aventurine onto that bed. Sitting on the other man's lap like he belongs there. His fingers lift, trace Aventurine's cheek for a moment, thumbs brushing soft skin. Then, the underside of his lip, catching for one second, before they drop to the other man's chest. Clothed as it is. It doesn't matter. The point is to spread his hands, palm against heart, feel the beating of it. The point is to close his eyes for a moment and feel how Aventurine's lungs flutter with air, in and out.
His eyes open again. Then, arms, and there's a certain order in this, a certain symmetry - perhaps, in a different lifetime, he would have become a follower of Abundance. Someone who actually understands the wonders of the human body, something he overlooked.
Sunday's hands land on Aventurine's shoulders again. Gentle. He hesitates, and- exhales, and leans in to kiss him.]
his eyes stay focused on sunday as he moves, head tilting back to look up at him once he's shifting to sit atop his lap. his eyes flutter at the soft touch to his cheek, tongue flicks out when his thumb brush his lip. it's when his hand drops to his chest that his eyes shut completely.
he seems calm, but sunday's palm will be able to hear the quick tempo his heart is rushing at with this. his face feels hot at being caught out, there's no way he'd miss that's the case, but he doesn't say anything.
instead he peers from under his lashes, pulls the covers back around them to drape them over sunday's shoulders. then his hands drag down over his back as he leans up to kiss him back. it isn't rushed, none of the actions are. they have time. there's no need to rush it. }
[It's slow. It's languid. It's unfortunately perfect. If it wasn't for the slowness of the moment, Sunday might cry. Or run out the door. Or ruin things in a hundred thousand ways, and not necessarily intentionally. He'd just start thinking, and if he started thinking he'd think too much and-
But the moment is slow. Languid. Soft in a way Sunday's not familiar with. He's too caught up in the drag of Aventurine's lips, the taste of his tongue. He's too caught up in being held, in the way hands are dragging down his back. The drape of covers over his shoulders. The way they trade kisses, back and forth, whatever impulse sparks his nerves, sets them alight, has his hands reaching up to cup Aventurine's cheeks and tangle in his hair like Aventurine's some precious, delicate thing and with the slightest loud noise or movement, he'd shatter to pieces.
Neither of them are what Sunday would consider delicate. Aventurine had been through privation and pain (some inflicted by Sunday, and he's well aware of it and tries not to think about it because if he does, he'll ask questions he won't like the answer to or start running and never stop) and came out as whole as can be expected. A lesser man would have been broken to pieces. But he wants to treat Aventurine gently, which is frightening.]
{ there's a fleeting thought--that maybe, just maybe, dying has given him a free pass to enjoy this without worrying about consequences outside of his control. the two things aren't related at all, but his mind has gone through a grater, and the guilt twists things into something that doesn't make any sense. he wants and fears all at once, so tightly and closely it's hard to imagine one without the other.
right now he chooses to focus on the moment. enjoys the way his hands glide over fabric, the way their mouths and tongues slide against one another. enjoys it, too, when sunday's hands move across his face and delve into his hair again. there's a soft noise, not unlike a moan in the back of his throat, before his hands dip low enough to wiggle under the fabric of sunday's shirt to press on skin. one hand settles on his hip, the other drags up his spine until the material bunches around his forearm.
his mouth pulls away with a soft gasp, takes a gulp of air before he lowers his head to leave an open mouthed kiss against sunday's throat. }
[He doesn't know what's going on- he thinks he does, but Sunday doesn't, and he's too stubborn to pause a moment and listen to the little voice at the back of his mind telling him that if Aventurine's this enthusiastic, there has to be something going on. (He's right, but for the wrong reasons.) There's no room for doubt here. Mainly because if there was room left for doubt then Sunday would be picking up his clothes and not leaving, but strategically retreating to the kitchen and brewing some coffee and-
Fortunately for...
Well, fortunately (for whom or what, doesn't matter), Aventurine's lips and arms are making a very convincing argument for staying right where he is. It's easy for him to lose himself in the moment, and pretend like he knows what he's doing. To kiss back and shiver and gasp as a hand drags up his spine.
Aventurine breaks the kiss.
Sunday nearly says something very stupid. He has air. He isn't quite thinking. He nearly says something incredibly stupid and then Aventurine kisses him and out comes a different sort of stupid remark.]
