Mercy was not in his repertoire. His lips did not even need to part from his, all it took was a mental command, and the metallic carcass he had left behind kneeling on the ground rose. A shard of metal pierced the subject’s shoulder, pinning him to the half of a wall still standing, like a ‘To Do’ note that had had the audacity to deem himself worthy of escaping his fate. In this story, there was no room for the unexpected, for anything he had not decided to write in it, for forgiveness to those dimwitted enough to think they could fool a God. A roll of his shoulders and the rage that had surged from recklessness was repressed. Why waste time lamenting a flawed species was behaving exactly like it always had, like he had witnessed so many times before over the ages, when before him was a spectacle much more worthy of his attention? From his veins lewdness was gushing and his hands ached for the same carnal touch. Cloth was overlooked by absentminded, slithering fingers and their pads brush over nakedness in anticipation. Meanwhile the whole of his focus was fixated on his own thumb, tracing the shape of an overused bottom lip before locking itself between two rows of teeth, the smuttiness of the sight contrasting with golden hazel eyes that pretended not to comprehend just how much trouble he was getting himself into. A roused grin and raised eyebrows warned him not to test how far he was prepared to go; how successful he would be in delaying the juxtaposition of skins, still stained with sweat and nonresident blood. “When did you ever really try to hold me over?”
The sound of the man’s retreat coming to a rather abrupt stop cutting a sharp cry of pain through the thickening air between them did not fall on deaf ears. His hair stood on end at the sound of it, goosebumps chilled his neck and disappeared underneath the collar of his shirt. This death and mayhem around them? Yes, he was the maestro that created a cacophony of panicked screams and crashes of chaos by throwing his own antics into the mix. An orchestra of his own doing, indeed. However, The Meister had always been the gentler of the pair. Death to him was always too permanent a thing. No chance of a curtain call or one last bow. SURE! Accidents do happen. Some people were just simply easier to conduct, is all. Others just never quite got the beat. But, his God? His God had no mercy. Offered no reprieve. No chance for any sort of symphonic reprise of a role that he deemed unworthy. And in his God’s eyes. They all were. The Meister didn’t have to see the man pinned to the wall to know he was there (and suffering) by some creative means. What shocked him was that he survived long enough to utter one sound. And then he was drawn back out of that bar of thought with a mere touch. One that slid sinfully towards the crease of his lips and between his teeth. His stomach spun, ribbons laced through his veins, tugged him under and tethered him to the creature who consumed what was left of his wits with one simple twitch. “Never,” he whispered back before the edge of his tongue grazed over the very tip of the thumb his lips caressed. Bare skin moved under his palms as he began to drag them up the lean lines of an freckled ivory stomach. Without warning, his right dropped down between them. He squeezed his mark, the taunt inside of Savitar’s thigh and his mouth curved happily before it closed over the first set of knuckles on a pale finger lingering just inside to see the reaction he’d get. Tonight just kept getting more and more INTERESTING.
pianokeysandbowties 