Remnants of the Earth
AEDOLIS => The Rest of Aedolis => Margad => Topic started by: Draconian on November 10, 2017, 11:38:01 pm
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Cinnamon was practically vibrating with excitement.
Not an uncommon thing for him to be doing on the rail from Haviah to Margad. He flicked through pictures of Beep and Boop ( who were getting huge ) and read a few articles about celebrity non-sense. Some Pilot rumours. Cinnamon enjoyed the rumours. Most of them were downright silly and he liked to chuckle at them while waiting for the thing to take him to the place he wanted to be. Margad.
The place of his two greatest loves.
Noodles and fresh produce.
Cinnamon already had a meal planned out. Which is where he headed the second the rail was stopped. To get groceries. Not that he didn't think Soba didn't have groceries. Just that he knew what he wanted to make and maybe Soba didn't have it? Easier to just get it now. And make sure there was enough for left overs for the fridge. Cinna chewed on his lip while he shopped, politely stopping for a few pictures and at one point snapping his jaws upon request for a video.
Groceries gotten, he made his way to his Noodle's apartment. Ears perked up and unable to keep his tail under control it was practically waving. It wasn't a planned evening but he had access to Soba's apartment and while he was more than happy to let himself in, sometimes it wasn't the right day for that. This was a sort of surprise dinner. Did he? Didn't he? Cinna risked it. A quick rap at the door with his knuckles and he moved his wrist over the panel. The door unlocked and he let himself in.
No matter what kind of day it was, the apartment always smelled like Soba. A pleased hum.
"Hello?" He said, voice not a yell but not a whisper.
"I've come to make dinner things. If you're home," Cinna made his way to the kitchen, making himself at home. Loading the groceries ( that weren't just dinner things ) into the fridge and getting all the needed cooking utensils ready for when it was close to dinner time. Which was a bit of a ways off. Cinnamon had finished his assignments early, fueled by pure excitement. Even still, in his Noodle's kitchen his tail was waving excitedly. After a few moments of silence he pulled out his com, found Soba's number and started a message.
"If you're not home, I'm in your kitchen. I got things to make dinner but I got here a few hours earlier than I intended so I have some time to spare. Lemme know what's up? If you're not home, I am totally gonna nap in your bed." Cinna pondered for a moment if he should get naked before the nap but decided against it. He didn't know what colour today was. Not yet. Clothed and bearing food was always a level choice.
Cinna leaned against the counter, head resting on his hand while he waited for the go ahead, tail still swishing back and forth and eyes falling closed because, despite the cigarette smell, the apartment was one of his favourite places to be and he felt comfortable. Home. Eugh. Non-human-ing. Cinnamon decided though, once he got the go-ahead he was absolutely going to crawl into the best bed in the universe to nap.
-
It always felt the same. It wasn't like Soba ever really got any chance to prepare, of course, nothing that made it easy to plan around, but when he could feel an "off color" kind of day formng, at least it had the basic human decency to be obvious about it.
Insofar as a day could be capable of basic human decency. Which not many days could, because a lot of days were big, stupid, assholes like that. Super rude, just busting down doors and throwing their shit every which way, without a single care about how that was going to affect the people in them. Not that Soba's "off color" days were any different-- they still tended to make themselves right at home regardless of his mood to entertain-- but hey, at least he had some kind of warning signs.
Warning signs like right now, when everything was just this side of fuzzy, and somehow in between one blink and another all of his paperwork had been finished. That was the major cue, the loss of time, and Soba sat staring at the clock on his desk for a good while before the steady ticking of the seconds grounded him again. He was still here, wasn't he? This was all here?
Talbot Henning, check. Pilot Noble, check. Sitting at his desk, check. And apparently finishing for the day, check. Soba sat back in his chair, undoing the top button of his uniform to better... he didn't even know. Breathe? Feel less clustered in? Possibly lose all of his outlines and kind of melt out into the universe. That third option sounded really good.
Something rattled in his desk, and he pulled open a drawer to see his com light up, vibrating in sequence to denote an unread message. Soba considered ignoring it for a moment; his head was too foggy to keep up with regular conversation, but the name displayed on the screen was big and red and even cotton-stuffed freeform lineless person like he was, Soba always loved seeing that name.
For completely unknowable reasons, of course. He plucked up the com, opened the message, and while it took him a few moments, he finally got through reading it. Dinner. Dinner sounded... good. Very good. And the idea that Cinnamon, the spice of his life, would be crashing in his bed was even better.
There was just something about that. Everything went hyper bright, crystal clear to the point of insanity, and for a brief second the liminal concept of a semi-permanent fixture to his home, his room let him focus enough to close out his reports and not just be a string of gibberish.
Terminated, Demoted, Exhonerated, Acquitted. Done and done.
He flicked back to the message on his com, and hit reply:
"Doublemint good. Just finishing up here. Probably could sneak in about thirty minutes before the authorities show up." Soba snickered, quietly, not really enjoying how weird the sensation felt while the rest of him couldn't seem to decide where his atoms needed to be. But then again, Cinna was good at that. Getting his atoms to laugh even when they didn't know they were there.
He set the com back into his pocket, took a breath that went nowhere, and left his office for the day. About two steps outside of the building, he was lighting up a cigarette, trying to give the rest of him something to fixate around, because being an amorphous blob was just not fun today. Out in the fresh air (hilarious sentiment though that was), there was far more people, bits and pieces of them humming with memory. A girl's hair lit up like a halo around her head. A young boy clung to a toy spaceship that glowed brighter than any star. Hums and vibrations every other step in the walkway.
Like kids playing hopscotch. One, one, two, two, one. When was the last time he played hopscotch? How long ago had that been? Back when Talbot had been Talbot, probably. If that ever were the case. Because really, even now, even with a present obsession with lemon cake and old-fashioneds, this was still Talbot. Soba. That's what Cinna said. This was still Soba.
Hopefully it wasn't a less-fun Soba. Turning down another walkway, less populated but just as densely covered in foliage, the Inquisitor hopped a few steps forward on one foot just to see if he still could. Hopscotch. Yeah, still got it.
It was... perhaps the wrong thing to do at the time. But then again, there was no telling what would fixate and what wouldn't, and on days like today it was anyone's guess who'd be picked up. Residual chalk on a well-walked side road, all the bright and colorful thoughts of a kid who loved being out in the sunshine, out of the house and in the perfumed air, a kid who--
Shit. Soba stopped hopping, and looked down at the grid at his feet. Shit.
It wasn't a major one, thankfully. The reading was too old, the vector too small and fleeting. But it certainly didn't set any kind of mood, even a "Cinna waiting at home, coconut status unknown" mood. Home. Home was good. Cinna at home was better. Soba straightened up again, leveled out his gait, and went the last of the way to his apartment building. He pushed about three different buttons on the elevator, and then five more after the doors shut, for no other reason than it seemed like fun at the time.
He blinked, and once again found that time had passed him by between then and now, as he was already placing his wrist over the sensor and letting himself inside.
"This is the police! We know you're in here. Usage of butter after sundown is a class B offense." he called out, before remembering Cinna was probably napping. Which would explain why Peebles Destroyer of Worlds wasn't staring balefully at the door for him to return: the purrpurrs were too good for the little black cat to pass up. Soba couldn't blame him.
Soba pulled off his longcoat and hung that up, before slipping into the bedroom, maneuvering Peebles out of the way and taking the cat's spot against Cinna's back, arm curled around the taller Pilot as he spooned up nice and close.
"Gotcha."
-
Police?
Foggy brained Cinnamon Rook frowned for a moment, ear flicking before he pressed his face into Soba's pillow and inhaling deeply. He didn't move from his place curled up in the bed, the warmth of the kitten at the small of his back. He did turn his head ever so slightly, eye cracking open from his weird dream about having tiny hippo's in his home instead of his beloved cats. Cinnamon couldn't help the little trill that vibrated through his chest, making Peebles lift his head and look at the pointy scaly ear that poked up from the nest of blankets.
A small smile when Peebles was removed and Soba took his place.
