{ 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: 2026-01-13 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. }
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. }
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. }
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. }
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. }
no subject
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.]
no subject
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?