You can, if you'd like.
[He's not entirely sure where he's going with this, but his mouth is moving and his brain is following after.]
Leave a mark, that is. [Something small, with his predisposition for formal wear it would be hidden, something only known between the two of them, maybe something he'd feel until it fades.]
{ his mouth is still pressed against skin when he hears the words, and for a moment he freezes. he inhales sharply, and his hold tightens. fingers dig into sunday's back, just briefly, before they drag down. he considers pulling them away entirely, to reach up and do this properly without breaking anything but--but. that's a dangerous permission to offer, isn't it? especially in the spot his mouth is currently pressed.
he forces a breath out, flattens his tongue against sunday's skin as he has an internal fight with himself to not just press his teeth in and suck hard right where he is. it wouldn't be small. it'd be very visible.
thankfully, thankfully, he isn't so unkind to make it that visible.
so the hand on his hip lets go and he just about manages to pull his face back, cursing as he does, only to reach up and tug hard on sunday's shirt. it's rough, honestly. it's rough and probably feels tight against his shoulders for a moment as the fabric strains. they have an ability to fix things, it'll be fine. for now though, the thread tears, he gets the first button to pop off and makes enough gap by yanking the fabric out of the way to lean in and press his mouth to skin again. this time it's harsher, clearly not wasting anymore time now as his teeth press in enough to bruise but not break skin and he sucks until sunday's skin blossoms red. }
[He feels absolute fucking panic as he feels the way Aventurine clutches him, the way his body stills, and Sunday knows he said something absolutely wrong, and he has no idea what it is, just that he did something- somehow, said the wrong thing, something he always does when it's personal instead of important. He just doesn't know what. His eyes are wide, a little wild.]
Ah-
[-he says, as Aventurine pulls away with a curse-]
I-
[And then everything moves too quickly for him to react to, which is likely for the best. Aventurine's hands reach up and he stupidly wonders if it's to undo his shirt, and then Aventurine pulls, and Sunday makes a noise (somewhere between annoyance and surprise and delight and being unfortunately turned on, for all that Sunday enjoys perfection he also enjoys being dragged into the dirt: it both infuriates him on levels he cannot articulate and makes him feel alive) as the button is pulled off and he's upon him again. He groans as he feels lips, cants his head away just so Aventurine has as much access as he needs (at least, as much as he can with the shirt still on him, he really should fix that, he should be doing a lot of things but Sunday's heart is pounding and his head is in the clouds. His wings are twitching weakly, fluttering, really, and he feels soft and hot and it's very, very complicated.)]
I?
[It wasn't meant as a question, but Aventurine's enthusiasm catches him by surprise and he jumps a little as the other man gets to sucking (and his cock jumps as well), and one hand finds its way to Aventurine's hair and Sunday is half keeping him there until the job is done, and half petting him. Encouragement.
It's difficult to talk without sounding incredibly turned on, but he's going to make a valiant effort.]
I didn't realize how much you'd like that. [...an effort was made.]
{ he ends up having to peel himself away, blindly fumbling with the shirt as he struggles to process so much and so little all at once. there's a simple answer though that he can say to that. work backwards from there. now isn't the time to unpack it, but he can be honest on one thing: } Neither did I. { because he never would get offered it, not really. who would have ever wanted it to be known, after all? and now it's. well, it's complicated. there's a lot of emotional turmoil bubbling up with it that he's squashing down as best as he can. some of it good, some of it very bad.
marking another usually signifies ownership or possession, and that doesn't sit well. it makes his skin crawl. but there's a part of him that can also recognise that despite that, despite all of it, there's a want and yearning to look at this like any other person would and just appreciate how sunday looks with marks like these across skin. to make them himself. to give them something more tangible as a memory because he has no idea if or when this may happen again which is where that eagerness stems from
and--
so. shirt. he'll focus on the shirt. his hands are shaking now as he moves them, pulling back enough to look down at the mess he's already made of it. it's creased where he'd grabbed it before, the fabric clearly having fought for its life for a moment. }
Hel-- { he clears his throat, but it doesn't really do much. } Help me get this off. { he'll start from the bottom, unfastening it as best as he can with the speed he's trying to do it at. }
[Aventurine's hands are shaking. He wants to say something, but also, doesn't, because he's- they're focusing on the shirt. His shirt, then, they can take care of Aventurine's shirt, then, something.]