"Hmm," Cinna agreed, smoothing a hand over Soba's hand on his chest, pressed it against him before he gently pulled it away and Cinna rolled over and slid down the bed. "What's the punishment for using butter?" He murmured, voice husky while he nuzzled at Soba's throat, teeth grazing the side while he sleepily crawled over him to snuggle and nuzzle closer. Cinna pulled Soba close, a pleased purr rumbling through his chest.
Good way to end-start the day. Even fresh from work and smelling kind of like cigarettes, he couldn't stop nuzzling his throat. Finally, sucking in a breath and lifting his head, he sighed and gave a pleased hum before resting his head, on the pillow again. The sheer pleasure of being around His had his pupils practically swallowing up the iris and he smiled slightly, ear perked up.
"How was the day?" He whispered, hand drifting up and down his side. "Still want dinner or did you want to cuddle more?" Cinnamon purred, reaching to pluck Soba's hair from it's usual place of being done up. He finger combed it and gently scraped his nails over the top of Soba's scalp before he finally leaned in for a quick chaste little kiss before pulling away lifting his chin as a silent invitation to snuggle. Of course, that just exposed the indented scar at his throat where that little red cluster of scales had been, but Cinna waited patiently. Because he was super cool with going to make dinner or staying content and snuggley.
-
“Tarred and feathered,” Soba hummed, eyes shut and head back to allow for more of those nibbles against the inky rendition of roses at his throat. “You'll be the new Harpies mascot from here on. Buh-cawk.”
He clucked a few more times, deciding for the time being that he much rather preferred chicken-language and other chicken things. What were chicken things? Feed and buh-cawking and eggs and more buh-CAWKing.
Soba reached up, carded his fingers through Cinna’s hair, drew him down for soft, featherlight nuzzles and felt… simpler. Not so made up of parts and puzzles. Instead of 1000 pieces, something more for a toddler. Square peg, square hole. Simpler.
Because Cinna looked at him like that, all dark pupils and purring affection, and that meant he was still Soba. He still fit together into a Soba shaped puzzle, and if he could at least be that, well…
Well, that was okay then. Square shaped peg Soba was okay.
“Bawk bawk, which can be loosely translated to mean about seven more cuddles, and then you feed me.” he murmured, nuzzling into Cinna’s throat. He paused, his nose grazing against the mass of scarring that had once made them ‘twinsies’. A piece missing. Something important. One last bit of the Cinna puzzle, but the circle peg wasn't there. The scale cluster had been a part, an important part to Cinnamon’s culture. Something about… family.
Family was important. Right? Right.
“You? All together? Full puzzle box?”
-
Tarred and feathered.
Cinnamon smirked, trying to imagine himself covered in feathers. Feathers for hair, bright and red. Maybe do the thing those parrots do, frill it out when excited or trying to catch a mate. It would be a bit awkward to be around Soba though, constantly have his frill up and out. A pleased little hum and Cinna pulled Soba closer, his hand on the other mans hip to hold her there.
"Full puzzle box?" Cinna repeated, taking a moment to consider it. The scar was sensitive, every touch against it sent a zing to his chest and he felt his heart lurch to remember it. "Mostly," He said honestly, nuzzling into Soba's hair, eyes falling closed while he tried to sneak a hand up under Soba's shirt, pressing a warm hand against warm flesh. "It's missing a piece but you can still figure out what the picture is supposed to be." There was a pause and he gently drew his finger tips over Soba's side.
"Does Seven cuddles trade in for anything? seven cuddles trade in for two hot make out sessions or something? Fourteen pecks on the cheek make seven cuddles?" Cinna grinned a little two wide at his on the spot currency system before he quickly closed his mouth and leaned back slightly to look down at his interesting rose. "Hm, what do two hot make out sessions trade into I wonder? Hmm, Sleep over, I think."
-
A mostly there, mostly full puzzle box.
It was a fair assessment, an honest one. Something very crucial had been lost, after all, and not everything could be easily rememdied with a bandaid and happy thoughts. Some shit just didn't grow back, and sometimes that was a part of you you never thought you'd ever have to live without. A family member, a friend, or something even more intrinsic to you, like if you were to take a bit of your identity, channel it directly into a limb and then hack the entire thing off.
Which was... which was exactly what happened, wasn't it? That little rose had been hacked off, taken from him, and now he'd never get to smolder with the rest of his family. Be part of that ever-holy Fire.
Something ugly rattled around in Soba's guts, but he was able to ignore it, focusing hard instead on Cinna, the man who called him His, rather than the vile malevolence that had nearly stolen him from His. Sometimes, when Soba was in a particularly bad way, all doom and gloom and shadowy night-blue colored, he fantastized about picking the perpetrator apart. Piece by piece. Nugget by nugget. Flayed and minced and carved up a thousand different ways, see how they liked it.
No. No. Night-blue colored Soba wasn't welcome here, not then and not now, and Soba leaned up into Cinna's touch, focusing on how warm the Kulshedra's hand was against bare skin, how Soba's skin raised in little bumps to feel his fingertips begin to roam.
"Seven cuddles, at current market prices, trade in for precisely three standard makeout sessions, or, alternately, two really hot makeout sessions. And, of course, if you act now, you can exchange seven cuddles directly for a sleepover. To be paid in increments of one cuddle per hour of sleepover obtained."
Soba was grinning, his own hands up and in Cinna's hair and rubbing at his scalp, the meat of his thumbs just barely grazing over those ever-so expressive ears. Soba liked knowing how Cinna was feeling. Liked reading it. Liked learning all the little things that meant one way or another.
"But really, it's a free market. I encourage you to haggle."
-
Hmm.
Cinna's eyes fell closed when he felt the hands in his hair and he felt the purr rumble in his chest, ears flicking up and then relaxing down as the shiver's ran down his spine and back up. His hand pushed up Soba's shirt further and he listened to the counter offer on the price of cuddles. Cinnamon Rook was aiming to make out of this deal like a bandit but he wasn't sure which one of them would actually be winning.
The secret answer was the both of them.
"How about," Cinnamon said softly, voice vibrating from the purr he was trying and failing to stop - what could he say? Head scritches were universally loved by all. "I trade in five cuddles for a sleep over, double the cuddles paid in increments of one and a half per hour of sleepover obtained," He opened his eyes slowly, breathing out a rumble before he shuffled slowly and rolled over to pin Soba under him.
Cinna kept his weight on his elbows and made sure they were only chest to chest. No doubt the man under him would feel the vibrations in his chest and he nuzzled his nose to his strange His and sighed softly, taking in the scent and relaxing. " And the last two cuddles can be traded in for a really hot makeout session - to be redeemed when I see fit," Cinnamon didn't wait for permission, instead he simply leaned in and pressed his lips to Soba's, arms curling tighter around his.
He hadn't seemed quite himself when he'd come in and Cinna kept the kiss gentle and sweet - though just as possessive and protective as he could ever manage to make such things. Cinna pulled back, stealing a second more chaste kiss before he hovered above Soba, his bright red hair falling forward and obscuring part of his face. "I missed you," He whispered, hand moving to cup his cheek and stroke his thumb along Soba's jaw.
"How was the day?" He whispered again, his chest still rumbling with his purr, "You seem a little far away," another stroke of his thumb along the side of Soba's face, "What are you thinking about? Do you want to talk about it?"
-
Soba hummed. He hummed and hemmed and hawwed, took out a little abacus and calculated just what Cinna had placed on the table as a counter-offer. He could almost see Cinna in a business suit, all super business with his business hands folded in front of him as they proceeded with negotiations and counter-negotiations for this most important of exchanges.
He only stopped humming whenever Cinna's nails moved over his ribs, catching him mid-breath and forcing a shivering mewl from the human's lips. Downright undignified for a business man conducting business. Which was entirely how Cinnamon Rook had gained the upper hand, pinning Soba down on the bed, the rattling rumble of Cinna's purrpurrs cascading over Soba's rips until he could almost pretend he were purring, too.
If he was like Cinna, he would have wanted to be purring, too. There was a lot Soba wished he was like, more and more and more these days.
