[ open ] kaveh's permanent catch-all

[fussiest]

WHO: kaveh (fussiest) & y'all!
WHAT: this is a perpetual catch-all for kaveh because i'm too lazy to make a new one every month. this is for closed starters, tag-ins, visits to kaveh's workshop and the like! be wild! be bold! be free!
WHERE: all around the city, and especially at kaveh's workshop, the pairidaeza architectural design studio in district 1
WHEN: everywhere! everywhen! all at once!
WARNINGS: bickering, probably - everything else will be warned for on a thread-by-thread basis

Comments

[unrequite]

Me either. I've a talent for fantasies, though. I'll think of something.

[ ... Ah. Midnight looks down at Netzach... Then at Kaveh. He immediately knows what Kaveh wants as well.

He looks down at Netzach, runs his hand up to his shoulder, then to his jaw, watching his breath come deep, slow. He knows that as well.

Wordlessly, he readjusts, opening himself to Netzach. He pulls up his sleeve, he tilts his neck to him. Either works. Whatever makes him happy. Anything that makes him happy. Anything at all. ]

[fussiest]

[ taste them both, kaveh thinks. ah - vampires.

in turn, kaveh makes room. he shifts aside so that midnight can bare his neck, gently detaching netzach from his own so that he can reach. his wing stretches, up and wide, a canopy for the prying ends of the god and all else that observes this world. this moment belongs to netzach, and to midnight. this moment belongs to them alone. ]

Go on, Netzach. [ kaveh says, and gently rests a hand between netzach's shoulder blades, just so. a steadying one. a calming one. ] But be gentle.

[abstractart]

I know. I know, I don't want...

[to do it wrong, to do it painfully, to do anything that will harm midnight past breaking his skin. he leans in as if drawn by a magnet, lips pressed to the bared skin of his neck, and murmurs a little helplessly:]

Stop me if you have to. Do it.

[it's to both of them, because he doesn't know for sure how this will go. this form probably has experience, right? so hopefully, he won't be lost in what is not technically his first time.

gently, carefully, his fangs pierce flesh just as midnight has done to him before. just where he'd done, but mirrored onto midnight's body. he trembles faintly as he holds himself back from letting them sink deep, sucking at the wounds instead--

and inhaling a little gasp of a breath at the taste. at the proof of it happening at all. the sound he makes, muffled against midnight, is only for the three of them to know.]

[unrequite]

[ Midnight's response, on the other hand is a surprised, satisfied sigh. He holds Netzach to his throat, fingers in his hair, softly murmuring his approval; his other arm curls around Kaveh's waist, pressing into him. Midnight closes his eyes, feels the gentle sting at his neck, and realizes, swiftly, that of all of the advantages of being free of Oripathy, he will miss only this. ]

Take what you like, love. I'm fine...

[ Eventually, his eyes flutter open, and he's met by Kaveh's face. He smiles peaceably. I could die like this. It would hurt a bit, but many things in life do, and this one is at least lovely to start. ]

[fussiest]

[ netzach begins to drink. to see if from an outside perspective is not quite what kaveh had expected. it's the scent of it, the blood. netzach drinks, and the sound he makes is a little star of a gasp, the starvation of which has kaveh's own heart ache. but he hadn't expected the scent of iron, the way it permeates. the way it sinks into hair, and clothes, and the golden-gilded fringe of kaveh's feathers. the three of them here are bound by blood, kaveh realises. at the end of the world, perhaps that's all that there is.

midnight is smiling. of course he is. kaveh looks. for the first time in a very long time, kaveh realises, there is peace there. he had always known that midnight's smiles were like little pantomimes, lined up against one another, each a differing degree of honesty in pleasure and joy. in this world underneath an unfamiliar sky, it's only here that kaveh has seen this one. instinctively, kaveh thinks: that is radiant smile of a man who has come to his end.

kaveh's hand reaches. it skims first the crown of midnight's head. kaveh says, ]

What a hopeless man you are. You are only happy when you've reached the last of what you have to give.

[ kaveh kisses his fingers, the scarred callused pads of it. he presses that kiss with his fingers to midnight's lips.

then, gently, he pats netzach's back. ] Netzach, I'm sorry. That's enough.

[ quiet as dust: ] I can't let Midnight die here. Not this time.