Right.
[Shirt, yes. Maybe Aventurine's hands aren't the only ones which are shaking, a little. A slight tremble as he goes top down and he wants to ask why Aventurine seems to be rushing, but, also, doesn't. He's not that much of an idiot.
He licks his lips. Then:]
Your shirt next. [Sunday says it very quietly, as if a louder sound would break the moment, whatever it is, whatever's going on, and his fingers work as quickly as they can. Shirt, cuffs, shirt off, whatever else. The quicker the better.]
{ he's rushing a little, just this one bit, with a need to kiss, bite and suck on his skin some more. sure, sunday had said a mark but if you give him an inch he'll go a mile, apparently.
he exhales once it's off, throws it aside to who knows where. then he's reminded of his own. his own is easier, fingers curling under the hem to pull it up over his head. his hair is already mussed up from sunday's fingers anyway, so he pays no mind to that. throws that off to the side too.
that done everything slows a lot. his hand reaches up, eyes staring at the one mark that has already been left before his fingers follow. his thumb slides across the red mark (and there's a faint noise of appreciation in the back of his throat that he won't linger on), then he's leaning in to press another, this time below his collarbone. his other hand finds its way to sunday's hip, slowly dragging up his side.
if he isn't stopped mark after mark will be made across his skin as he slowly works his way down. his mouth never loses contact, either dragging his tongue or teeth across on the way. }
[He is absolutely not doing a thing to stop what's going on. Sunday's making little noises (a gasp here, a groan there, a little fluttering breath) as mark after mark after mark is left on him. His eyes are half-lidded, eyelids fluttering, his fingers touching the first mark as an afterthought. His every instinct is screaming at him to collapse to the bed and let Aventurine mark every last bit of him. Sunday's learning a few things about himself today. One of them is: he likes this. He really, really likes this- no, he loves this. He loves being treated like...
Something tangible. It's like...
He's something grounded. Not holy, above, not a bastion of order just beyond the grasp of the world, just another Halovian, just another man - unremarkable, unnoticed, unnoticeable, unmemorable, ultimately someone who belongs to the world and not something that hovers beyond it, trapped behind glass windows, watching the world move without him. Not untouchable. Very touchable. Very touched. Like...
Not disrespected, the way Aventurine is marking him hardly indicates disrespect. But not sacred; now that Aventurine's been given permission he's not hesitating. It's not blasphemy, it's just enthusiasm. Which is absurd, given how he'd climbed to the top of his Family and squandered all of that away, and yet-
And yet, the evidence is undeniable. It's right on his skin. And if Aventurine notices his fingertips quivering as they go back and forth against his skin, not quite holding him there, but encouraging (if the little noises, and the not-so-little noises like the one he made just now, yes, that one, that sharp gasp, as if those aren't encouragement enough) him onward, and-
And.
And it's actually profoundly difficult to remain some form of sitting while they do this. Mattress. He needs to be lying down.]
{ thankfully, even if he has no idea what is going through sunday's head, he reaches a low enough point where he can't lower himself further. not when they're sat like they are.
there's a faint noise of frustration as he makes his way back up just enough so his mouth can cover a nipple. his tongue swirls there, teeth press enough to be felt but not to hurt--grind just enough to send jolts of pleasure before they dip into pain. his hands slide up and down over sunday's sides, thinking before he finally, finally pulls his mouth back. }
Ho...Hold onto me a sec.
{ one hand shifts to press to the bed, the other dragging up along his side to hold him along his back. whether sunday registers it yet or not though, he'll be moving anyway. he'll get his wish as he pushes with his legs and twists to roll them over.
there's a sharp gasp of air as it means their bodies align better, and he indulges just a little by grinding down once, twice. then he's pulling himself back before he gets too caught up in it. he sits back long enough to gaze down at sunday, drinks in the sight for a long moment, before he's dipping down to kiss him on the mouth again. just a little treat before he starts making his way lower again. }
[He holds onto him for a moment, very obedient, very eager to go along with whatever Aventurine has in mind, and yet somehow makes a surprised noise as they're rolled onto the bed. And then a pleased noise as they're better aligned, and then a-
A noise as Sunday's ground into, once, twice, and he desperately chases after it before he's stilled by three things: remembering who he is, remembering where they are, but mainly the look in Aventurine's eyes. He wants to say something. To talk and talk and drown whatever-this-is in words. If he was actually good at this sort of thing, he'd suave out some kind of line. Something flirty and witty. Yearning takes on many forms. Sometimes it's just wishing you were good at this sort of thing and generally knew what you were doing.