"Deal, with the express condition that I cash in on one of those cuddle sessions post-haste, as a demonstration of the deal being sealed." Soba murmured, voice low and rumbling and so very very close to how he wanted it to sound. Still, he couldn't linger on the thought for long, eyes flitting closed as Cinna leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss so soft and sweet for a moment Soba could think of nothing else.
Which was, of course, the general effect Cinna tended to have on him. Which was, of course, something that Soba could not complain about in the slightest. Soba leaned into the touch to his cheek, the way Cinna's thumb moved over the stubble along his jaw-- he'd forgotten to shave again, Soba realized-- his own hands up and tangled in soft plumes of red, pulling Cinna down for another lingering kiss.
"It's washed out. Something wants to be here, I think." Soba said, vaguely, against Cinna's lips, trying to pull back from thoughts of what could have been and what it meant that they weren't. "It's muddled. A lot of readings. Nothing strong, but that's the problem."
He paused, thinking about chalky squares and boxes and numbers and sequences, tossed pebbles and bright daylight fading into evening light fading into no light at all. Outside, always.
"Kids are important to Kulshedra, right? Incredibly important?" He asked, dimly, brows furrowed tight as the chalk tried to steal him off and away and settle in his bones in his stead. Still too weak, and for the moment Soba hung on.
-
Cinna listened, golden eyes locking onto blue. A muddled day then. Let himself be pulled down into the kiss, let himself relax and take a breath and relish in the closeness of being with His. Snuggle in and let his tension of being away ease. Cinnamom hadnt anticipated how much he'd crave being around Soba.
It was an addiction. When he was home alone he was wondering what His was doing. Did he remember to have dinner? Remember to go to bed? Could he sleep? Were there nightmares? Cinnamom sighed and leaned down until they were chest to chest, enough weight on his elbows not to crush his precious rose.
The question about kids and kulshedra had his ears perk up, droop, wriggle a bit before he did his best to keep them neutral. "Well," did Cinnamom want to sugar coat this? "Yes." It was that simple, "It's... A little more deep than that but yes, they're important. We're a dying species, only a few thousand left." Cinnamom shrugged softly before rolling ovee with a grunt.
Ever an honest man, after he'd rolled onto his back - knees spread slghtly awkwardly to make room for his tail - and dragged Soba with him, to drape the rose flavoured man across his body. His hands moved to smooth up and down the human's thighs, sighing softly.
"Why?" Cinnamon whispered, voice quiet and careful, "Does that bother you? If you're interested in anything that's part of my culture you know ill tell you. Even if you dont like it. Or I dont.like.it." Cinnamon gave a lopsided smile, one ear going up before he sighed and closed his eyes, taking a.moment before he breathed in deep, cracking an eye open to give Soba a look.
"You'd better nap before bed because I dont plan on giving you a full nights rest," which was more of a promise than a threat.
-
His Inquisitor senses were tingling. Even through the considerable haze the day had left him in, and even with someone so perfect and safe like his Cinnamon, there was no taking out what had been ground down and hard-wired into Soba's brain. He had been trained, ever since he found his specialization, to notice the little things, have an eye for details, and be able to read anyone like a book all without the aid of his considerable telepathic potential.
It was his job, after all. So despite Cinna's attempts at keeping his ears neutral, the flick up was more than noticeable. The droop down was the most noticeable of all, and for a moment Soba's heart stopped, shuddered, choked and failed to start up again. Which hurt a lot, even if only for a second. The problem was figuring out why it hurt, but Soba was pretty sure he already knew the answer to that one, too.
Cinnamon answered in the affirmative, and some core part of Soba felt... good, that the Kulshedra Pilot wasn't trying to spare him with this. Soba didn't want to be spared, he wanted the truth. Ironic that a man like him wanted the truth as much as possible; all he ever spat out was the opposite, after all. Or rather, with anyone but Cinnamon, all he ever spat out was the opposite. Cinna, bless and damn him, had this uncanny ability to make him want to speak the truth too.
Soba rolled with him, hair falling around his face until a quick shake sent the long strands to the side and out of the way of any nearby mouths. Not exactly the best flavor, after all. Did not pair at all well with serioustalk. Cinna's hands moved against him, and Soba hummed as his muscles unknotted, the tension built up from a long day of running back and forth between evidence lockers rolling out with every pass of Cinnamon's palms.
"I don't know," Soba said, at first, frowning as he tried to consider just how he felt about his recently confirmed knowledge. The frown didn't last for long, not when Cinna gave him that wibbly grin. It always cheered him, when Cinnamon smiled, and Soba couldn't help but flash a little teeth of his own for it.
"I've never slept a day in my life. If I stop now, I'll never achieve the world record." Soba mumbled, the usual bullshit spilling out of him as he moved to plant a soft kiss to Cinna's collarbone, and then to the small corner of where his jaw and neck met. Promises, after all, were a delightful thing to be given.
"I think," Soba said, still against Cinnamon's throat, playing hopscotch with half a dozen more kisses. One, two, one, one... "I think it bothers me. I caught... something on the way home. A kid who wasn't important. Not like they should've been. And I thought, if maybe things had been different. Really different, they could've been important. And I thought, if things had been really different..."
Soba shifted, sat up, hands splayed against Cinnamon's stomach as he looked down at the other Pilot, trying to get his muddled brain to put his muddled thoughts together into a series of words that might be understood. Lying was so much easier, it didn't matter what kind of words he used then. But with this... with a lot of things to do with Cinna, Soba didn't want to lie.
"How much of what's important am I ruining for not being different? I'm Yours, but that's... all I can be. This will come as a shock, and I'm not trying to be alarming, or anything, but Noodlemama is an honorary title at best."
-
Cinnamon let Soba talk, with his head pressed into the pillows it was a little more difficult to move his ears around while he listened. His hands moved in tender strokes up thighs and sides and down again, letting them rest just above Soba's knees, where he gave a gentle squeeze and just... Soaked in the information. It would be easy to cut Soba off, explain how he felt and how what he felt was more important than what his culture decided he needed to do. Not what Soba wanted to hear though. Rather, not what he needed to do.
His hands moved up and down, reaching for his hands before he curled his scaled fingers between the softer smaller hands of the other man.
Snuggling down farther into the bed, Cinnamon coaxed Soba down, pulling his head to his chest so he could finger comb hair and rub at the shell of his ear and over his jawline. Now that he had this, now that he had this wonderful amazing confusing person in his arms, any imaginary future just ceased to exist. How could he put that into words though? A heavy sigh and he closed his eyes for a moment.
"So," Cinnamon wanted to confirm just what Soba's concerns were, "You're... What..." he paused, "Feeling guilty you can't have children with me?" A strange concern, but that's what he gathered, "It's hard wired in me to want to nurture kids." His hands moved to Soba's back and he did his best to make gentle movements, for his own good as well. "Like how when we're really fuckin' going for it I want to bite you. But I don't. Because that would really really hurt you." He paused not sure where he was going anymore.
"Culturally, children are important. There are so few of them, we're not good..." Cinnamon paused, glancing away because the phrase was sort of awkward, "Breeders." a pause and he went quiet. "That's why it's sort of a... Badge of pride, I guess. We get names when we have children. Like Indigo is Dorian. Just to celebrate. A long time ago, it was amazing feats that got us our names instead of the colour of our scales but... When we started to die off, our greatest contribution to our little society was... Carrying on the species." Cinnamon shrugged, having never really thought of it.
Another heavy sigh and he pushed his fingers through Soba's hair, "I'll live for a long time and... You're human." Cinnamon already hurt to think about it and he couldn't keep his lip from trembling, "I don't care about kids when I can have you. You're Mine. Do you know how much that means to me? How important you are to me? How lucky I am to have even found you? You're perfect. Just as you are."
Cinnamon sighed and kissed the top of Soba's head, the purring had stopped and he couldn't think of anything really, except that he wanted to make his little human stop thinking about it but... It was important and seduction could be used later. "You're not ruining anything important because you're the most important thing now. I don't care about the name. "
-
Even before Soba heard the words, he knew they weren't a lie. The tingle of the other man beneath him, the feel of Cinna's hands against his skin, all swirled up like a shaken snowglobe made of sparks of light and spice and fire, all of it sank into Soba's bones as being the absolute truth. And like fire, it chased shadows, rended them small and flickering instead of all encompassing, heating his skin and his hair and his bones and his soul until it all billowed up and out of his ears and eyes.
