[Barnabas does not usually rely on the network for anything, but given the current effects of everything going on, and Cid's plethora of boys in his apartment, he isn't exactly looking for a confrontation. No, today is...special. And so—]
Cidolfus,
I have not forgotten what this day is, surely you have not either. Take in hand your crystal fetters, and excuse yourself to the garderobe.
[Luckily for Barnabas, the Stolas actually relays this message. Cid considers all the boys around and how tired they’ve all been making him. He’s been strong all week, but here he is at his birthday… And Barnabas is giving him the only kind of gift he wants. He swallows thickly. Luckily for him he stores the fetters in the bathroom, so he does not arouse any suspicion as he lets himself in and locks the door.]
[Clive would be fine. He could go to Dion’s, one of the other apartments, or piss in the sink. Whatever. It’d build character.]
[He fishes the manacles out and looks around, waiting…]
[As the door locks, and Cid takes out the manacles, it's only a few beats later that Barnabas appears behind him. He's certainly taking a more beastly appearance, half transformed as he is, but he still retains his powers it seems. Powers which he uses to teleport both him and Cid back to the Einherjar as a clawed hand grips the back of Cid by the neck, the sharp edges of those claws pressing against his skin. Threatening to break the skin, but never being more than that: a threat.
As the darkness which consumes them then dissipates, replaced by the sight, smell, and sound of the sea, Barnabas stares at Cid for a long moment, then he retracts his hand. As Cid turns to look at him, he will find that he is...well, naked. How could he be anything else, when that tail is as large as it is? The man Sleipnirs busying themselves with the ship don't seem to pay them any mind.]
Cidolfus.
[His eyes lower to the fetters, his jaw tensing slightly.]
[While Cid doesn’t appreciate such a method of moving him from one place to another, at least he lets go. He turns to look at him, rubbing his neck. ]
Was that truly necessary?
[But that’s less important. Barnabas’ eyes are on the fetters. He considers attaching them as they are to contain this beast. He looks at them in his hands as he approaches Barnabas.]
…I’ve made a modification. Don’t make me regret it.
[He flicks switches on the manacles and they reform in his hands as a simple collar. He approaches, nodding at the other man to lower his head and allow him to put it on. And as he puts himself in position, he will secure the collar, moving his hands to catch Barnabas at the shoulders from any aftershocks.]
[There's no response or reaction to his question, as if it doesn't deserve an answer, and in Barnabas' most humble opinion, it does not. At the mention of modifications, he gives Cid a curious stare, which presents itself as a slight squint of his otherwise intense eyes. Though, the unvoiced question is answered a moment later as the shackles turn into a collar. His brow lessens in intensity at that, the subdued tell that he might otherwise find that endearing, if he were capable beyond simple acknowledgement of his present condition and the suitable nature of a collar for it.
As the collar is placed on him, Barnabas having acquiesced and lowering his head so that Cid could do even that, the pain of it jolts through him like levin, igniting every nerve in his body, and the hands on his shoulders help steady him as the feeling washes over him like hot tar. His expression tries to maintain its stoicism, but even it frays at the feeling as it courses through him like lead.]
The same to you, Cidolfus. Last time we did this, you overstepped.
[And yet, here he is, allowing that collar to be placed on him again. He looks a little faint, and there's sweat that bristles on his brow as the swirl of aether and emotions try to sort themselves and he tries to maintain his balance.
Right, he was mercifully on the flood last time, though what brought him to the ground was rather lacking of it. One of the Sleipnirs notices and begins to saunter over, but a flick of Barnabas' steely gaze is all it takes to send him back to his task.]
Ah… If I overstepped, I only took your lead on the matter.
[Bitch.]
Next time I will confine my actions to hunting or fucking you, as a dog might.
[He continues to hold him steady as he just looks at him, taking in all of his features. He is unmistakeably a Behemoth, and that is certainly appropriate. Cid’s gaze bounces between Sleipnirs, but that’s a whole problem unto itself.]
So what, you brought me here for my nameday. I don’t see any decorations, so are you meant to be my gift?
Your body certainly did not complain as I took you by such ravenous means, your gash overflowed with not only my seed, but your own sweet drippings.
