January 19, 2003.01.19.03. - claiming eternal twilight [harlequin][north jersey]
(harl)
it had taken days to get the smell of sage out of his coat, he refused to wear it for the entire time so had spent most of it rolled up in front of his heater. a bundle of black fur lying in the middle of a downtown and downtrodden flat. yet finally he does venture out again... a hunger and a calling deep inside slowly brining him from his hidding hole and into the light, or night as the case may be. sends him walking with that silent easy stroll that attracts some and gives the others nightmares. a small smile as he begins the slow treck up stairs. hands pressed against the door a slight push up motion with his fingers as he breaths in deep through his nose. drawing in hidden sents and tastes. that smile grows and finally he rapps nuckles against the wood of the door(nak)
smoke weaves and dances just on the other side of the door, and a warmth seems to throb through the wood, a slow seepage of whatever it may hold at bay inside - frankincense, myrrh, sandalwood - a heady mix that strikes out from some hidden shadow in the midst of ancient's bazaar, minutes pass, seemingly hours spent at the edge of anticipation's abyss, before a shadow flickers in the light beneath the doorthe lock throws thick and heavy, slender form soon filling the dark space of the opening door, and a dark brow begins to climb towards the tousseled inky hair, then a smile crawls, slow and deliberate, ghosting over dusky lips (come in) as the space between the frame and panel widens, Nakhti stepping back, bare feet on the bare wood floor, there are candles and incense somewhere in the flickering shadows and lights inside
it was too dark last time for Harlequin to see, they did not spend enough time in the movement towards the floorbed in the back, but here is much like the room beyond, silks and linens drape the walls and windows, the makeshift bookcase tucked into one corner, the broken couch that's lowered itself to the floor behind the shin-high table - perhaps a harem would live here, rather than a bachelor male, but it is what he knows, what he adores, the desert luxury of his home, charcoal has been rubbed and smeared across the living room walls, the gathering of candles in the center haphazardly tossing light onto the portrait of a great catbeast - Bast
the lock clicks behind, suppled body leaning against the door, bare shoulders against the warm wood.... simply watching his companion (where have you been....) black drawstring pants hanging low on hips
(harl)
(out to see the family) he smile grows as he looks at nakhti. then eyes finally pass around the flat flowing over him then over his shoulder to take in the most minute of details exelent what a lovely little place. what had been glanced i the periferary in darkness and shadows is now enjoyed in what for him is more than ample light.that movement the subtle play of muscles sliding under skin as he slides sidways that opening to let him into the flat. a subtle glide a hand raising to cup cheek draw fingers over chin (i missed you) and fainlly to step inside.... gaze rests upon thier mistress a sweeping bow for the painting. hey honour her where you can in his own flat he has a statue of unfired clay wearing her image. then there is the click as locks are closed behind him spinning on the balls of his feet black leather swimming around him like water. that smile grows wider as he steps close. so very close. hands play on skin a hand again raises to run along jaw, fingers over pulse curling in hair. lips lean in to steal a kiss (i really miss you)
(nak)
jaw sculpted out of the finest sand lifts, stretching into the grazing touch, as if to guide it into the darkest shadows beneath his hair, hazels eyes a murky twist of brown and green watching so intently as Harl draws close, a smile pressed against the kiss, before teeth playfully clamp on lower swell (i've missed you, too) hands warmed by the unnatural heat of the apartment dragging over leather coat, over shoulders and into raven hair, fingers curling to fists in their graspholding him so affectionately close
holding him against skin that wraps the blackest of beating hearts - how so many others shy away - arms draping around Harl's neck, forehead leaning against the other, still watching so intently from beneath the curtain of dark, dark lashes
(harl)
let me shine some light into that desolate place filled with the blackest of shadows. let me light up your soul so that it is not swallowed entirely by darkness.. like yet different there are so many simularities between them that a causal glance would easily mistake them as brothers. prehaps cousins. yet there a differences some so subtle that only close observation would notice others plain for the entire eye to see.i will not run from you. and so his eyes say as he looks through half closed lids those dark eyes. sooo deep and dark like a livng mirror to reflect his soul. smile at you show you a roll of shoulders under hands let leather slip from them hands falling slowly to his sides as that heavy coat is drawn slowly. and then with ever increasing speed towards the ground. plays of black and red, like spilt blood over softest of skin. as it pools at his feet. arms hold his waist one hand playing against his skin the other holding something.