Soba blinked, sniffled hard to try and keep his threads in line and stitching in place, the heated stuffing expanded to where it felt like he would burst. But man, if that wouldn't be the best way for him to go. There were worse ways of dying than bursting with love.
It felt odd, that he'd feel this good on the coattails of the very real statement that Cinnamon would outlive Soba by a long, lonely mile. But to Soba, this was... a relief. He wouldn't last, couldn't last, already well into the next quarter space of his life, and that brought with it its own kind of comfort.
Do you know how much that means to me?
"I think I can apply deductive reasoning to make an educated guess. I just have to change into my detective outfit and light my pipe, first," Soba quipped, if a little wetly, fingers tracing a long ellipse over Cinna's sternum. The purrpurrs had stopped-- Cinna was clearly not nearly so happy with the idea that he wouldn't have to suffer being attached so thoroughly to a squishy noodle for long.
Soba shifted, raising himself up so he could stare down at Cinna, his hair curtaining around them. At first, he didn't say anything, simply watched, eyes flicking from Cinna's eyes to his ears to the way his mouth was just this much too-wide, the dusting of scales and how they glittered even now, each bright bloody garnets in their own right.
Just when did he ever deserve to be this lucky?
"I was looking forward to yelling out 'Bruce,' too. Damn. Such a disappointment." Soba breathed, though he did not put nearly the usual effort into riding the lie, voice quiet and barely a whisper as he leaned down to press kiss after kiss to Cinna's lips and chin.
"Mine's a good substitute, though, yeah?"
-
The sniffles weren't missed and Cinnamon felt his heart lurch because what if he had made Soba cry? That was the exact opposite of what he wanted to happen. Or something. There was never a worry that something he said wouldn't be understand. Of course, there were times he was careful of the words he picked. Careful of the actions he pulled. Movements he made. Most of what Soba said went in one ear and out the other though.
The purrpurrs were back in force and Cinnamona's pupils blew up, large and circular and dark. Mostly his mind was occupied with Soba wearing an old-timey detective suit of some kind. All crisp edges and Mmm. Cinnamon closed his eyes for a moment and quirked an eyebrow at the name Bruce. Opened his eyes when his brain unpacked the rest of the sentence.
"I mean..." Cinnamon moved his hands along Soba's legs again, pushing his hands up under his shirt to reach behind and tuck his fingers into the back of his precious human's hands, fingers wiggling, "If you want to me to go at it so hard that you just yell out all sorts of names and gibberish we can give that a try." He teased, voice a low rumble with a smirk on his lips. Cinnamon pressed up into the kisses and slid his hands up Soba's back, trying to do his best job at slyly pushing the shirt up and away.
"Soba," He said, voice turning serious again if only for a moment, "I will always tell you the truth. Unprompted. You ask me a question and I will tell you the truth, even if it hurts one of us." Cinnamon opened his mouth slightly, licking at the sharp teeth before he dragged Soba's shirt up higher and sighed a content noise, drawing his thumbs on either side of the unscaled ribs. "You just have to talk to me, any way you can at the time." Cinnamon slowly slid up to rest back on his elbows, "Really though. Bruce? Do I look like a Bruce? Do you want to yell out Bruce?" There was a pause and he grinned, "How about YavulTwo? I still think that's the best name to scream. In any and all situations."
-
The eyes could tell you so many things. The old adage of them being the windows to the soul was, while not entirely accurate, not without merit. Involuntary reactions, subconscious movements, glances and eyelash fluttering, all ringed sclera or narrowed into dark slits. Or, like now, pupils large and dark like shadows unto themselves, which either meant Cinnamon was feeling something particularly pleasant right now, or he--
--was lying on a table, jaw just slightly slack from lack of muscle tension, the barest hint of mauve behind pale and ghosting lips, eyes not even the right color anymore, the listed green more of an unsaturated moss encroached by the wide dark circles of pupils. No muscle tension, no tension in anything, nothing holding a creature hissing and spitting and clawing onto five more minutes of life--
No. Soba shuddered, blinking hard as his 11 a.m. appointment resurfaced with a vengeance. No. Just breathe and focus. Cinnamon was here, he was fine, he was purring and they were in love and talking about how everything would be okay. It was the truthiest lie ever told, if Soba thought about it. They both wanted it to be the truth so bad, but who could guarantee everything? No one. Soba blinked again, and was in his bedroom again, had the reassuring heat of Cinnamon below, those teasing hands doing their damnedest to be nice and sneaky-subtle about peeling Soba's shirt away from his skin.
Focus. Breathe. And take off that damn shirt because the more Cinna touched him the more that fire lingered, and the more that fire lingered the less Soba could mistake this all for the reading rooms. The Inquisitor arched his back, rolled his shirt up and over his shoulders, clearing his head only to be tossed to some side corner, most likely to be completely forgotten and/or made into a temporary kitten nest until he turned a clean-freak color again.
"I just want to yell yours." Soba said with a rumble of his own, disliking the cold against his chest and arms and urging Cinna's hands back to their roaming path. "I only want to yell yours, Bruce or Butch or Rodrick or Priscilla Queen of the Dune Wastes. Cinna--"
His breath caught as Cinnamon's thumbs brushed against his ribcage, ticklish static shocks dancing along his skin and making him shiver with the want to laugh, even now when the last thing he wanted to be doing was laughing.
"I just... I hate... hate the idea of you not getting to be Bruce. Not getting to set out little toy campfires. Wear your reading glasses and do all the voices to all those children's stories."
Soba's voice turned overly fond, then, palm cupping the side of Cinna's face, thumb touching at the dusting of scales settled over high cheekbones.
"When I do die... I want to die knowing you'll get to have that. I don't want you to lose another piece of your puzzle." His hand slid down, over Cinnamon's pulse and against his collarbone, drifting slowly to the center and that deep pit of scarred flesh that once housed something so very special. A cluster long gone, probably being made into some sick trophy to remember the nights where Cinnamon almost lost all of the pieces to his puzzle.
-
When they'd first started to hang out together, Cinnamon hadn't noticed the tiny flicks into memories. Now though, he could tell when a memory burst down the barriers and demanded center stage. The certain look on Soba's face when it was all he could see and think about. It never lasted too long - though he'd learned to associate the look with a potential mood change. Cinnamon was nothing if not good at improvising and adapting though. Soba was his His. That's how it worked.
A pleased trill rose from his mouth when the shirt was tossed which meant that the mood hadn't been soured- what was the mood though? Cinnamon was slyly-not-so-slyly trying to get Soba down into his skivvies to chase away bad thoughts with his appendages and now that the shirt was off he just wanted to nibble and kiss and caress. His ears flicked up, a little smile on his face, Priscilla Queen of the Dune Wastes did have a nice ring to it, though it was a little long winded.
The warm hands returned to roaming, over Soba's back, down his arms, over his shoulders and back again. Though, as fun as Priscilla would be for a name, he loved hearing his name - any version of his name - said in that voice. No matter the tone or pitch. Angry. Happy. Sad. Cinnamon looked up at Soba, his hand mirroring the other mans before he turned his head slightly to kiss Soba's palm and closing his eyes for a moment.
It confused him, why Soba was so concerned about this. Just the mentioning of him being gone made Cinnamon frown, his eyebrows drew together and he only popped them open when he felt touch against his sensitive scar. Cinnamon shuffled underneath Soba so that he was sitting - careful to keep his little human love on his lap. "Soba," Cinnamon sighed, cupping his cheeks, "What makes you think all of this is just occurring to me?" he smiled slightly, a little sad, "Do you know how terrified I was of any commitment? With anyone? Baby-Making parts or otherwise? Scared fucking shitless." He shook his head, hair falling into his eyes and his ears pinned back, remembering.