[He retorts, though he's really in no position to argue about whether or not bodily reactions to sexual stimuli is the evidence needed to prove whether or not something was overstepping, considering his own at the time. Though the question that follows is, well...does he really have to explain it, or is this part of Cid's gift that he's requesting?
It feels odd to even do this much, though he knows in truth it isn't merely for Cid. Like an addict, this is one last hit before he quits it completely. Or so, that is what he had reasoned with himself.]
Did you expect entertainment as well? You always were ungrateful. Perhaps I should send you back to your nursery for stunted men.
[He doesn’t dare touch that bit verbally, it would be such a nightmare to dig out of. Though there are dozens of points he could make, like how he doesn’t think its hot to fuck someone with a punctured lung, or if that’s their bar for consent they really should talk about it maybe. ]
You never knew how to throw a fucking party, so it’s good to know some things never change. But yes, actually, it’s normal to provide a thing or two when inviting someone over to celebrate their birth. Not that you’ve ever concerned yourself with normal.
You think I desire you to be my nursemaid? Your bedside manner was always wanting, Cidolfus, I strain to imagine it has improved.
[Though he ignores the party bit, and the fact he's well outside the realm of normal. He wouldn't be, if man was willing to revert to how they should be, but that is an argument for another time. Perhaps when he isn't cycling through feeling and unfeeling as he is presently, his body and mind adjusting to the crystal collar as it adjusts the flow of aether within him.
It's all the same, anyway, with Cid's attention being brought to one of the Harbards.]
Is he fucking hurt, or did he just get into the medical supplies? Or was it your idea?
[I think they both know the answer there. Cid can’t actually imagine Barnabas dressing up Harbard like this. He looks around. In fact, they’re all in stupid costumes, aren’t they?]
Speaking of not normal, I think it’s a little weird of you to dress them up like this. Especially the stupid ones. A little cruel, maybe?
[A beat.]
Then what is it that you wanted? Because it seems like you’re angling for an argument, though I know what’s really always on your mind.
I did not dress them, they changed into these ridiculous outfits when the season changed. I had not asked for them either, seeing as Sleipnir is already here in the plural, yet when I requested my ship, did it come with this specific crew to man it. I cannot fully complain, however.
[Though he stops a moment, as he thinks on that comment about "the stupid ones". Was Cid familiar? He hadn't brought him here before, and it seems as though he isn't at all surprised that the ship is here to begin with, as he likely should be. In fact, that was maybe part of...well, he supposes it doesn't matter now.]
Nay, I have no interest in arguing with you. I sought only to give you what you otherwise cannot have. Whether this ends in a exchange of mere words or our spend is up to you.
[Bastard. Really, deep down, this is all that he wants. What else even matters?]
Well, then let's go somewhere private, shall we?
[He takes Barnabas by the paw, leading him out to the deck and quickly orienting himself. Of course he knows the Einherjar well enough to be plunked into any random room and find his way about, even if it is massive.]
...Nice ship, by the way. Wish you'd have told me about it, I might have liked to properly visit my masterwork.
[He doesn't sound too serious, as usual. He only frowns for a moment.]
[His silence is agreement enough, but so too his allowing of Cid taking his paw. The warmth of Cid's hand in his inspires a feeling deep in his chest, that only seems to be pressing slowly into his mind through the tightest of passages. Such is the nature of the fetters, simply to allow a strait for his feelings and desire that is otherwise blocked entirely.
As they make their way towards the room, Barnabas' ears twitch upward as Cid addresses the matter of the ship.]
Bringing you here was just that, though you had spoiled that on your own by your subdued reaction. Unsurprising, impetuous and impatient as always.
[Cid will find himself being awoken by the smell of freshly baked bread and some sounds in his kitchen. There isn't a snowflake's chance in hell that his current roommate suddenly learned how to bake, so when curiosity stirs him from his bed he will find that none other than Barnabas Tharmr, King of Waloed, Warden of Ash is in his kitchen. He's presently at work cooking something on the stove top, which as Cid draws nearer it will become more apparent that it is porridge. On the counter seems to be a small crate containing some other odds and ends: jars of pickled herring, jams, there's various fruits, butter, and scallions.