[abstractart]

[at first he's only half listening, attention taken up by what he's occupied with. by the approving sounds midnight makes, by the blood on his tongue; chocolate without the chocolate, he remembers midnight saying, and he understands better now just what he'd meant. that's what it's like, rich and intoxicating in a different way from alcohol.

then he feels the pat at his back, kaveh's voice finally breaking through. he makes a little noise of complaint at that's enough, but he's grateful neither of them can see his face at that last soft reminder. not this time. not again-- and it had been at netzach's hands before. it had been midnight's throat, and netzach's hands around it, just like his teeth have pierced the flesh now. for a second, the richness is overshadowed by the metallic tang, going slightly sour in his mouth.

he pulls away, careful of his fangs. licks at the wounds, presses an apologetic kiss to them before he straightens once more and leaves a second kiss on midnight's cheek.]

...thanks.

[for letting him have this, a little part of him, while they have the opportunity at all.]

Kaveh? You ready?

[unrequite]

[ Midnight hums, kisses Netzach back, then hums again. (He was about to say "any time". Silly.)

He readjusts everyone to their original positions, hand in Netzach's, Kaveh on his shoulder, gold light reflecting around them from Kaveh's wings, like the speckle of sunlight through tree leaves. He catches his fingers in Kaveh's hair, combing out the tangles. (It really is a good thing he's so warm. Dying is so cold...)

He squeezes Netzach's hand one more time, but says nothing. He's ready. There is nothing he won't do, at this point, to be sure this is peaceful. To ensure that this is a simple passing from one place to the next. ]

[fussiest]

[ netzach asks kaveh if he is ready.

there is a right answer to this. it also happens to be the answer that kaveh is prepared to say. it is, after all, not the first time. it is not the second. but it's odd, kaveh thinks, that it's happened twice from bloodletting, which in itself shouldn't be odd considering the vampire, and now vampires, that he's involved with on a regular basis, but it's still a little odd that it's happened twice now. it comes back to blood, and fangs, and blood in that ever-sifting stream. red diluted by the waters of a tricking river is pink.

netzach's lips are stained with it, the pure, unadulterated form of midnight's blood, the blood that is healthy, and good, and doesn't cause him pain. kaveh lifts a finger, he gently runs it over netzach's lips, wipes that blood from it. he brings it to his own, and runs his tongue over the pad of his finger. it tastes like blood. of course it does. it's rich, it is bitter, it is the taste of iron. humans aren't meant to get used to it, or angels, or sankta. perhaps sankta.

no, kaveh nearly says, he is not ready. this is a world where midnight does not have oripathy, and once again, it is kaveh who ends his world.

what kaveh says instead, is this: ]

Of course. [ kaveh leans in. he leaves a kiss on netzach's forehead, warm and true. ] I'm glad that it's you. Come.

[ kaveh knows how to do it now, how to bare his throat. ]

[abstractart]

You know I can't be glad it's you, though.

[he shouldn't be ready for this. shouldn't have to be. but a story that's already written has an ending determined for it: in this one, three individuals who care for each other ultimately have to sacrifice one of them to preserve the existence of all else, and in this one, he couldn't kill midnight twice.

in this story, he leans in with his lips already smeared a little bit red, breath warm against kaveh's neck, midnight's hand held tight to keep him grounded. one more time, he reaches for the lines he knows are there.]

...'then give yourself to me, and to the heart of the world. May rivers flow from your blood, forests grow from your body, and life spring from your soul; for I am the conduit of that heart, and through me will you reach it.'

[in this story, the one he plays cannot bring himself to say i love you, i'll miss you, i can't.

the goodbye is only this: his fangs piercing flesh a second time, a little of midnight's lingering blood mixing with kaveh's as he begins to drink, his pace measured despite the struggle of keeping it that way. a steady, easy drain that he'll keep up until he feels kaveh begin to go slack, until he has to work harder at it.]

[unrequite]

[ Midnight does very little from this point. He carries them both well, he keeps them both warm, even when the strength in Kaveh's wings finally fail and begin to lower. He does not let go of Netzach's hand, nails biting into his skin if he sees him falter, thumb stroking tenderly over the back of his fingers. In Kaveh's ear, he hums that song one more time. Young soldier, young soldier, come home.

He is here. There is no past, no future. When the temple crumbles, the sky falls, it's a snapshot of irrelevant beauty that means nothing. There's only this: warmth, hands, his blood and his blood on their mouths, their lips.

He closes his eyes and continues to sing. ]