So. He bites the inside of his cheek, opens his mouth, and out comes this breathless little noise which- well, if Sunday had been flushed before, he's even more flushed now. Bright red. A terrible shade. Doesn't flatter his pale skin at all, apparently.
Fortunately, this is the point in which he's kissed.
And it's a good thing because he was on the cusp of saying something dumb. He's kissed, words are gone, he's blinking like an owl surprised by the light, swallows down the words and Sunday doesn't quite writhe, but he does wiggle in a way which implies that maybe Aventurine's finding one or two more sensitive spots on his way back down.]
I think you're getting a taste for-...
[Actually, no, that's really embarrassing, nevermind, he's petting Aventurine, stroking his hair, Sunday's biting his free wrist, nevermind, no no no that's so very embarrassing.]
{ it's for the best that he doesn't try and say something suave, something out of character that would likely break the moment--even if maybe it shouldn't be going on as long as this is. but that's because he's done enough of that for them both, and right now honesty is forcing some level of vulnerability and openness to step past that lines that have been drawn in the ground.
even after he breaks the kiss to move down his mouth feels like it's on fire from how he drags tongue, lips and teeth over skin. he'll pause on any spots that do seem to have more of a reaction, looks up when sunday starts speaking.
it's a bit silly, a bit embarrassing, sure. it's embarrassing enough that he's laughing under his breath, just a small little laugh that shows how absurd this is. because he's right. apparently, he's right. }
For you? Maybe... Maybe I am.
{ maybe there was something more specific there, but he'll let that hang in the air instead. lets it hang in the air as he shifts to reach and pull at sunday's belt buckle, but doesn't start opening it yet. consent is important. }
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no subject
Date: 2026-01-06 12:17 am (UTC)maybe it's all of the above. (it is all of the above)
it's precisely why he huffs when he's reminded that he was supposed to be eating to begin with. a small huff, but still a huff.
his hands do not let go. in fact, they pointedly shift until he can dig his fingers in a bit better. }
What if... what if... my answer to that question is you?
{ it should be food...😔 }
no subject
Date: 2026-01-06 02:32 am (UTC)He's looking at Aventurine's lips again.
...licks his own, swallows, his mouth dry.]
You are a strange man. [This is said very distantly. And Sunday leans in and kisses Aventurine, just for a moment, just so he doesn't ask what he means by strange, just so he doesn't get the wrong idea. Okay, maybe for just a couple of moments. Maybe he meant to kiss him for a moment, and it ended up being a small handful of moments. Maybe he should stop kissing Aventurine before he loses the point of what he was going to say-
...okay.]
Then we shouldn't be out here.
no subject
Date: 2026-01-07 01:06 am (UTC)but he's paying close enough attention to everything else going on. sunday wouldn't be looking at him like that if he didn't want it... right? }
You- { thankfully he is stopped before he gets full words out, and this time his hands move to hold onto hips, settle gently as he makes a noise in the back of his throat. it's inquisitive. maybe a little confused. maybe it doesn't matter. }
...Yeah. Not unless we want an audience.
{ his eyes shift to where the cake cats are playing together, clearly happy to just get on with it now they don't have to watch their dumb dad. someone else is there for that now, apparently.
but he'll shift up, one hand moving to press onto the couch by himself so he can lean up. he doesn't kiss him on the mouth, instead pressing his lips to sunday's jaw. }
You'll... have to stand up first though, I don't think I can carry you at the moment.
{ would he have tried normally???? maybe. disaster thankfully averted- }
no subject
Date: 2026-01-08 04:53 am (UTC)But, also, Sunday knows how to deny himself, and he pulls away before he can get carried away with the shifting, and a little displeased noise just escapes his lips because the air is cold and Aventurine's warm and he hates the necessity of standing up even as he understands it.]