(nak)
hazel drops to follow the plummet of leather to the ground - shed your skin and expose to me the tender, bloody soul beneath - a strange glow appearing in the depthless pupils, a hunger for that which has exposed itself to him without pause or second thought, and once again the strangest of little smiles finds way to melt across his featureslong limbs unwind as asps from around Harlequin's neck, slithering and sliding hands tracing the lines of neck and shoulder and down to flatten across chest, right palm snug against the fluttering skin just above pulsing heart, there is nary a consideration to how his ancestors so easily reached into countless bodies to pull the muscle free, sacrifices to the animal headed gods that held the world in their grasp... but he seems to have a satisfaction with leaving it right where it is
fingers a gentle tap against pect, weight shifts, lifting him in tiptoe stretch that's lithe and sensual against the Bagheera, long breath exhaled across just kissed lips, then the slender male slips away, bare feet soundless path towards the collection of candles in the middle of the floor, body folds, the sifter picked up as weight lowers into a half-crouch, fine glass stem sliding between fingers, cool swell of cup settled within his palm, a dark liquid swirls as it's lifted, flickering amber flames reflected in dark burgundy, held out in silent offer
how rare a sight that must be..... an open offer from one such as he
(harl)
barest of flesh my my he doesnt really like clothes afteralll nothing covers his upper body and he shudders as nakhtis gaze flows across his body as if it where a physical carress. the weight of it something tangiable against his skin something he enjoys so much.and then hands follow his eyes. the sensation swim through him as hands play over his chest. that hand that rests opon pect as if to capture beating heart (you already own it my precious cat) eyes dark watch you watch that smile his own mirroring it. its hard to imagine him not smiling. like he always knows somerthing that everyone else doesnt some tragic trick about to take place and he ready to enjoy it all.
he breathes in the essense of of that breath the sweet taste of the shadow cat playing out across his lips as he breathes it in. tongue darting out wishing to taste to savour to drink it all... and then like some dark mist he is gone slipping from between fingers to pad silently across the floor to take within his grasp a glass the subtle play of light and shadow as he raises it and then offers it. head tilts to the side. as he studies you before he follows the bubusti across the interveening distance. sensual and predatory a gliding shift of muscle such deadly delicious force contained in most graceful of containers.
gass lifted from fingers with his free hand the other still clutching that item now visible.... a small bag. black velvet it would seem. flat not much larger than an inch square.... the drawstrings hanging from between fingers. that liquid is raised swirled beneath nose to scent it. even as he looks at you (and what is it you are giving to me)(nakhti)
from within the glass the air shifts and changes as liquor swirls, bring to sensitive olfaction the taste of smokey fruit, an exquisitely sweet but dry wineperhaps he anticipated the arrival
so slowly that arm drops back to his side, a negligent curl of muscle, bone, and flesh into comfortable balance, watching, waiting, candlelight dancing across tanned skin and obsidian ink, fingers moving in their graceful sign (Do you not trust me?) before completely stilling, a breath slowly drawn to fill his chest, and held for the answer
(harl)
glass raises to lips as he breaths in the smell the taste playing across his tongue... eyes alight with the challenge how dare yout hink i not trust you. yet you are a shadow cat freely offering something. liquid spills against lips. and is taken in a mouthful freely swallowed. as hands moves (whats not to trust) flowing across the interveening distance to once again take him in arms and to once again claim lips with his own... that heady mix of wine the glass deposited so delicatly on the small table as he moves towards you.lips claim your own and a remenant of that liquid is passed between them... fingers circling his waist work behind his back to open that bag. and remove what lies within.
