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onefellswoop) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kingdomsofrain2024-01-24 08:25 pm
onefellswoop) wrote in kingdomsofrain2024-01-24 08:25 pmtexts texts texts
this one is for texts!
onefellswoop) wrote in kingdomsofrain2024-01-24 08:25 pm
no subject
I'll get the drinks, then come find you and get you out of there. Your very own search and rescue Puppy. How's that?
It'll be okay, Sweetheart. For once in the world, someone's saying this and meaning it: they're just jealous. You've got me, I've got you, and they don't mean anything. They're just blips on the radar.
Remember: I'm always on your side.
[ He doesn't get far. He orders the drinks, and really, that was the problem: turning his back to the room. While he's waiting, trying not to think about how much it cost to have this fucking bar installed, he sees someone approach on his left. The hairs on the back of his neck raise; someone's behind him, too.
Languidly, he straightens, glances to his left, then looks at whoever's behind -
Oh.
Circus Act.
Cool.
He raises his brows, his gaze dropping down the other man's body as though to indicate he's just a little too close. To his credit, Joyce takes a step back, then to the side as though he meant to do that all along.
"You must be Enri," the other man drawls, his tone suggesting intrigue, amusement. Enri's used to this. He hears it a lot from his family's friends.
"Must be," he replies, shrugging, taking in this second man, who's now trading a look with Joyce. He's a little older, maybe late twenties, with sandy brown hair and pale eyes. Dark circles under those.
A thought slides into comprehension: he looked way healthier on the tape. Enri has to hide a smirk under the guise of looking to see what's happening with his drink.
"Well. Welcome to the kennel club," Joyce...jokes? Enri glances at him with brows raised.
"Just a joke," the second one contributes unhelpfully. "Between all the Puppies he's run through. You being the latest in his usual trend, of course. We've started betting on who the next one's going to be. Usually it's Simon. Safe bet; he's one of Daddy's favorites."
"He's really not," Enri answers lightly. This lack of concern seems to momentarily throw what's-his-nuts. (What is his name? Peter? Pike? Porter? Shit.) "I mean, just because shitty beer's what you grab doesn't mean it's your favorite. It's what's always available."
Joyce snorts, shakes his head pityingly. Oddly, Enri feels...unbothered by this. He sees what it is. He knows - trusts - Darius. These guys are trying very hard in the eleventh hour to - what? Hurt his feelings?
"You really think he's going to marry you? Maybe he told you that -"
"If he isn't, he spent a lot of money on a wedding cake for no reason. And a suit. And a -" He holds up his left hand. "Ring. That's a weird long con, right?"
"It's Darius," Joyce snaps, his pity and good humor ebbing. "He's going to make you all kinds of promises and then throw you out the minute you think he cares about you."
The bartender slides two Gold Rushes to him. Enri picks one up, tastes it, then returns his attention to the two not-Puppies. "Did you think he cared about you before or after he left you in that bed for thirteen hours? Maybe it was before you pissed yourself."
Joyce...doesn't answer. He stares in disbelief, like he's not sure he heard what he did.
Enri pulls a contemplative face. "'Care' is a weird word to use. You sure seemed to think he was going to fuck you, though. You know. When you called your fiancee and told her you weren't ever coming home?"
People around them are going quiet. Joyce's face is pale, his lips parted in shock, forming soundless words. He cuts a look at his companion.
So Enri looks that way, too, and then snaps his fingers. "Right! Preston! Man, took me a minute. You look way different."
Confused, Preston looks to Joyce and back again. "We've never met...?"
"Nah. I saw your film."
"My film?" he echoes tonelessly - the moment before dawning comprehension.
"Yeah." Enri smiles blithely, the picture of a Young, Dumb Puppy. As though realizing only just now that neither of them understands, he explains, "The one of you in the car with your pants around your ankles. He said half of Manhattan got a look."
"...He makes you watch what he did to us?" Preston seems to be covering his growing tension with a scoff.
"What, like said I had to?" Enri raises both brows then shakes his head. "Nah. I asked when I realized I really, really like hearing all the shit he's done to you. And that he'll never, ever do any of it to me. And he really, really likes telling me."
He takes another drink, then makes a sound of remembering suddenly - a little mm! - before adding, "You're the one that spanked your own cock like, what, forty times because you kept having to start over? Dude. Kennel club? You need PETA."