"I always thought I'd live to be as old as the elders, find some nice Kulshedra girl and try to have kids for sixty years and maybe have one. Maybe," A little shake of his head, "And then I met you. And you're amazing and confusing and I love you. I loved you the second you lied about the kittens. But I was so scared of that because you're human, and you're not going to live as long as I will and that was scary." Cinnamon took Soba's hand over the scar on his chest, held it there and used his other hand to guide their foreheads together, "Above all else, being with you is worth any and all puzzle pieces I lose on the way, because no matter what, the outline is there and I can fill in the missing parts with pieces of your puzzle."
There was a pause and he smiled, "Besides. Izzy's pregnant, Deego has Almond. My mom's about to have another kid. That's a lot of babies that need attention," Cinnamon moved in for another kiss, purring into it because despite the mention of death he was pleased to be so close. "Lots of chances to wear my glasses and read in silly voices. Lots of birthdays and yules to give away fires. I don't want a name if you're yelling out 'Cinnamon.' I want that one. Even if it might sound like you really fucking love baking to people that don't know I'm railing you into a desk." Cinnamon tucked his face against Soba's shoulder and curled his arms around the mans torso, holding him close, eyes closed.
"How about," He said softly, "We make the most of what we have," He paused and gently scraped his teeth along Soba's collar bone, mouthing at the side of his neck in an effort to distract him from the matter at hand. Cinnamon said he'd always tell the truth, not that he'd never go out of his way to distract from the conversation. "And what we have, is me and you. And our cats."
-
God, Cinnamon sounded good when he was pleased. Not just the little trill, though those were by far Soba’s favorite, but just how Cinna sounded when he was happy. The smile in his words, how his voice lilted when he was feeling silly, the gentle teasing mockery behind a mischievous grin.
God, but Soba loved it. The Inquisitor hummed, leaning to press soft kisses to Cinna’s brow, noting how Cinnamon’s ears flicked forwards in the same way that usually meant Soba would see him smiling. Every time they flicked like that, Soba found himself getting a little excited. Just a little, a blossoming warmth that hit him dead center in his belly.
Cinnamon’s lips against his palm just cemented that feeling in him, and Soba couldn’t help but smile a little bit himself. Nothing hiding behind another kiss couldn’t help, of course. But the smile stopped at another telltale twitch of Cinna’s ears, and a quick look saw that Cinnamon was indeed frowning. Distantly frowning. Distantly concerned. Something wrong.
Soba blinked when the Kulshedra Pilot moved, taking Soba with him until they were both sitting up, face to face and breath to breath and eyes to eyes. Cinna held Soba’s face, and for a moment the Inquisitor thought that no one on the entire planet could smile as sweetly as him. It was just terrible it had to be so sad.
It was terrible something Soba said made Cinna’s ears go back the way they did.
But oh, did what Cinnamon said sound so good. Soba shivered, loving how Cinna said things like ‘confusing’ and ‘love.’ He let the older Pilot pull them together, let their foreheads brush and their hands fold, skin to skin and wanting nothing more to stay that way. To stay the spare pieces to the puzzle.
At the mention of all the babies inbound and present, though, Soba did have to laugh. Because yes, there were plenty of babies that would need all the attention Cinnamon could muster. Well, outside of very special attention only Soba was allowed to take for himself. Special attention that involved a seemingly unmatched enthusiasm for making snickerdoodle cookies.
Soba really, really fucking loved baking snickerdoodle cookies. Especially pinned against a desk. He shifted with every movement Cinnamon made, returned every kiss, rolling into a comfortable cuddle.
Making the most of what they had… well, that sounded nice. Very nice. Paired excellently with a vintage nibble. Soba turned his head, letting his hair fall to the side to better expose his roses to further kissing.
“Me and you,” Soba repeated softly, “and the cats. Yeah… yeah. I can make the most out of that. More than the most. I’ll make the most most you’ve ever seen made.”
-
Cinna nibbled at the roses, laved his tongue against the pulse point and moved his hands to Soba's hips to grind him down while he ground up. There was only so much gentle petting and nuzzling and snuggling and kissing a man could take before the hard choices came.
"You need to make a choice," Cinnamon growled, voice low while he dragged his teeth across the tattoo and dragged his nails gently down Soba's back, dipping into the back of his pants to squeeze at flesh and hold him closer. "Your choice," He nipped at Soba's jaw and the purrs started up again. Honestly he could go either way, though the slowly growing problem in his pants was getting harder and harder to hide - pun intended.
"I make us dinner. We have a nice meal, watch a movie, chat, snuggle and then cuddle up and sleep," Cinnamon moved to catch Soba's mouth with his own, nuzzling into a gentle kiss. "Or, we just spend the rest of the day right here and if we get hungry I'll just distract you from that until we can drag ourselves out of bed in the morning."
-
Soba liked baking. It was simple enough. There was a formula; you followed the steps, did the chemistry right, and if you didn’t magically forget how to read a box, you were pretty much guaranteed a delicious result. Soba splayed his hands over Cinna’s chest, bit his lip as Cinna’s teeth ran over his throat, the promise of a bite that never came. White hot electricity cascaded down Soba’s spine, settling warmly in his belly and adding to a rising discomfort of his own.
Soba really liked baking. Especially when there was just such an abundance of ingredients at hand. The Inquisitor hummed, half in thought and entirely against Cinnamon’s mouth, keeping the kiss nice and languid and sweet while he weighed his options.
Weighed his options and rolled his hips, pressing back against those groping hands and Cinnamon’s own personal bit of excitement over the idea of playing the distraction. It didn’t help matters much on his end, but that was kind of the point, and so Soba simply relished the friction, the muffled sound of cloth and the overwhelmingly delightful sound of Cinnamon’s purring. If the bite-tease was electricity, that purr was the rolling thunder, interrupted by growling words that had no business sounding so good.
So fucking illegal. Soba should have arrested him right then and there.
“I did trade you a sleepover.” Soba said, voice raw and heated, his hands sliding beneath Cinnamon’s own shirt to run over the firm curves of muscle there.
“Only until the morning? I guess a man eventually has to eat, but… however will we pass the time? I’m counting on some seriously heavy-duty distracting skills, Mr. Rook. Very heavy-duty.”
-
Heavy-duty?
Cinnamon sucked in a breath slowly, eyes falling shut while he weighed his options. Heavy-duty distraction. Had he put everything away in the kitchen? He paused for a moment, ears pinning back while he mentally retraced his steps from earlier, texting Soba. Hoping it wasn't an awful day but getting ready for it in case it was. A nap. Then... Cinnamon chewed on his lower lip and looked at his little human love from under his eyelashes.
"How heavy-duty is heavy-duty?" He purred, following Soba's silent instruction and removed his shirt, slipping it off and dropping it beside them on the bed. Pushing a hand through his hair he took Soba's hands and placed them on his chest, the purrs picking up while he moved his own hands down Soba's sides, pushing at the hem of pants - though it didn't work so well with the other man straddling his hips. "Hmm, I'm just gonna..." He said softly before urging Soba to turn around so his back was to his chest.
"There," He purred, biting and nipping at the bare shoulder before him, licking at the neck and nibbling at his ear. "Heavy-duty it leaves you panting, or heavy-duty it'll be hours and hours and hours and the second I let up you're going to pass out sated, still throbbing and happy?" Cinnamon nuzzled again, smoothing his hands over Soba's chest before one went to pet at his collar bone and throat and the other one went to the front of his humans pants to undo the cursed clothing bits.
Cinnamon was a warm creature. What scales he hand were smooth to the touch and he bit down gently on the junction of Soba's neck and shoulder before his hand slipped down into those pants. Hand grasping at his cock and mouth purring against the flesh in his neck. "Tell me what you want," He whispered, moving his hand gently, more to tempt and arouse than get him off. "Anything you want, my precious Noodle," He stopped his hand and guided it back up again, nails gently scraping against skin of his belly. "Unless you just wanna cuddle and fall asleep, which is fine too. I'll be your heat rock."
-
How heavy-duty was heavy-duty?
Soba rolled without too much convincing, scooping his hair back and over his far shoulder to keep it out of Cinnamon’s face, and let out a long, soft sigh as his back stretched out against the warmth of Cinna’s chest. He could feel the Kulshedra purring beneath him, feel the stuttering in his throat as the sound rumbled up and against Soba’s throat, and especially feel how every last vibration sang along his nerves and went straight between his legs.