(nak)
the smile grows - dark and mysterious - as burgundy stains lips and smooths across tongue and throatthen he tastes it on his partner's lips, there is no collar to grab, so hands dart into raven hair as a cobra's strike, clenching as body twists to sit and pull Harlequin to straddle his own lap, suddenly devouring the kiss and striving to clean the wine completely from the even sweeter mouth - though as much as hold consumes it restrains, allowing himself to draw back as tongue's search finds no more wine leftover from the single swallow, the moist warmth of soft lick languid across lips to smooth away any vestige of stain
dark eyes slowly open to reveal swollen pupils, a satisfied serenity drawing into that cheshire smile, then a brow lifts, feeling the movement of fingers behind his back
(harl)
there is a graze as whatever it is slides slowly forth. silent and srpentine it unwinds slowly drawn along skin as he raises it up and up. lost in the all devouring kiss he stops his movements halted for ther breifest of moments before he can once again gather his thoughts sinking happily into nakhtis lap (i can spend my life here ) hands raise ever higher to play with dark hair. hands slide through it one each way dragging the fine gold chain with it. it smells of cinnamon then again everything that harlequin owns smells of cinnamon at least everything he wears anyway. and the natural sent of him from being held so close to his heart for so long... around his neck it goes. and is fastned even as he kisses your lips.his body shifts subtly the bone structure the length of his hair the fine fur that flows along his spine. the way muscles elongate grow. hes shifting in your lap his teeth grow sharper and he bites through your lip. it would seem a deliberate geasture as he gives you an appologetic yet i had to do it look. as he places fingers in that small drop of blood. licking his lip clean afterwards.
that stained finger tracing the necklace the pendant that hangs from it. that mixture of spit and blood smeered over the dull golden gleam old it is or so it would seem and soft warmth of body heat contained within its small confines.
(nak)
long muscles along his spine arch and squirm at the tickle of chain and metal over skin, drawing him in slow movement ever closer to his partner, so convenient for reclaiming that kiss, to share a warmth between them that subtly crackles and burns like the candles littering the table and floor, hands move to a softened fingertip touch feeling the flux of muscle through the shift, as if to mold and sculpt it even as it happens, to create what it is Harlequin becomes against himbreath catches when sharp teeth pierce - the laziest of quivers running beneath flesh, a shiver of reaction within quick gasping sigh
blood wells and spills
and the shadowcat reacts, something darting into dark eyes to feel the silent ritual performed, the shudder rippling into a subdued bristle, an instinctual reaction because he does not yet know what it is that has happened, fingers fall, soon their tips grazing and tracing along collarbone, pausing to rest at what he knows should not be an empty spanse of skin, the knowledge dawning upon him what now rests beneath his own throat, the warm dull gold against his flesh
the question is only spoken by his eyes, by the lift of his jaw and the tilt of his skull (what did you just do, Harlequin.)
(harl)
have you ever noticed how extensive harlequins wardrobe is? yet how it does not seem to matter what form he wears how they still stay intact. my my my not hard to guess what little trick harlequin knows...flowing from within nakhtis lap to stand hurt? what do you not trust me? the question the others eyes had asked him earlier now held there. maybe just the tiniest flash of pain but then again almost everyone does this little ritual differently and he well he just preformed it the way he knew to bind it to you it had to have a part of you... the way he moves the degected flow of larger muscles if before he was water now he is silk caught in the lightest of breezes... it would seem he was leaving hands scoop claws snagging that leather coat pulling it over shoulders that should be to large for it. swirling black as night red as blood deadly he circles like predator and prey claiming once more the space on his lap before you have time to adjust time to react fully. lifting the colar of his coat fingers guiding your eyes to the small stain like a spot of dark brown on the dark red. a small dried smeer of his blood hidden from sight by folds of leather. (do you understand)
(nak)
the emotion, the hurt, the dejection, how strikingly it is read in the language of muscle and flesh, already he rolls weight to follow and call back, the hand covered in patterend ink lifting as if to catch the cat that has become the shadow lifting awaythough he freezes, as the coat is lifted, and the Bagheera returns, hands reaching to latch onto leather and pull him (possessively) close once more, following the path of fingers, and time slows to a stop as the connections click and the mytery unfolds as some bright stone turning over within his hands, fingers uncurl and stretch, gently tracing around the dark brown stain on red... pausing, breifly, as if to feel the life and magic still held in the dried blood, and without looking up, that hand then lifts, flesh sliding over the curve of jaw to cup Harlequin's face, eyes slowly closing
and the other hand lifts, blindly tracing the molded gold, the shape of the ankh, rewriting it's symbolism across his own flesh, as if rubbing the blood and saliva into the metal, and then it lifts to join the other at Harlequin's face, gently holding jaw between slender hands, and that's when those eyes open, gazing into the dark chocolate depths
he understands
and for the longest time he gazes, watching the way the candle's light reflects in those dark (beloved) eyes, as if peering into the Bagheera's very soul, reading some forbidden and ancient pictographic language that's spread across beating heart, judging the truth that is written, so permanently, there, and so slowly, he pulls back, looking at the man instead of the soul, an apology in the drop of his head, the curl of his shoulders - he will not regret his instinctive suspicions, but he so clearly regrets the hurt
(harl)
the geasture does not go unoticed the subtle shift of weight as he begins to flow forwards to snag with incked in flesh the subtle shadow the flees from his embrace. the way he flows back into his own stance once more....then sinking slowly down into that embrace he watches as recognition, and understanding flows over nakhti as the geasture sinks in to what it is he has done.