It's then that he spots Darius struggling to make a beeline this way, so, ignoring the looks on the faces of the two men penning him in, he calls out merrily, "Hey, Daddy! I found Evan and Preston! They have some kind of weird therapy group for guys you blue-balled."
There are some gasps and scandalized looks from nearby guests, but Enri's locking eyes with Preston, his smile growing sharp. "Had to tell them I can't join. I'm special." ]
no subject
Darius knows, Darius knows there’s a good chance that it’s a fabrication, a way for Ursula to prod, provoke
He knows it’s equally likely that Deforest did reach out to this woman.
Part of Darius rears, writhes toward anger. Toward snarling condemnation, asking what the fuck right she thinks she has to be here, on the eve of his wedding for shit’s sake. It helps nothing that she’s speaking again, somewhere beyond the din of his mind’s growing fury. Helps nothing that what she speaks is some manner of ‘reminder’ to hold his temper, something about words from Deforest, a warning that his elder brother had grown more erratic, and really she isn’t surprised, certainly not when he’s stooped to marrying one of his, what were they again, ‘Puppies’?
His eyes sharpen, piercing blue shooting accusation at her own iced-over, taunting smile. He knows what she does, how she claws beneath skin to provoke him, corner him. This is precisely what she does, and it’s been fucking years but she’d brought it back from the fucking dead, here with anyone around watching, likely waiting, likely Esma’s somewhere at the crowds edge with baited breath, awaiting her chance to swoop in. Likely Deforest’s somewhere near, waiting to crow over the fuckforsaken scene.
Darius’s fingers itch, his muscles drawing toward tension, a willingness, readiness to spring, to fuck with what follows, she has no right to speak that way of Enri.
Enri.
Who would want— What? To see Darius’s ex-wife flayed, oh, undoubtedly. But privately. Somewhere nobody could interfere. Somewhere Darius wouldn’t be restrained, delayed further from finding his Enri.
And there, a thought flickering bright, drowning anger in clear sunlight: It’s obscene, it’s a crime to waste words on this woman when his husband waits nearby.
Anger recedes, tensions soothe themself away. What Ursula’s playing at; whatever she’s saying, whatever she’s attempting isn’t worth Darius’s time, isn’t worth an ounce of trouble. Certainly isn’t worth keeping away from Enri a minute longer. What Darius wants is to be with Enri. What he wants is to find himself in honeyed eyes and leave behind the irritations of every interference.
He wants his husband; there’s nothing stopping him.
At some point Darius had drifted his gaze, began looking up, over the Hancocks, over the crowd, expression slightly vexed. Now he shakes his head slightly, laughs to himself, soft, and runs a hand through his hair. Returns his eyes to her and, with the hint of amusement, speaks in an easy drawl—
“As we’re old friends, you won’t mind my excusing myself peremptorily. My fiancé waits on my arrival.
“My fiancé, my Puppy, my soul; there is no better being to be found. And I love my Enri infinitely.”
He doesn’t wait for a reply; doesn’t linger long enough even to gauge his ex-wife’s expression. Darius simply turns and moves, without a look backward, and with no remnant of his anger.
It takes some careful maneuvering to step through the crowd, each step taking him toward the bar. When he sees Enri, hears Enri, his chest turns warm. Even the sight of the shitstains flanking Enri can’t jar him; whatever they were planning - and its clear they’d thrown themselves at Enri (had attempted some manner of cornering, perhaps chiding or shaming, and damn them both for trying) - Enri’s outplayed them, as of course he would.
Some boys never learn.
Darius knows the look of his Wolf toying with prey. Knows the sharp glee marking Enri’s expression, and oh, there’s a shivering up Darius’s spine in those words spoken with relish and with hazard: ’I’m special.’
His beautiful, malicious little wolf.
There’s no glance spared for Evan or Preston, not at first. Darius’s attention rests fully on Enri. On approaching, head canting slightly, offering a smile and reaching to brush his Puppy’s jaw, to settle cupping his cheek as Darius closes the last two steps between them.
When he speaks, his voice runs warm with adoration, with pleasure at the sight and finding of his husband, lingering over his love’s name, reveling upon its sound. ]
Enri.
Hello Puppy.
[ There’s a tilt of his cheek toward Enri, a signal for a kiss. And after Enri’s bent and Darius has breathed soft joy at the brush of lips, he turns, meets Puppy’s lips with a long-drawn kiss and an embrace.
