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.
Where one heard music, the other heard quiet instead; a sense of peace provided by a transformation from instinctive, primitive, animal drive into action that only philosophy would ever want to put to words. Even in the midst of chaos, where he harvested sheer anarchy, he was in control, the one to determine what came next. He was both present and future, cause and consequence—He was a God. The Meister alone had always known to make himself stimulating; throw a boasted ego and a satisfied bloodlust in the mix, and the result was intoxicating. His fist closed around the other’s jacket as he leaned in again, shamelessly tasting his mouth in an attempt to quench his unsophisticated, fired up thirst for him. After all, one couldn’t help thinking back to mythology and wondering— what were Gods without their Muses? Lips loosened, caving at the tug of teeth while a lascivious smirk curved the corner of his mouth. “Maybe just a little preview,” he requested, if only not to succumb to the raging desire of devouring him against the nearest wall he could pin him up against.
The sound of retreating footsteps filtered in like the irritating flap, flap, flap of a set of gnat’s wings There was no time to stop him. No real want either. Let him run. The Meister was occupied with better things. There were others close by, too petrified to move let alone run. They would be waiting for him when he was done, if he was ever done… Long fingers twisted handfuls of his love’s shirt into tightly held fists. He swooned. Bending as the small of his back arched against the arm holding him there. Another kiss, another taste that he breathlessly opened his mouth for. He was half-lidded and grinning, eyes bright as the taller of the pair pulled back and made his request. Oh, The Meister knew by the look on his face and darkened shades of forest green that if he didn’t answer it, there might be a problem. But it was a problem that was so, so tempting to incite from the one holding him the way he was. Instead of fully heeding the request–fickle hands moved along a shallow breathing chest. Dipping down lower until the crescent shapes of his fingernails dug into slivers of bare skin they dipped under edge of fabric to make victim to their marks. It should be nearly impossible for him to look coy. Yet, somehow, he pulled it off with a bat of thick, dark lashes and a challenging smile. “Hasn’t tonight been a preview all along? I’m sure you’d like more than that. Wouldn’t you? Or is a sneak peak really going to hold you over? Somehow, I think the answer is no.”
Almost automatically, as though it had been choreographed, the God of Speed’s arm threw itself around the other’s waist to pull him flush against him, their lips fiercely meeting halfway. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins, victory was within their grasp and surrounding them was nothing but the CHAOS they had brought along with them— he could not have asked for a more accelerating scenario. A lustful hum pulsates from his lips to Music Meister’s, followed by a hot breath he exhaled into the mouth he was hardly done exploring. “What’re you gonna do to me when we do win?”
Where there was chaos there was also a melody, colliding with the destruction and weaving through it in broken water mains, groans and the sound of what had to be more than several rather small (or not so small) fires crackling in the distance (or not so distance). His love’s destruction deserved just one more note and as glowing golden hazel eyes landed on his would-be instrument cowering behind a pile crumbled brick and mortar, an arm slid around his waist. Attention snapping up between panted breaths and twitching fingers as though the Meister was already beginning to conduct his next masterpiece, their bodies met and then his mouth was taken. Hungry and deep, toes wiggled against the soles of polished saddle shoes as he kissed back with equal fervor, lust and want. Broken apart seconds later, he swallowed down the taste of his beloved, breathed it in and swooned. A wicked grin twisted his mouth and he tipped up to drag his teeth over wet lips. “Why ruin the surprise,” another bite, “Or would you like me to?”
pianokeysandbowties 