Soba’s eyes hooded, the deep blue turning near black with desire, before his lids fluttered and closed with the sensation of teeth on his skin. Heavy-duty was rapidly becoming apparent, his uniform pants tight in the worst possible way. And yet still with enough room for Cinna to slide one achingly warm hand in, to take a hold of Soba and send every last kaleidoscopic thought out the window.
Good riddance, really, Soba thought, or perhaps murmured, head turned to try and catch Cinna’s lips with his own. He stretched his legs out, planted his feet against the soft sheets of the bed beneath them, and pushed, rolling his hips back and forth between the hand that gripped his cock and the warmth of Cinnamon below.
“Sleep,” Soba began, a bit breathlessly, his own hands reaching to grip at Cinnamon’s arms, at his hips, at anything his blunt human nails could catch hold of, “is a conspiracy made up by the pillow industry to cut back on biting-related damages.”
A particularly delicious movement had him groaning, interrupting the quirked grin he’d been formulating the longer his bullshit story went on. A pity, because it really did seem like it might have gone on to be a prize-winner in the Snarky Smile World Series. Oh well, you win some, you lose some, and right then Soba was all about losing. Especially when it came to something as awful as pants. He squirmed, tugging at his belt loops to get those pants down and over his thighs, wanting some goddamn relief from the pressure that had been steadily building in his abdomen with every delicious word out of Cinnamon’s mouth.
Speaking of which, he owed that mouth a kiss. And an answer. But first the former, the inquisitor turning just enough to thread his fingers in Cinnamon’s hair and pull him close. Their lips moved together, soft and wet and full of all the things that normally just went without saying. And still did, but for how happily Soba sighed when they parted again.
“Heavy-duty is the duct tape you’re going to have to use to get me to stand on my own,” he said, finally, staring at the close-up blur of red hair and mischievous teeth, “because what I want is this entire floor to know how much I fucking love making snickerdoodles at increasingly wee hours of the morning. As any self-respecting baker does.”
-
The amused snort was hardly attractive and sure Cinnamons hand was currently wrapped around the most wonderful, beautiful person in the galaxy - The universe actually. Still, the silliness available to Soba at any given time made Cinnamon love him all the more. Always words from the tip of that delicious tongue and he couldn't help the little growl at the rocking he was doing. A moment to pause and the red Kulshedra was tempted to torture him a little bit more. That'd be cruel though, right?
Right.
An evil grin was on his face when Soba frustratedly undid his belt and pushed his pants down. Teeth gently nipping at shoulders and his tongue laving at his neck before he pressed gentle kisses there. Cinnamon helped push down the pants further, letting his nails drag across thighs and finally, once those were to the knees he moved a hand to Soba's abdomen and pulled him close again. Hand returning to Soba's cock and giving it lazy gentle strokes while he purred and trilled.
The kiss caught him off guard, but he pushed into it, squeezing his hand around Soba's member and rolling his thumb along the tip. His free hand smoothing up and down his human's belly before he let Soba move away, eyes a little glazed as he listened to him speak. Snickerdoodle? The idea wasn't lost on him, Cinnamon had an idea about the metaphor of baking. The fuck was a snickerdoodle though? He'd never been a fan of sugar so he didn't know much about cookies.
Another little bite and he paused for a moment. He wanted to get Soba off but he didn't want to hurt him. "Hang on a second, baby," He said voice growly and gruff before he leaned back, leaving Soba's back cold and Cinna's chest freezing while he went to the drawer beside the bed and yanked it open. Looking inside there was... Nothing. Damn. "I gotta go find the lube," He grumbled, shimmying away from the warmth of His.
A gentle grumble and he tried to remember the last place they'd done the dirty. Obviously aroused, flushed, ears pinned back and red hair a floofy hand wrung mess he frowned down at the ground before he pushed his pants down and off, pulling his weird scaled feet out of the pool of fabric before he kicked them off in the room and meandered through the house looking for said sex aid. "You know," He called from the kitchen, opening drawers and looking in them, making a pleased noise when he found it in a junk drawer.
Finally back in the room he stood there naked in the door way, hard as a rock and pleasantly warm in the cheeks, "I've never really asked what you thought about me naked," He looked down at himself and -ignoring the very humanoid penis - he was sort of odd looking. Scales down his back, his legs red and shiny, his tail giving gentle waves behind him because he couldn't quite contain how much he loved being here with this person.
Another pause, "Anyway," He tossed the bottle of lube on the bed before he returned to it, standing on his knees before he got down on all fours and did his best to mimic a predator crawling towards prey. Ears pinned back, purr in his throat, all curled lines and sleek calculated movements. "You know it's not that late right? The wee hours of the morning is a long ways away," a tilt of his head and a lick of his lips before he opened his mouth too wide and let the purr rumble out from between his too sharp teeth.
"I'm gonna snickerdoodle you into the bed until all you can't tell where I end and you begin," He grabbed Soba's ankle and yanked him down the bed so he was flat on his back, hand climbing up his knee to squeeze his thigh, pushing his leg open so Cinna could crawl between and nibble at the sensitive flesh beside his knee. "I tried reading a book on dirty talk," He admitted, looking up sheepishly before he drew more kisses up his leg to graze his teeth along Soba's hip, ignoring what he really wanted to touch entirely, "Mostly it was just awkward. I'm not mature enough for sex help books." He chuckled, nuzzling at his belly button and dragging his nails along Soba's thighs as he moved between them, "I think I like doing this on a bed," He admitted, lifting his head up, ears perky, "Get you all ...sprawled out and displayed. Should do it here more often. And," He pressed a kiss to Soba's chest and nipped at his collar bone, "no hip bruises from counter tops. I always feel guilt and aroused when I see those. Terrible combo."
-
It was amazing how the proper application of teeth and nails— tools that, back in the days of distant ancestors, were weapons to rend and kill— could feel so goddamn good. Soba hissed with every little nibble, those soft little sounds shortly followed by a low moan as Cinnamon rubbed against the tip of his cock, sending shockwaves of pleasure all the way down to his toes.
It was all just so much, like being lost in a sea of colors but so much better, surrounded by warmth and purrpurrs and Cinnamon’s hands and all those wonderful nibbling kisses. Moments like these… genuinely, they made it worth it. The only downside of being like this with Cinna, though, was that Soba felt his absence all the more sharply when they did part. Like right then. He blinked, barely understanding what was happening before Cinna was up and out of the bed, leaving the Inquisitor feeling far too cold without him.
Cold and painfully hard. Soba groaned his displeasure (totally not whining at all), and propped himself up on his elbows to watch the open doorway of his bedroom, and gave the empty space his absolute best pout. Like, really put every effort into it. Made every last actor and actress weep in their beds for not being able to pull off a pout so awe-inspiring and lip-wibbly.
Not that he could hold onto the expression for very long, not when he heard Cinna rummaging around for their missing lube. That bottle sure did get around, and this wasn’t the first time they’d just shoved it someplace inconspicuous and forgotten where that someplace inconspicuous was. And then Cinna was back, asking about what Soba thought about all of that, and the Inquisitor couldn’t help a long, lazy grin and a very pleased rumble all his own.
“What I think? Well, now, that’s a dangerous train of thought to be a passenger on. I hear bandits regularly hit those trains for everything they’ve got, derail them and everything. Don’t ever eat Solartan seafood, Cinna, it’s full of nothing but brain bandits.” He blinked, before shrugging, as if admitting to this being an exact case in point. Soba watched Cinna through his lashes, his grin turning soft in perfect correlation to his honesty. “I think I love you more and more every time I see you.”
He went right back to grinning, however, as the Kulshedra crawled up onto the bed, all slow, languid, stalking movements that set off every last primal prey sense and sent all of them right to his cock. Soba bit down on his lip to stifle a moan, and failed miserably when Cinna sent him flopping onto his back with one quick tug. Sometimes Soba forgot how strong Cinnamon was. Sometimes Soba was reminded in the best of ways.