It’s a show of adoration played perhaps partly for the would-be-puppies who dared approach Enri; a show emphasizing - alongside the giving of both Enri’s name and ‘Puppy,’ a doubling of name and title never given to any feigning boy - Enri’s import. It’s also an act born of wanting and relief, removed entirely from show. Darius kisses Enri because he wants, needs to feel his love against him, to share breath and take a moment for the two of them, the world beyond fading away.
He’s slow to end the kiss; slow, clearly reluctant, to draw away. And for several moments he continues only to meet Enri’s eyes, and run a hand along his bicep in slow, steady caress. And speaking softly (not to hide the words, gods no, but because they’re made for Enri only)— ]
Missed you, my love.
[ Then, nodding to the drinks— ]
Which have you tasted?
[ He takes the glass in question, steals a sip of his own before handing it back, smile crooked. ]
Lovely.
[ He takes the other glass, raises his eyebrows at Enri with a sharpening, a conspiratorial grin. At last glances over one ‘puppy,’ than the ‘other’ before tossing his hair, returning his eyes entirely to Enri. And standing both possessive and familiar, at ease beside his husband, he speaks again, louder now— ]
Did the rabbits think they’d found a friend? Really, they ought to recognize a wolf when they see one.
But then they never were perceptive. And they’ve no chance outrunning you.
You are special. A truth that writes itself in every moment. In every vicious smile.
[ He seeks, finds Enri’s hair and cards through, relishing, thinking gods yes they were apart too long, knowing there’s nothing in Esma’s obscene ploys that can upend him, so long as Enri’s at his touch. ]
I trust you’re enjoying yourself, Love.
[ And, favoring Club Blue-Balls with a longer, more assessing look as he adjusts his position, guides Enri’s arm around his waist— ]
Hadn’t the pair of you better get on with your therapy? Puppy’s correct; he won’t be joining you. And you’d do well to skitter out of our sight.
no subject
He doesn't often have the chance to be in public alone, then be approached by Darius; they always arrive together, leave together, stay together, so on the rare occasion when they have to separate and reunite, Enri has the singular experience of seeing just how much of his world his love occupies.
One moment, it's all too loud, too pressing and harsh, and the next, there's Darius. (Darius, and commands. Darius, and steps to take, rules to follow. That always helps. Everything gets so much easier.) One moment, he's flanked by Darius's exes, and the next, they've fallen back and Darius is embracing him.
Kissing him after expectantly offering his cheek - which Enri kissed dutifully and happily, because being dutiful and being happy are never mutually exclusive with them. One of his hands lingers at Darius's hair after they part, a privilege others never got to enjoy because others never enjoyed much about him. Certainly not caressing his hair. (They lost out, Enri has thought so many times.)
He's fascinated by Darius's mouth when he drinks, when he smiles. Enri can still taste him, mint and good cigarettes and whatever he drank earlier, and the traces of what they did earlier, and beneath all that, the familiar essence of Daddy. He feels his cheeks grown warm from the secrets still on his tongue.
It isn't until Darius speaks of rabbits that Enri realizes the two men are still there. A glance tells him maybe Joyce was trying to leave, but unwilling to leave Preston or unwilling to be on his own. Preston is standing in the same place, staring at Darius the way a hungry dog stares at food. But - awkwardly, too. And enviously, yeah, that's there.
Joyce has that hungry dog longing in the darted glances, but -
But there's something else with both of them and it's got them nailed to the floor.
It strikes him then that the reason they haven't left is because they're still obeying. They're waiting to be told what to do, like they're still part of Darius's games. Like he gives half a fuck about them. (Almost expectant, those looks. Like he owes them his attention.) And like the world vanishes for Enri, Enri has vanished for them.
(Has this happened before? Has Darius been with a would-be-puppy and left him for another, more interesting one?)
He doesn't laugh. His expression shifts to one of both pity and disgust.
Darius can treat him like a Puppy. Those two, though - they can't. Tightening his arm around Darius's waist to pull him closer, Enri straightens, then Young, Dumb Puppy look gone from his face and bearing. He lets the other thing creep forward, the thing Darius calls Lovely, just a little.
Just enough.
Darius might've shown favor like that a thousand times in front of them. He never would've let them show possessiveness. Never let them stand as his equal.
He has their attention now, so he takes a slow drink from his glass (tasting honey, whiskey, and Darius, oh-) and, as though he's only waiting for them to leave - then, in a tone very much like the one Darius uses to level orders, he drawls - ]
Walk away.