eyes like the darkest chocolate. look upon nakhti. claiming his face as the other was claimed. reading deep within that look. raising chin slowly he kisses those lips claims them once more with his own the softest tenderest of kisses.... no do not appologise for it is nature. the hurt washed away within those encolising arms. with the knowledge that he was so hurt by his own pain his own hurt at what when you think of it is such a really small slight. .
(nak)
(thank you) the words mouthed into the gentlest of kisses, fingers moving in a slow crawl around the back of neck, he does not admit his fear at a rite worked without his knowledge, he does not admit how he knows such things could destroy him, because it is the nature of others to try to destroy the shadowcats - the tender touches between them speak only of the hurt wiped away by resumed affections, the depths of what such a gift would mean, knowing how important the pendant washe would indulge in his hunger, he would allow hands to move over sokto form and strip the leather away, allowing himself this pretty flesh and fur canvas to paint with the oil of his scent, to rub his possession into muscle and bone with each explorative, devouring touch.. but he doesn't
instead there is an aching pause, a draw away, a small disance put between them, if only to speak, to give his hands the space to write in the air, asking what may be the most serious question he's ever posed to the other (Do you understand what it means to be with me?) knowing that to so many, what he is is but a mere legend, tales told to scare cubs as the sun sets (Do you understand what I am?)
(harl)
for longer than he can remember that pendant has hung around his neck.the pendant that now hangs so close to your flesh he feels naked without it yet somehow fulfilled to know that it is pressed against your skin.hunger and desire feel him touch him flow through him. can i keep you. will you keep me.
the pause the distance that now seperates them a gulf much wider than could ever be expressed by the mere distance that seperates flesh from flesh hands dance in that interveening space even as the seriousness of his question burns in his eyes. "you are the darkest of my desires" his voice finally breaking the silence of the flat even before he did not speak as if to use voice in this inner sanctuary was some how sacralige yet it is a voice to be worshiped to worship with the rich tones poor from modified throat a husky purrrr to both entice and seduce as eyes that have bled into yellow focus on you slits narrowing as he takes your question seriously. "and i am the light to guide you back"
(nak)
the way he moves at the husky words, the way he seems to lean into them even with maintaining the space to allow hands to talk, it is as if the voice were a palpable caress that washed as desert rain across his flesh, bathing in the rare sacriledge of sound that enters his own den (I am darker) the words slowly woven into the air, thick as the incense cling of strange foreign scents (I am stained by the shadows, I am the cat that reclines at the devil's side, I embody the darkest of all our ancestor's sins. I am cursed. I am hated. I am feared.) something between them coils, a static connection suddenly brough to life, the pressure in the room seems to rise as the slender man begins to grow, body lengthening, features sharpening, becoming even more eerily exotic than the manbeast that sits within his lap(I am metis. I am Bubasti.) even that talons that begin stretching from fingertips do not reflect the candle light, the black pelt leaking onto his skin voidal, devouring the low glow of flame as the elegant war-form of the shadowcat crouches in this tangled embrace, a frightening grace in the deadly handpaws that now dance in the air (I will claim the light you harbor, I will covet it to guide me, I will possess it as mine) long tail sweeps the ground behind him, tip curling in cadent sway, the dull gold ankh brilliantly gleaming in short fur
(I will make you mine. For eternity.)