Would you have tired to carry me under different circumstances?
[It's asked curiously, as Sunday reaches for Aventurine's hand, either to help him up or for the sake of holding onto something, or perhaps a mix of both that Sunday isn't inclined to think too hard about. He's trying to grab onto smoke, trying to catch the sun in his hands, bottle light and stopper air in a place outside of dreams. Or maybe he already died and this is one strange long final dream and he's a bit of gently fragmenting memoria.
It's either focusing on whether or not Aventurine would carry him, or worrying about what will happen the second Aventurine stands up, or worrying about what will happen when they get inside of his bedroom and his absolute lack of any meaningful experience comes into play, or a hundred thousand other things he could be thinking about, things that would result in their, uh. Friendship. Ending up irrevocably ruined. Even more so than the time he tried to kill Aventurine and the time Aventurine tried to die, somehow.
It's also either focusing on that or immediately grabbing a hold of Aventurine and pulling him into another kiss, which, while nice, would delay the entire bedroom, clothes off, what comes next thing. A man can simultaneously have his eyes on the prize as well as worry about what the prize might entail. Sunday does know how to multi-task.]
no subject
Date: 2026-01-09 01:28 am (UTC)he's tired. he's emotionally wrung out. he isn't actually trying to chase a high with this, he's... well. whatever he's chasing is softer, and something he's definitely not mentally lingering on. it's too complicated to think about right now. }
Maybe one day you'll find out.
{ he makes a small noise when the warmth is gone again, but it's small and brief and then his hand is reaching out to be helped up and towards him again.
he reaches down after, picks up sunday's phone, presses it into his free hand. }
For later.
{ and then he's... picking up the plate with the cake and spoon or fork or whatever it was on it. he holds it steady, glances at the cat cakes, but they're fine--
--and then he'll start walking towards the bedroom.
he's actually quiet on the way, places the cake down on the bedside table once they're in there. then he hums, thoughtful, and lets go of sunday's hand so he can pull the sweater over his head. it probably tugs the t-shirt up under it for a moment, before he can smooth that down--and the sweater gets flung onto the floor to deal with later. it's once that's off he pays attention to what sunday's wearing. sure, he doesn't have to actually strip but-- } Why don't we get you more comfortable as well, hmm?
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Date: 2026-01-09 02:12 am (UTC)So, they go. They enter Aventurine's bedroom. Many mistakes had long since been made at this point. They're both quiet. Sunday's trying very hard to not think about what it is they're doing, whatever this is, but that unfortunately means he's focusing on Aventurine which isn't much better, and then his mind goes back to whatever-this-is, and then he wonders why he thought it would be normal to kiss him to shut him up, and-
And they're inside.
Since Aventurine isn't immediately pinning him to a wall, Sunday feels two things: an undercurrent of something being wrong, and also not being entirely sure what Aventurine wants from him. He barely knows what he wants from himself most days. What would other people want from him? How is he supposed to know? Maybe he'd have been happier if he lost himself to Order- not as a leader, but as a follower, mind broken and in eternal thrall to Ena.
He doesn't know. He does know he hears a cue, and it's not like he has any reason not to get comfortable, so off goes his outer layers: coats and things, loosely folded and set aside.]
However you want me.
[Belt, coiled atop his things. There's a part of him, engraved onto his soul by his father, which screams at him to take control of whatever-this-is, to have Tuning coil in Aventurine's bones and make him...
...probably take a bath and get some rest, but that, too, is control. Sunday takes that bit of himself and ruthlessly stomps it down. Ignores it. Decisively says-]
I'll follow your lead, Aventurine. [Takes his need for control and surrenders it to Aventurine. Gifts it to him, the world's shittiest present.]
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Date: 2026-01-09 03:58 pm (UTC)to be fair to aventurine, the last time they'd been in this situation he was high on aphrodisiac and his thirst had been amplified from it. he doesn't feel the need to pin the other to the door since he isn't about to hump anything around him for friction, thank you very much.
no, instead he's giving sunday a look for the 'however you want me' because there had been a thing he'd said during the whole sushi incident that hasn't left his mind the past couple of months, but it likely isn't the best time for it. probably. he considers it, pauses, then puts it back into his pocket again for later. }
In that case... come on.