[ He sounds more like his father than Daddy.
Well. Good.
People are watching, either stealing discrete glances or staring openly, conversations gone stilted. The two men look wrong-footed, Joyce sweating and Preston fixating now on Enri, trying to work something out that doesn't have an answer he'll ever know.
Joyce says something that doesn't quite become audible, then grabs the other man's arm and pulls him into retreat.
He doesn't relax. He doesn't need to; he never really tensed up. When he finally sees their backs, he brushes a kiss to Darius's temple, then lingers there, breathing in his mate until "Lovely" retreats back into dormancy.
Nuzzling then, he murmurs, ]
Sorry, Daddy.
no subject
Let them see: Them, these puling former ‘puppies.’ Them, the guests gathered around, gaping or feigning unconcern.
Let everyone see how different, yes, how special Enri is. The beautiful devoted Puppy; the beautiful, feral-clawing Wolf as well. Let them know that Darius is Enri’s just as much as Enri is his own; let them see how adamant the bond between Daddy and his Puppy holds, how much this man has altered, made anew for Darius. How Puppy obeys, yes, and how obedience is something other than compulsory, something other than a means toward some senseless end. How Enri protects what is his, and wraps his husband close.
Darius is so proud of his Enri.
He’s so pleased, to feel the coalescence of his Lovely gathering against him. Knowing, of course Darius knows Enri’s intention, knows the impulse bringing out the man of fangs and hazard. And with a pleased, internal shiver - internal mostly; there’s a tremor at his chest, shadow of a purr within his lungs, that can be known only to the man he’s twined against - Darius anticipates the voice so soon to speak, and show its claim, its place.
It’s perfect: The ‘puppies’ want a word from Daddy (ah, he isn’t theirs, he never was; performed a role upon them, but not one of them could see him, let alone reach him); any further dismissal would be take as command, as a bone of hope to gnaw on. Wordlessness would leave them waiting, watching, hovering still.
It’s the wolf’s voice only that could banish them in full.
Two words; that’s all it takes.
Two words, and neither Joyce nor Preston can fight against recognition, against fear. There’s no denying every meaning in Enri’s voice like infliction; no denying the meaning of the arm wrapped and welcomed around Darius’s waist.
Gods, he loves this man, loves every corner of his Enri’s being.
Spares no more than a peripheral observation for the would-be-puppies’ exit; just enough to track their direction, and to think it’s likely there’ll give no further trouble. Thinking even if they’ve no sense of what’s good for them, there’s no returning from the sight of his wolf, or the clarity of Enri’s importance.
Thinking on how beautifully his Lovely snaps his teeth.
Leaning into his husband’s kiss, and breathing out and in in kind, rhythmic, reveling in this hushed coming down, the curl of Lovely back to quiet, back to waiting. Never gone, just as no part of Enri’s being ever vanishes from reach; just as no part of Darius ever drifts out from himself.
He welcomes the nuzzling, the murmured words. Settles a kiss below his Puppy’s jaw, upon the flickered arteries, the hum of blood.
Then shifts, draws back to meet his Puppy’s eyes, his half-smile grown out of approval and amusement, and of infinite regard. He lets a moment pass, as if considering that apology, as if considering what Puppy’s done, here in front of everyone.
Then there’s a ‘tch’ of Darius’s tongue, audible in the hush around them, and he speaks— ]
Are you sorry, Puppy?
[ Darius knows damned well Puppy is not sorry, nor should he be.
And Darius heard the play, the subtle flaunt of Daddy’s Perfect Brat within that ‘sorry.’
There’s no need to speak against apologies given in knowing play. But, ah, this calls for restitution.
Poor, poor Puppy is in for a bit of punishment.
Hand set on Enri’s chest, fingers tented claw-like, Darius cants his head, blinks once, twice. Lets several moments settle, silence grow before he speaks again, words velvet-lined and sauntering— ]
That was beautifully done, but I’m afraid you’ve missed a crucial step—
Daddy. Didn’t. Say.
[ Lightly, a means of punctuation, he bites his lip and smiles, the expression sharpening toward a cutting, a dangerous grin. As Darius reaches upward simply, swiftly, to crook a finger around Enri’s collar, thumb brushes the conjoined rings. To draw Enri downward, gently, with force more feigned than actual. Then leaning in to whisper words born of appreciation and given only to his Enri’s ears— ]
My love, you please me so.
You make your Darius so happy.