Barnabas seems to pay him no mind as he stirs the porridge. Seems, because before Cid can say anything he speaks up:]
Sit. It will be done ere long.
[He already has a place set for Cid at the table.]
[Its a chilly morning, and so Cid has chosen to wear a henley and a nice pair of pajama pants. He always was rather cool-blooded, chilling easily and preferring warmer climes.]
[The smell as he wakes and enters the kitchen is cloying, familiar, nostalgic even. It feels like a hand has tightened on his heart when he sees who's here doing it. He disobeys instinctively, walking over to stand next to Barnabas, to look at him, to see if he's wearing the collar. It's impossible to tell otherwise.]
[Barnabas glances at Cid a moment, then goes back to his task.]
Has the curse robbed you of your hearing, or has age made you irrevocably obstinate?
[As he talks, he pulls something out of the little wooden box on the counter—some chopped walnuts in a small glass container that he puts to the side for now, along with some of the fruit which will be used. As if Cid wasn't there watching him, he carries on with what he's doing, taking out the rye bread as it's ready now. He hardly needs a timer, he has baked many a bread in his time in the village, and he is not wont to discard such ingrained practices simply because he hasn't the need for such mundane things usually.
And yes, he did even go through the effort of using a cloth to pull it out with. After all, he needs to play into the domestic bit of this, and flexing his Dominant powers or Akashic state doesn't really sell that, does it? Putting the bread on the empty space on the counter, he levels a glance at Cid.]
Is it your wish to be a hurdle, or will you assist me?
Well, do you want me to sit, or do you want assistance? You’re changing orders on me before I’ve had a cup of coffee and a cigar. Or would you rather insult me in my own home while you… make bread?
[He furrows his brow as he watches him take the bread out with a cloth. He’s at war with himself. He doesn’t want to punish this sort of action. What… if it was genuine. He’s left in freefall. He shakes his head. He chooses to have hope.]
Sit, be a hurdle, or assist—they are simply options. It need not be complicated.
[He gestures to the collection of jars—fruit spreads, pickled fish, among other things that's clearly for the bread.]
If you have the mind for it, set the rest of the table. Inside your larder are cheeses and smoked salmon. I will ready the bread and finish the porridge—if you want for coffee, I will make it. If you require it ere you can do aught else but complain, then take your seat and I shall handle everything myself.
[A non-insignificant part of Cid actually does want to see Barnabas do all of this. And his head hurts, as usual, in the morning anyway.]
I do "want for coffee", actually.
[He catches himself smirking, butt against the counter as he leans towards Barnabas to bump his shoulders with him. Should he turn to look at him, he'll get up on his toes to kiss him.]
[Indeed he does look at him, and so Cid indeed kisses him—Barnabas kissing him back without skipping a beat as his hand cups Cid's cheek. The kiss isn't empty, and it feels like it's fueled by something genuine, not unlike when he wears the fetters, when the aether which chokes his feelings and sense of self is restrained.
As he breaks the kiss, he holds Cid there for a moment, his forehead against Cid's as he gazes at him through his thick lashes...then he lowers his hand and turns back to his task.]
[Cid's heart quickens with this. With the kiss, the touch, the gaze, the statement. Don't be stupid, the other part of him reminds him.
Cid's breath catches as they part.
I know, he replies to himself as he goes to sit. He just watches Barnabas, moving so easily, yet so clearly out of his natural habitat. He should be in an apron at least, he thinks.]
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levindicated) wrote2018-09-14 04:07 pm
text;
Cidolfus,
I have not forgotten what this day is, surely you have not either. Take in hand your crystal fetters, and excuse yourself to the garderobe.
[That's not ominous at all...]
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[Clive would be fine. He could go to Dion’s, one of the other apartments, or piss in the sink. Whatever. It’d build character.]
[He fishes the manacles out and looks around, waiting…]
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As the darkness which consumes them then dissipates, replaced by the sight, smell, and sound of the sea, Barnabas stares at Cid for a long moment, then he retracts his hand. As Cid turns to look at him, he will find that he is...well, naked. How could he be anything else, when that tail is as large as it is? The man Sleipnirs busying themselves with the ship don't seem to pay them any mind.]