“Oh, snickerdoodle me. Snickerdoodle me hard.” He purred, though the sound wasn’t nearly so good as when Cinna made it, and reached down to tangle his hands in red hair. He mewled with every little nip and bite to his thighs, toes curling the higher Cinna went, and the grip on Cinna’s hair tightened as those nails scraped along his thighs. The fog was returning with a vengeance, everything else fading away until all that was left was him and His. His and him. Cinna’s and Soba’s and both of them one and the other and back again. It was a heady thought, a wonderfully warm and heady thought, and for a moment Soba forgot what they had been even talking about.
“Yeah?” Soba said, breathless and aching, knees splayed to make plenty of room for Cinna between his legs. The sight of which was doing wonderful things to the Inquisitor, rolling his hips just a bit in desperation for a little friction. “I like the hip bruises… every time I move I remember being bent over for you for hooours. Does make it hard to get work done, though.”
Which was remarkably true. More than once he’d had to make special effort to get his pulse under control, and more than once he’d been thankful that his job largely involved being seated at a desk. He hummed, shook a few errant strands of hair out of his eyes, and pulled at Cinna’s shoulders to bring him up and into another heated kiss, the ones that Soba always daydreamed about when his hip-bruise-aches were particularly good.
But no, Cinna had a point— this was way better. Pressed back into the sheets, the full weight of Cinnamon above him, the rattling of his purrs caught between them. And oh, there was no mistaking how Cinna felt about it all, Soba biting down on the Kulshedra’s lip as he slid a hand between them, pressing their cocks together and slowly pumping. The Inquisitor shifted, grinning wide as he tilted his head, just enough to brush his lips against Cinnamon’s own wonderfully expressive ear.
“You like seeing Yours like this? Wanting you this bad?” He gave them both a little squeeze to emphasize his point, his grip already a little wet from how much he was leaking precome. “Needing you?”
-
The initial interest for Soba hadn't been sexual. Cinnamon found him fascinating and unique in a way no human had been before. Strong. Beautiful. Cinnamon was attracted to the sweet shivers when he growled and the sweeter snuggles when he purred. It terrified him.
Cinnamon let himself be pulled into the kiss that daydreams were made of. Pushed into it. Nibbled and bit and licked. Never in a hundred years did he think he'd get so lucky, to find His. Even if at first neither of them were going to admit it. He nuzzled into the sweet kiss, exhaling slowly when Soba reached between them.
A little unanticipated jolt of pleasure and he growled deeply from it, almost like a hum. His pupils went wide, almost eating up the whole iris before his brain processed Soba's words. Taking note of how slippery his hand was against them.
It took half a second for his irises fo turn to little slits. His pleasure keen at how needy and wanting Soba was. Cinnamon wanted to moan, but instead he rocked his hips to grind them together and placed a long breath stealing kiss to his favourite pair of lips in the galaxy.
"Fuck yes I do," Cinnamon leaned up after another kiss to Soba's throat, his cheeks and chest flushed nearly as red as his glittery scales. Cinna sat back, legs tucked under him so he was kneeling on the bed, giving a quick glance around on the sheets he licked his palm before he pushed Soba's hand away from theie cocks and replacing it with his own. "I love seeing how much you need me."
"I wanna watch you fall apart," Cinna whispered, shifting back so he could focus on his Soba with slow tortuous movements of his hand before picking up the pace with the clear intention of getting His off before he even started thinking about himself. A wind down from a bad day. A safe pair of arms to melt into. Be safe in. "And keep your eye out for that lube," he growled, "I think it's trying to run away," Cinnamon smirked, "It must know where I wanna put it so we can make pain-free snickerdoodles."
-
Soba was glad he chose red.
He’d gotten his tattoos, years and years ago, back when he was just a freshly minted Pilot Echo well on his way to a life outside of endless background examinations and into more important work. They’d been symbolic, as these things often are, but the part he had hemmed and hawwed over the most was the color. Because really, in the language of flowers, color was everything.
Where other cities had their accents, or their own dialect, Margad had its own special way of saying something. Petals for words and hues for tone, it was something that every citizen of the greenest dome in Aedolis knew from the time they could talk. Daisies for the innocent, cypress for the lost, and roses…
He had been tempted, originally, to go with a soft yellow hue for the petals. Sinking everything into his purpose in life— yellow roses for infidelity, for betrayal, for all the intensity that bringing traitors to light carried along with it. But something had made him hesitate, to waffle backwards and forewards. This had, of course, been back when he was far more Talbot than anything else, and so Soba was entirely sure that the hesitation had been his and his alone.
And he’d chosen red, instead. It didn’t make sense, but then, that had turned out to be perfect all in its own way. Because nothing about Soba was sense, and that had been exactly what had gotten him here in the first place, hadn’t it? And now here was Cinna, flushed and glittering red, so wonderfully close to the hue he’d picked for himself years before he’d ever realize how important it would become to him.
Soba couldn’t stop watching him, how he moved, how his ears flicked, how he looked with his cheeks so dark and his pupils so thin. The Inquisitor lifted his legs, wrapped them around Cinna’s waist to keep him as close as possible as they moved together. He made a sound, something bordering on a mewl as Cinna pushed his hand away from their joined cocks and replaced it with his own. Left with nothing else to grip onto, Soba let his arms fall back over his head, gripping onto the pillows instead and arching off the sheets.
It was all he could do; all control had been taken from him, Soba completely at the mercy of whatever pace Cinna decided to set. And that pace was quickening, Soba letting out breathy little gasps as he writhed against Cinnamon’s lap. If His wanted to watch him fall apart, well… Soba had a feeling he wouldn’t need to wait too long. He pulled and tugged at the pillow beneath him, head back and mouth open to let loose all manner of noises, thighs jerking the closer he got to losing control completely.
“Kneecap it,” Soba mumbled in between shuddering moans, “can’t run without kneecaps— fuck I wanna make snickerdoodles, I wanna put entire bakeries out of business— ah!”
And there he went not making sense again, eyes screwed tight as all the heat in his belly became overwhelming, the entirety of Soba shivering and shuddering as he came over Cinnamon’s hand. For a moment all Soba could do was lay there like a boned fish, groaning in delight as the tension he had been carrying through the day was alleviated by a fair amount. But as he shifted, he could still feel Cinna’s own neglected cock against him, and that had Soba’s eyes opening to catch Cinna with a smoldering gaze.
Soba pushed up off the bed, hoisting himself up until he was seated in Cinnamon’s lap, one arm around his shoulders and mouths crushed together. He didn’t even care about the sticky mess between them, rocking his hips back and forth with low little purrs of his own as he ground down against Cinna’s need.
“I think it rolled under me,” he said after breaking their kiss for air, looking back over his shoulder to find that telltale candy-pink lid. “Arrest the miscreant.”
-
Cinnamon's ears were doing a dance. Going from being perky up like a bunny to pinned back in an effort to hold back his urges. Twitching to catch all the sounds, the pants and moans and strange string of words Soba said that made no sense. All he could do was smile down at His as he couldn't figure out what to do with his arms and seemed to have forgotten how to string words together. Finally though, Cinna's determination to get Soba off paid out and he gave a wolfish grin down, red hair falling into his face on the side, near panting with his own uneased need.
"Yessss," Cinnamon hissed, mouth hanging open a little too wide, fangs on display before he brought his hand up to his mouth to lick come off his hand in a broad swipe before wiping the rest of it off on his chest. It never tasted good but it was an odd possessive impulsive thing. "That's it," He whispered, eyes hooded, flushed brighter. His ears pinned back in mild concern when Soba sat up suddenly, but there was little more than a whimper when he smashed his face into the kulshedra's.
It was like he forgot how to breathe. Whenever he was with His he just... Didn't want to exist anywhere else. So consumed with making everything wonderful and perfect and perfect and wonderful. Cinnamon pressed into the kiss, his hands moving to Soba's hips give give him a gentle squeeze. A silent request to not wriggle on his lap. Cinnamon pressed a kiss to Soba's neck when he looked over his shoulder, pressed kisses to his shoulder before he looked over his shoulder too and...