And Daddy’s going to give his Puppy a little punishment. For my perfect, my lethal love.
[ Slowly he draws back, and slowly he relinquishes his hold on Puppy’s collar. Smiling upward, indulgent, and moving to stand beside Enri, to link arms and nod toward the nearest door, through which he’ll lead Enri, intending to find a room for their own use. ]
There’s no escaping, Puppy.
Daddy’s got you now.
no subject
And that's all it's going to be, he'd pretty sure. A light punishment just to remind him who's boss (as though he could ever forget!) and put on an act for everyone else. That latter's more about him than Darius, though. He never wants anyone getting the idea that even though he's Daddy's equal, he can get away with anything. He wants them to know he chooses to be Puppy.
He chooses to be punished, too.
(And he definitely wants those two fuckers to know Daddy punishes him and it's so good, every fucking time. Not like they ever got.)
Setting his drink down, he schools his expression to one of subtle contrition, maybe faint fear. Oh, no, he's really in for it now! his expression acknowledges. (The thing is, he's not really all that contrite (yet) or fearful (yet.)) He follows Darius's lead to the door, noting that by the time they pass through it, they've lost most of the party's attention.
The door exits into a hall; once it closes behind him, he slides his hand down into Darius's and begins to swing them as they walk, his contrition and fear replaced with a cheerful smile. He might as well be humming and skipping, he feels so happy.
The smile turns to a grin if Darius looks at him, and really, he can't resist chirping: ]
Last punishment before I'm your husband.
[ "Lethal". Sure. ]
no subject
It’s as if none of the rest existed. As if the trifling partygoers have been vanquished, banished— And why should it be otherwise? When all the world is here, and swinging Darius’s hand in innocent (ah, ‘innocent,’ his perfect brat and lover pleased in the wake of discarded foes, and why shouldn’t he be? Enri, Puppy, Lovely played so well with intruders who sought to sow their senseless discord) joy.
Joy, what Darius wants for his Enri always.
And peace, surety of his place with Darius, with Daddy, who is his in every name and every light.
He leads them onward through the hall, toward the stairs. Having decided on the room they’ll make their own. Esma’s in name and current claim, but all that Daddy and Puppy touch becomes their own, and it’s only right, it’s only apt to give his husband the utmost comfort, the mansion’s primary bedroom.
It’s theirs now; Esma as good as signed it to them when she chose to entertain this party.
That chirp in Enri’s voice thrills him, turns the hall’s harsh-soft light a honeyed gold, and that smile, ah, he could like a hundred year upon his Puppy’s smile. ]
Then it ought to be excruciating, hm?
For my very, very nearly husband, Daddy inflicts only the best.
Utmost pleasure. Utmost torment.
[ A turn toward Enri brings a pause in their step, and Darius draws nearer, voice lowering to a velvet purr. ]
Oh no, Puppy.
[ Now leaning inward, upward, to tent a hand to Enri’s chest - feeling, savoring the beat of his love’s heart - and grin, crooked with a flash of teeth. Then to speak softer still, and breathy, half-hissed and full of promise— ]
Oh no.
[ Another subtle shifting upward, as if he means to steal a kiss, to draw Puppy’s lip between his teeth—
Then he winds away, tugging Enri’s hand with a playful grin and a wink, a riant little laugh, as he draws them onward, upward toward their bedroom. ]
no subject
[ An echo of words, cheerfully toned to suggest he'd like nothing better in all the world.
Enri laughs at the feint, at the way Darius spins away from him; the sound comes free and untroubled, as though nothing can touch him. Nothing can steal between them, not even hopeful would-have-beens like Joyce and Preston.
Those two, Enri thinks, don't know what they've really lost because they never knew it in the first place. They never saw Darius this way, playful and loving and deadly. They got to know the terror and pain, the momentary flickers of thrill like lights in the dark, but they never knew the fullness it could be with him. They never felt themselves cherished or held safe at the heart of all that destruction. If they had experienced that euphoria even for a moment, they'd have fought harder. They'd have stayed there and let Enri rip them apart just to show Darius how badly they needed him.
Their loss.
Never mind them. Darius is leading him into a bedroom that is their bedroom - because all bedrooms are theirs. All rooms, anywhere, belong to him and Daddy, as long as Daddy says.
Without being asked, Enri locks the door behind him - and then, on second thought, grins and unlocks it again. He holds Darius's hand still in his other and gives it a squeeze.]