Cidolfus.
[His eyes lower to the fetters, his jaw tensing slightly.]
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Was that truly necessary?
[But that’s less important. Barnabas’ eyes are on the fetters. He considers attaching them as they are to contain this beast. He looks at them in his hands as he approaches Barnabas.]
…I’ve made a modification. Don’t make me regret it.
[He flicks switches on the manacles and they reform in his hands as a simple collar. He approaches, nodding at the other man to lower his head and allow him to put it on. And as he puts himself in position, he will secure the collar, moving his hands to catch Barnabas at the shoulders from any aftershocks.]
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As the collar is placed on him, Barnabas having acquiesced and lowering his head so that Cid could do even that, the pain of it jolts through him like levin, igniting every nerve in his body, and the hands on his shoulders help steady him as the feeling washes over him like hot tar. His expression tries to maintain its stoicism, but even it frays at the feeling as it courses through him like lead.]
The same to you, Cidolfus. Last time we did this, you overstepped.
[And yet, here he is, allowing that collar to be placed on him again. He looks a little faint, and there's sweat that bristles on his brow as the swirl of aether and emotions try to sort themselves and he tries to maintain his balance.
Right, he was mercifully on the flood last time, though what brought him to the ground was rather lacking of it. One of the Sleipnirs notices and begins to saunter over, but a flick of Barnabas' steely gaze is all it takes to send him back to his task.]
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Ah… If I overstepped, I only took your lead on the matter.
[Bitch.]
Next time I will confine my actions to hunting or fucking you, as a dog might.
[He continues to hold him steady as he just looks at him, taking in all of his features. He is unmistakeably a Behemoth, and that is certainly appropriate. Cid’s gaze bounces between Sleipnirs, but that’s a whole problem unto itself.]
So what, you brought me here for my nameday. I don’t see any decorations, so are you meant to be my gift?
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[He retorts, though he's really in no position to argue about whether or not bodily reactions to sexual stimuli is the evidence needed to prove whether or not something was overstepping, considering his own at the time. Though the question that follows is, well...does he really have to explain it, or is this part of Cid's gift that he's requesting?
It feels odd to even do this much, though he knows in truth it isn't merely for Cid. Like an addict, this is one last hit before he quits it completely. Or so, that is what he had reasoned with himself.]
Did you expect entertainment as well? You always were ungrateful. Perhaps I should send you back to your nursery for stunted men.
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[He doesn’t dare touch that bit verbally, it would be such a nightmare to dig out of. Though there are dozens of points he could make, like how he doesn’t think its hot to fuck someone with a punctured lung, or if that’s their bar for consent they really should talk about it maybe. ]
You never knew how to throw a fucking party, so it’s good to know some things never change. But yes, actually, it’s normal to provide a thing or two when inviting someone over to celebrate their birth. Not that you’ve ever concerned yourself with normal.
[he looks at a harbard in a sexy mummy outfit.]
Is that man wrapped in toilet paper?
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[Though he ignores the party bit, and the fact he's well outside the realm of normal. He wouldn't be, if man was willing to revert to how they should be, but that is an argument for another time. Perhaps when he isn't cycling through feeling and unfeeling as he is presently, his body and mind adjusting to the crystal collar as it adjusts the flow of aether within him.
It's all the same, anyway, with Cid's attention being brought to one of the Harbards.]
Bandages.
[No further explanation.]
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[I think they both know the answer there. Cid can’t actually imagine Barnabas dressing up Harbard like this. He looks around. In fact, they’re all in stupid costumes, aren’t they?]
Speaking of not normal, I think it’s a little weird of you to dress them up like this. Especially the stupid ones. A little cruel, maybe?
[A beat.]
Then what is it that you wanted? Because it seems like you’re angling for an argument, though I know what’s really always on your mind.
[Except he’s collared now.]
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[Though he stops a moment, as he thinks on that comment about "the stupid ones". Was Cid familiar? He hadn't brought him here before, and it seems as though he isn't at all surprised that the ship is here to begin with, as he likely should be. In fact, that was maybe part of...well, he supposes it doesn't matter now.]
