[closed]

[ka_sera_sera]

Who| Roland Deschain and the Signless
What| slightly tipsy advice and funtimes
Where| between Capitol nightlife and the Tribute Center
When| around the end of the arena
Warnings/Notes| a teensy bit of alcohol use (obviously), possible brief memories of disembowelment, brief mention of someone having set a Capitolite on fire a little bit - nothing out of the ordinary for the Games is anticipated

The air is cold out here, and quiet for an odd moment before he catches the sound of young voices raised in laughter some distance down the street. Still quiet compared to the cloying press of people in that room they've just escaped, the people and the cloying press of their desires. "I'd forgotten how it was," he says, reaching up to tug at the ruff of fur sitting around his neck. The pink stuff in that glass he's still holding sloshes around as he does it but, of course, does not spill. Hand-eye coordination, a handy skill for any occasion.

"Diplomacy, I mean. Making nice. Has it always been that way?" He turns to look down at Signless, pressing his other hand between Signless' shoulder blades and leaving it there. "Good thing you brought me as your bit on the side, and not Psiionic. Last time a Capitolite put their hands on that many parts of me, he set them on fire." He blinks down at that familiar face for a moment. Was Signless one of the people he was supposed to avoid mentioning that to? Surely not. No, it's fine.

Comments

[69problems]

The answer's deeper. It's pretty much always deeper at least in this point in the process; sometimes after, when he's tired and hypersensitive, it'll edge away from being nice and into being unwelcome. They haven't nearly got that far yet. Right now he's sensitive in the good way, and he just wraps his legs a little tighter around Roland's skinny waist and tries to keep his hips from rolling up and jostling either of them too badly.

"Love it when you do that," he says, a gusty note in his voice that might be a sigh or just might be him forgetting to breathe properly. Who knows. "See if you can leave a mark."

Not a permanent one -- he doesn't think Roland could cut him, not unless he tried real hard, but there's something to be said all the same for admiring even the impermanent marks a lover can leave.

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland has some experience with marks that last. Not forever, not permanent ones, but lasting enough that they can be felt later, serve as reminders. It's not any place he'd decide to go with a lover on his own, but the concept is familiar enough that he tries for it. Signless will be satisfied, he knows, even if his marks last only a couple minutes.

Perhaps it would come more smoothly to Roland if Signless did not look quite so human. But he does, and it always takes some reaching past the parts of Roland's mind which insist, no matter what he knows about the Signless and his people, that Roland is about to hurt the man in front of him, and down toward the parts of him which care about that a little less. Those parts of him are there. It's only that, before this past year or so, he'd very seldom used them in bed.

His fingernails move over Signless' groin, still gentle but less and less so as he moves around the space where Signless' 'weeping petals' definitely aren't. He has no intention of digging in against the sensitive skin there but means the gesture as a tease, hinting that he might, he might-

And then, once his hand travels safely around to the Signless' other thigh he stands a little straighter, breathes deep, watches Signless' face as he presses in plenty hard enough to dig deep inside a human thigh. Whatever kind of mark he's leaving isn't what he's concerned with, and so he does not bother looking down at it. What he's concerned with is Signless, his face, his warmth and the feel of him when he moves.