{ he steps backwards, tugs him gently by the hand those few steps until the back of his knees hit the bed. one foot slides up and on, then the other. he twists to nudge the covers aside as he turns around, then finally moves to a point where if he lays back his head will be on the pillow. }
Let's pick up where we left off.
{ he lets go of sunday's hand...
...and pats his own lap. come sit. }
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Date: 2026-01-10 04:40 am (UTC)Sunday allows himself to be led. He follows. He watches as Aventurine settles onto his bed and pats his lap, a clear invitation. And Sunday knows that he should, probably, be hesitating. Ask questions like if he is certain about this. They should talk more. But instead, here he is, following Aventurine onto that bed. Sitting on the other man's lap like he belongs there. His fingers lift, trace Aventurine's cheek for a moment, thumbs brushing soft skin. Then, the underside of his lip, catching for one second, before they drop to the other man's chest. Clothed as it is. It doesn't matter. The point is to spread his hands, palm against heart, feel the beating of it. The point is to close his eyes for a moment and feel how Aventurine's lungs flutter with air, in and out.
His eyes open again. Then, arms, and there's a certain order in this, a certain symmetry - perhaps, in a different lifetime, he would have become a follower of Abundance. Someone who actually understands the wonders of the human body, something he overlooked.
Sunday's hands land on Aventurine's shoulders again. Gentle. He hesitates, and- exhales, and leans in to kiss him.]
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Date: 2026-01-10 11:04 pm (UTC)his eyes stay focused on sunday as he moves, head tilting back to look up at him once he's shifting to sit atop his lap. his eyes flutter at the soft touch to his cheek, tongue flicks out when his thumb brush his lip. it's when his hand drops to his chest that his eyes shut completely.
he seems calm, but sunday's palm will be able to hear the quick tempo his heart is rushing at with this. his face feels hot at being caught out, there's no way he'd miss that's the case, but he doesn't say anything.
instead he peers from under his lashes, pulls the covers back around them to drape them over sunday's shoulders. then his hands drag down over his back as he leans up to kiss him back. it isn't rushed, none of the actions are. they have time. there's no need to rush it. }
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Date: 2026-01-12 04:50 am (UTC)But the moment is slow. Languid. Soft in a way Sunday's not familiar with. He's too caught up in the drag of Aventurine's lips, the taste of his tongue. He's too caught up in being held, in the way hands are dragging down his back. The drape of covers over his shoulders. The way they trade kisses, back and forth, whatever impulse sparks his nerves, sets them alight, has his hands reaching up to cup Aventurine's cheeks and tangle in his hair like Aventurine's some precious, delicate thing and with the slightest loud noise or movement, he'd shatter to pieces.
Neither of them are what Sunday would consider delicate. Aventurine had been through privation and pain (some inflicted by Sunday, and he's well aware of it and tries not to think about it because if he does, he'll ask questions he won't like the answer to or start running and never stop) and came out as whole as can be expected. A lesser man would have been broken to pieces. But he wants to treat Aventurine gently, which is frightening.]
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Date: 2026-01-13 01:19 pm (UTC)right now he chooses to focus on the moment. enjoys the way his hands glide over fabric, the way their mouths and tongues slide against one another. enjoys it, too, when sunday's hands move across his face and delve into his hair again. there's a soft noise, not unlike a moan in the back of his throat, before his hands dip low enough to wiggle under the fabric of sunday's shirt to press on skin. one hand settles on his hip, the other drags up his spine until the material bunches around his forearm.
his mouth pulls away with a soft gasp, takes a gulp of air before he lowers his head to leave an open mouthed kiss against sunday's throat. }
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Date: 2026-01-21 02:49 am (UTC)Fortunately for...
Well, fortunately (for whom or what, doesn't matter), Aventurine's lips and arms are making a very convincing argument for staying right where he is. It's easy for him to lose himself in the moment, and pretend like he knows what he's doing. To kiss back and shiver and gasp as a hand drags up his spine.
Aventurine breaks the kiss.
Sunday nearly says something very stupid. He has air. He isn't quite thinking. He nearly says something incredibly stupid and then Aventurine kisses him and out comes a different sort of stupid remark.]
You can, if you'd like.