that is when the beast stops, a chance given that never has or will be given to any other, ever again, long daggertipped fingers curling, the softest of fur brushed knuckles against Harlequin's cheek, it is the proverbial last step before the greatest fall, a chance to run because to be with him means to become as stained
the first further curls, talons biting into flesh, thick blood seeping across palm - to bind it to you it had to be a part of you - and as the fingers unfurl, the hand is held out in offering
if the Bagheera stays, now, the Bubasti will never let him go
(harl)
he rides the body as it grows the way others would a wave rising and falling with each shift of muscle each movement soft flow of skin and leather against the now furred hide eyes narrowed to slits stare at you watch you yet it is a throaty laugh that bubbles from his throat the sinister sound so out of place with him. yet it is also joyful the sound of an adult laughing at the pronouncement of a child. "did you not think i knew what you where shadowcat. no neither hated, nor feared not by me" the essence that which is them crackles between them grows like a dark shadow around nakhti.. that mystic power that is secrets manifest. no this feline beauty is both dark and seductive and most would find it also intimidating.compared to yours his coat is the black of night. the subtle play of moonlight in darker shadows. the places between... yet nothing will ever be as black as the shadowcats the hidden spots can almost be traced by talons that gleem white when they slide from within sheethed fingers as his form grows heavier larger and more dextrous. the simularities are both more pronounced both selines children and more different when they are in their war forms. the room grows smaller the energy raises the dark power that is nakhti and his tribes history of stolen secrets is balanced and leveled mingled in the rush of power that pours from harlequin, the light as he called it. yet there is a darkness there too something just as sinister (you are not the only ones to walk in shadows yours only go there more willingly) powers mingle in a skin tingling charge of electricity that can raise the hairs on thier body. so much power in so small a place.... he looks at you as if considering your offer does he leave now while he still can while it is still safe or....
talons slice across his own palm in a geasture that mimmics yours. hands rasing to mirrror each other blood mingling in that slow sensaul flow of power as ruby liquid drips in to mingle at thier feet. palms pressed together. that mingling heartbeat slowing the sinking rythm matching.. (prehaps i am yours but you are mine).
"both light and dark mingle that we can walk between the dark of cahlash and the bright of rajah we will dance with nala torn between our two fathers. alll under the light of our mother." gaze sliding out the window to the light of the mooon that shines down upon them "let us hunt forever in the twilight for the secrets of both sides"
(nak)
blood pools on the floor between them, talon tips click together, fur mingles, liquid life forms a glue between their hands as fingers twine and clasp into tightest of grips, heartbeats melt together so that it flows between them, joining them, making them a part of each other - beneath the witness of the flames, Seline glowing pregnant amongst the glittering stars in the night sky, two greatest warriors - one the fluid reflection of silver light upon the darkest shadows contained in the other - tying themselves into the most intimate of knotsthe laughter did not phase him, in brings a curl to dark lips, whiskers flaring in their pleasure, something stronger than affection glowing in murky eyes
Harlequin is perhaps the first - and only - he has been completely honest with, something he felt strangely compelled to say before they entered this bargain
free arm lifts, a graceful slide of wrist over furry shoulder, wrapping around long neck and pulling the other chrinos feline close, their clasped hands dropping to the side, but not unbinding, forheads touching in caress and rub, rough tongue, startling pink within the blackness uncurling to comb through the fur on Harlequin's face, smearing across scent glands to taste him, their mutual claim solidified in loving grooming
(harl)
although nakhti may feel most comfortable it he war form after all it is ths one in which he was born it is not the most comfortable for harlequin.he watches nakhti he watches that deeper swell of emotion brings forth one of his own. even as the eyes flow over the entire body the furred form the carress of tongue the mingling mix of scents as his own lashes out to taste to mix and slide along furrrr the rumbling purrrrrr for both of them rumbling from deep within his chest. he enjoys the grooming the very luctury of the others tongue against his skin. there is soo much more you can lick and groom and ooooh cheeck pressed to cheeck mine scents mingling mixing and flowing against each other (yup mine) again that tongue darting out to taste and tease. mmmmmm a most fun night
Posted by nakhti at January 19, 2003 12:00 AM
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