Nay, I have no interest in arguing with you. I sought only to give you what you otherwise cannot have. Whether this ends in a exchange of mere words or our spend is up to you.
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Well, then let's go somewhere private, shall we?
[He takes Barnabas by the paw, leading him out to the deck and quickly orienting himself. Of course he knows the Einherjar well enough to be plunked into any random room and find his way about, even if it is massive.]
...Nice ship, by the way. Wish you'd have told me about it, I might have liked to properly visit my masterwork.
[He doesn't sound too serious, as usual. He only frowns for a moment.]
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As they make their way towards the room, Barnabas' ears twitch upward as Cid addresses the matter of the ship.]
Bringing you here was just that, though you had spoiled that on your own by your subdued reaction. Unsurprising, impetuous and impatient as always.
[He could sound more annoyed, honestly.]
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Action; Day before the titty post
Barnabas seems to pay him no mind as he stirs the porridge. Seems, because before Cid can say anything he speaks up:]
Sit. It will be done ere long.
[He already has a place set for Cid at the table.]
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[The smell as he wakes and enters the kitchen is cloying, familiar, nostalgic even. It feels like a hand has tightened on his heart when he sees who's here doing it. He disobeys instinctively, walking over to stand next to Barnabas, to look at him, to see if he's wearing the collar. It's impossible to tell otherwise.]
What's all this, then?
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Has the curse robbed you of your hearing, or has age made you irrevocably obstinate?
[As he talks, he pulls something out of the little wooden box on the counter—some chopped walnuts in a small glass container that he puts to the side for now, along with some of the fruit which will be used. As if Cid wasn't there watching him, he carries on with what he's doing, taking out the rye bread as it's ready now. He hardly needs a timer, he has baked many a bread in his time in the village, and he is not wont to discard such ingrained practices simply because he hasn't the need for such mundane things usually.
And yes, he did even go through the effort of using a cloth to pull it out with. After all, he needs to play into the domestic bit of this, and flexing his Dominant powers or Akashic state doesn't really sell that, does it? Putting the bread on the empty space on the counter, he levels a glance at Cid.]
Is it your wish to be a hurdle, or will you assist me?
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[He furrows his brow as he watches him take the bread out with a cloth. He’s at war with himself. He doesn’t want to punish this sort of action. What… if it was genuine. He’s left in freefall. He shakes his head. He chooses to have hope.]
…What’s left to do?
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[He gestures to the collection of jars—fruit spreads, pickled fish, among other things that's clearly for the bread.]
If you have the mind for it, set the rest of the table. Inside your larder are cheeses and smoked salmon. I will ready the bread and finish the porridge—if you want for coffee, I will make it. If you require it ere you can do aught else but complain, then take your seat and I shall handle everything myself.
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I do "want for coffee", actually.
[He catches himself smirking, butt against the counter as he leans towards Barnabas to bump his shoulders with him. Should he turn to look at him, he'll get up on his toes to kiss him.]
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As he breaks the kiss, he holds Cid there for a moment, his forehead against Cid's as he gazes at him through his thick lashes...then he lowers his hand and turns back to his task.]
Then it shall be so.
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Cid's breath catches as they part.
I know, he replies to himself as he goes to sit. He just watches Barnabas, moving so easily, yet so clearly out of his natural habitat. He should be in an apron at least, he thinks.]
[Even if it would weirder as a whole.]
What inspired this?
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Would you prefer a cold, empty morning? One without the smell of fresh bread, bereft of my company?
[As he moves on to find the supplies for the coffee, he still doesn't look at Cid, staying focused on his task.]
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[His mouth hangs open for a beat as he thinks tongue tracing his lower lip as he sits back on the chair and folds his hands.]
I wish you'd do this every morning, so... What? Bored, inspired? ...Homesick?
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[Now he looks back at him, his expression as impassive as it ever is.]
Does it matter why I am here? Or is that fact not enough for you?
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[Cid gives him a pleading look. He wants this, he does. He just needs single assurance, like a normal human being, and he'll let himself enjoy this. ]
Come on, Barney...Please. Don't make me chase you down for it. This seems nice.
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