[He's not entirely sure where he's going with this, but his mouth is moving and his brain is following after.]
Leave a mark, that is. [Something small, with his predisposition for formal wear it would be hidden, something only known between the two of them, maybe something he'd feel until it fades.]
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Date: 2026-01-22 01:03 am (UTC)he forces a breath out, flattens his tongue against sunday's skin as he has an internal fight with himself to not just press his teeth in and suck hard right where he is. it wouldn't be small. it'd be very visible.
thankfully, thankfully, he isn't so unkind to make it that visible.
so the hand on his hip lets go and he just about manages to pull his face back, cursing as he does, only to reach up and tug hard on sunday's shirt. it's rough, honestly. it's rough and probably feels tight against his shoulders for a moment as the fabric strains. they have an ability to fix things, it'll be fine. for now though, the thread tears, he gets the first button to pop off and makes enough gap by yanking the fabric out of the way to lean in and press his mouth to skin again. this time it's harsher, clearly not wasting anymore time now as his teeth press in enough to bruise but not break skin and he sucks until sunday's skin blossoms red. }
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Date: 2026-01-22 05:00 am (UTC)Ah-
[-he says, as Aventurine pulls away with a curse-]
I-
[And then everything moves too quickly for him to react to, which is likely for the best. Aventurine's hands reach up and he stupidly wonders if it's to undo his shirt, and then Aventurine pulls, and Sunday makes a noise (somewhere between annoyance and surprise and delight and being unfortunately turned on, for all that Sunday enjoys perfection he also enjoys being dragged into the dirt: it both infuriates him on levels he cannot articulate and makes him feel alive) as the button is pulled off and he's upon him again. He groans as he feels lips, cants his head away just so Aventurine has as much access as he needs (at least, as much as he can with the shirt still on him, he really should fix that, he should be doing a lot of things but Sunday's heart is pounding and his head is in the clouds. His wings are twitching weakly, fluttering, really, and he feels soft and hot and it's very, very complicated.)]
I?
[It wasn't meant as a question, but Aventurine's enthusiasm catches him by surprise and he jumps a little as the other man gets to sucking (and his cock jumps as well), and one hand finds its way to Aventurine's hair and Sunday is half keeping him there until the job is done, and half petting him. Encouragement.
It's difficult to talk without sounding incredibly turned on, but he's going to make a valiant effort.]
I didn't realize how much you'd like that. [...an effort was made.]
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Date: 2026-01-23 12:29 am (UTC)marking another usually signifies ownership or possession, and that doesn't sit well. it makes his skin crawl. but there's a part of him that can also recognise that despite that, despite all of it, there's a want and yearning to look at this like any other person would and just appreciate how sunday looks with marks like these across skin. to make them himself. to give them something more tangible as a memory because he has no idea if or when this may happen again which is where that eagerness stems from
and--
so. shirt. he'll focus on the shirt. his hands are shaking now as he moves them, pulling back enough to look down at the mess he's already made of it. it's creased where he'd grabbed it before, the fabric clearly having fought for its life for a moment. }
Hel-- { he clears his throat, but it doesn't really do much. } Help me get this off. { he'll start from the bottom, unfastening it as best as he can with the speed he's trying to do it at. }
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Date: 2026-01-24 12:53 am (UTC)Right.
[Shirt, yes. Maybe Aventurine's hands aren't the only ones which are shaking, a little. A slight tremble as he goes top down and he wants to ask why Aventurine seems to be rushing, but, also, doesn't. He's not that much of an idiot.
He licks his lips. Then:]
Your shirt next. [Sunday says it very quietly, as if a louder sound would break the moment, whatever it is, whatever's going on, and his fingers work as quickly as they can. Shirt, cuffs, shirt off, whatever else. The quicker the better.]
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Date: 2026-01-24 07:06 pm (UTC)he exhales once it's off, throws it aside to who knows where. then he's reminded of his own. his own is easier, fingers curling under the hem to pull it up over his head. his hair is already mussed up from sunday's fingers anyway, so he pays no mind to that. throws that off to the side too.
that done everything slows a lot. his hand reaches up, eyes staring at the one mark that has already been left before his fingers follow. his thumb slides across the red mark (and there's a faint noise of appreciation in the back of his throat that he won't linger on), then he's leaning in to press another, this time below his collarbone. his other hand finds its way to sunday's hip, slowly dragging up his side.
if he isn't stopped mark after mark will be made across his skin as he slowly works his way down. his mouth never loses contact, either dragging his tongue or teeth across on the way. }
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Date: 2026-01-27 05:33 am (UTC)Something tangible. It's like...
He's something grounded. Not holy, above, not a bastion of order just beyond the grasp of the world, just another Halovian, just another man - unremarkable, unnoticed, unnoticeable, unmemorable, ultimately someone who belongs to the world and not something that hovers beyond it, trapped behind glass windows, watching the world move without him. Not untouchable. Very touchable. Very touched. Like...
Not disrespected, the way Aventurine is marking him hardly indicates disrespect. But not sacred; now that Aventurine's been given permission he's not hesitating. It's not blasphemy, it's just enthusiasm. Which is absurd, given how he'd climbed to the top of his Family and squandered all of that away, and yet-
And yet, the evidence is undeniable. It's right on his skin. And if Aventurine notices his fingertips quivering as they go back and forth against his skin, not quite holding him there, but encouraging (if the little noises, and the not-so-little noises like the one he made just now, yes, that one, that sharp gasp, as if those aren't encouragement enough) him onward, and-
And.
And it's actually profoundly difficult to remain some form of sitting while they do this. Mattress. He needs to be lying down.]
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Date: 2026-01-27 11:55 pm (UTC)there's a faint noise of frustration as he makes his way back up just enough so his mouth can cover a nipple. his tongue swirls there, teeth press enough to be felt but not to hurt--grind just enough to send jolts of pleasure before they dip into pain. his hands slide up and down over sunday's sides, thinking before he finally, finally pulls his mouth back. }
Ho...Hold onto me a sec.
{ one hand shifts to press to the bed, the other dragging up along his side to hold him along his back. whether sunday registers it yet or not though, he'll be moving anyway. he'll get his wish as he pushes with his legs and twists to roll them over.
there's a sharp gasp of air as it means their bodies align better, and he indulges just a little by grinding down once, twice. then he's pulling himself back before he gets too caught up in it. he sits back long enough to gaze down at sunday, drinks in the sight for a long moment, before he's dipping down to kiss him on the mouth again. just a little treat before he starts making his way lower again. }
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Date: 2026-02-13 05:41 am (UTC)A noise as Sunday's ground into, once, twice, and he desperately chases after it before he's stilled by three things: remembering who he is, remembering where they are, but mainly the look in Aventurine's eyes. He wants to say something. To talk and talk and drown whatever-this-is in words. If he was actually good at this sort of thing, he'd suave out some kind of line. Something flirty and witty. Yearning takes on many forms. Sometimes it's just wishing you were good at this sort of thing and generally knew what you were doing.
So. He bites the inside of his cheek, opens his mouth, and out comes this breathless little noise which- well, if Sunday had been flushed before, he's even more flushed now. Bright red. A terrible shade. Doesn't flatter his pale skin at all, apparently.
Fortunately, this is the point in which he's kissed.
And it's a good thing because he was on the cusp of saying something dumb. He's kissed, words are gone, he's blinking like an owl surprised by the light, swallows down the words and Sunday doesn't quite writhe, but he does wiggle in a way which implies that maybe Aventurine's finding one or two more sensitive spots on his way back down.]
I think you're getting a taste for-...
[Actually, no, that's really embarrassing, nevermind, he's petting Aventurine, stroking his hair, Sunday's biting his free wrist, nevermind, no no no that's so very embarrassing.]
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Date: 2026-02-16 09:52 pm (UTC)even after he breaks the kiss to move down his mouth feels like it's on fire from how he drags tongue, lips and teeth over skin. he'll pause on any spots that do seem to have more of a reaction, looks up when sunday starts speaking.
it's a bit silly, a bit embarrassing, sure. it's embarrassing enough that he's laughing under his breath, just a small little laugh that shows how absurd this is. because he's right. apparently, he's right. }
For you? Maybe... Maybe I am.
{ maybe there was something more specific there, but he'll let that hang in the air instead. lets it hang in the air as he shifts to reach and pull at sunday's belt buckle, but doesn't start opening it yet. consent is important. }
May I?