"Ah-ha," Cinnamon purred, reaching back - making sure to hold Soba close so he didn't fall off his lap - to grab that bottle of lube. Cinna nibbled at Soba's rose along his throat, tongue reaching out to trace petals with nips and nibbles before the snap of a lid and cool slick fingers pressed to Soba's hole. A heavy purr, one that vibrated near Cinna's whole body while he worked Soba with his fingers, in effort to make it easier for actual intercourse and because Soba had asked him for a whole night event.
Wouldn't do to finish himself off quickly. Mentally he'd promised himself to exhaust His out so much that he wouldn't even be able to dream - or his dreams were just replays of the evening at hand.
Cinna didn't let up with his fingers, though he did raise his head from Soba's rose to make some intense eye contact, pupils little slits because he needed to see Soba come apart in his arms. "You're so beautiful," Cinnamon whispered, eyes hooded, mouth open and hot pants leaving his mouth. "All flushed with your hair everywhere," Cinna moved in for a deep kiss, adding a third finger and working him harder, his other hand squeezing Soba's hip. "I'm not going to stop until you beg me to," He finally whispered, biting at his scaleless shoulder and nuzzling at his throat. "All you gotta do is tell me what you want," He teased, a delightfully evil grin on his face as he did his very best to drive Soba just a little bit crazy, "Or just smash your face into my face."
-
Soba was only human. He didn’t have feral instincts, his senses were dull in comparison to most other species, and his existence was a fleeting moment at best. But in that moment, watching Cinnamon’s reaction, seeing him hiss and lick at his hand and just look so damn good doing it—
For a moment, something feral had moved in Soba, and that feral something demanded he keep as close to Cinnamon as possible, showering him in insistent kisses to whatever part of Cinna he could reach. It was… entirely unlike him. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this overwhelmingly attached to anyone; it was downright addicting, the prick of sharp teeth and the smell of his hair and all those vibrating purrs had Soba’s heart thrumming hard and wild in his chest.
The initial touch of Cinna’s fingers had him hissing, flinching against the cool lube before that rapidly dissipated, leaving nothing but delicious heat in its wake. Soba moved back against those fingers, panting and flushed as little sparks of sensation flooded him, filling him with that same familiar ache that had been alleviated just a few minutes ago. It was overwhelming, the stimulus almost too much too soon, and with every stroke and every added finger, Soba became less and less capable of doing anything but hanging on for dear life.
An entirely un-Inquisitor-like whine escaped him when Cinna stopped biting at his rose, but that was soon echoed by another equally un-Inquisitor-like whine as their gazes met, sharp pupils and golden eyes boring into Soba and making him feel wonderfully and overwhelmingly exposed. But that was fine, more than fine, because this was his Cinnamon, the man he loved like he’d never thought he’d be capable of. His breath stuttered, words catching in his throat as Cinna’s fingers pressed into him just so, making the edges of his vision go bright with stars, haloing Cinna in the best way. Sob even thought for a moment Cinna’s scales glittered, shimmering and gorgeous and so strange and so perfect.
Soba moved his hands up, over those broad, strong shoulders, letting his blunt nails drag along hot skin as Cinna spoke, every last word going straight to his cock, already half hard again. His face was on fire, his head was swimming, and for all of that all Soba could do was grin and beg for more. Which, of course, he was only too happy to do.
“What if I don’t want you to stop?” Soba panted, shaking his hair out of his face to better watch Cinna’s every move, delighting in how thin his pupils were and how his teeth glinted in the low light. He slid his hands up, cupping Cinna’s face between them and guiding him up into another heated kiss, Soba’s eyes fluttering closed for as long as they were pressed together.
His eyes opened as the kiss broke, and he stared into Cinna’s eyes with all the barely controlled heat he could muster.
“I want you. I want you to throw me down and take what’s yours,” he purred, a sound that was nothing in comparison to Cinna’s patented purrpurrs (not available in a store near you, fuck off), but Soba sure as hell was giving it his best. “I want your teeth on my throat and it won’t be to kill me.”
Soba grinned, his own blunt teeth bared at the old memory, one that smelled strongly of coconuts and paper books. The moment was only broken by another low moan as Cinna drove his fingers in at that same wonderful angle that had his toes curling and his vision spotting. So much for smoldering playfulness (and thus any kind of dignity), it seemed that the flavor of noodle that night would be absolute wanton need.
No refunds.
“I’m all Yours.” He panted, rocking back against Cinna's fingers as best he could given his position in his lap. "Cinnamon..."
-
The best sound in the whole world was Soba gasping his name. Cinnamon purred loudly at hearing it, rumbling through his chest before he let his eyes fall closed so he could breathe in carefully to calm himself down. High strung and feeling needy, he moved his hands away from Soba and carefully moved to rest them on his thighs before he nuzzled his lips to his little humans. The words he'd uttered alone. Wanting his teeth on his throat. A shudder and he shifted them, moving his mouth to Soba's neck to put his mouth there.
It never occurred to him how odd it was for Soba to enjoy the jaw thing. Cinnamon having seen pictures of himself doing it or in the mirror unnerved himself. Still, carefully so he didn't puncture skin, he moved Soba back to the bed, pushing and pulling him with his hands to get him into the position he wanted before he drew back, pulling his mouth away. "As tempting as throwing you down was," He panted, pressing a harsh kiss to Soba's lips, he pulled away before arranging the human's legs around his hips.
"I would die before I hurt you," but, still, because he knew His liked it, Cinnamon pressed his teeth to his neck, letting his teeth pinch at the flesh with just enough power to feel it but not enough to puncture skin. Then, carefully, he reached between them before grabbing his cock and pressing into his little human lover. Cinnamon's purring stuttered as he pressed forward, sinking into the tight heat line a hot knife through butter. "You feel so good," He pulled away to pant, to press his lips to Soba's before he started to move, trying to find the best angle to make His see stars, one hand on Soba's hips to hold him there before he gave a needy whine.
His tongue and teeth grazed at the rose before he turned to the untouched side, hips snapping forward in an urgent rhythm before sliding back. Cinnamon never really knew how to process what being with His was like. The world lost focus and all he wanted to do was make Soba moan and whimper. Cry out. Beg. He wanted to dominate and bite and snarl. Pin down and take and take and take. Instead, he pushed the baser instincts aside and nuzzled and kissed, nibbled and bit. Never drawing blood.
Of course, the illusion of predator was there. Cinnamona's eyes were black slits surrounded by gold. His mouth hung open. His breath was a vibrating pant while he rocked against Soba, unable to help the hot breath and muted whimpers while he worked towards his peak. "I love you," He panted, tucking his head beside Soba's to breathe in the scent of his hair and gently bite at his ear, rocking into whatever spot gained him the responses he wanted. "Soba," He whined, squeezing his hip and picking up the pace, eyes squeezing shut, "Do you have one more in you?" He managed to grunt out, red faced and hooded eyed, lifting himself up onto his elbows, "I wanna watch you again," Cinnamon panted again before moving in for a kiss, before he purred out, voice soft and deep "You look beautiful when you come."
-
When Cinnamon stated that he would die before he hurt Soba, Soba genuinely believed it. He didn’t often believe people; it was his job not to believe people, to poke and pick and prod until he got beneath the truth beneath the truth to the real truth. But when Cinna said it, when Cinnamon said anything, Soba believed it.
Dark blue eyes darkened further as Cinna sank into him, the Inquisitor lifting his legs and hooking his ankles behind Cinna’s back as he was filled. He couldn’t help a low moan, head falling back against the covers as their hips met again and again, the fire in his chest spreading to every last inch of him, leaving him tingling and light-headed and utterly delighted.
A perfectly rosy color, literally and figuratively, and Soba bit down on his lower lip as Cinna’s teeth grazed against his throat, against his roses, up to his ear and leaving little tingling fires in his wake. The Inquisitor reached up, gripping onto the strong shoulders of the Kulshedra Pilot above him as he rolled his own hips upwards to meet every snapping thrust. It was impossible to hold onto his breath; Soba was panting, gasping for breath only to let it out again in sharp cries and shuddering moans every time Cinna slammed back into him and set off little fireworks in his skull.
Soba could feel it building, the heat in his abdomen raising to a fever pitch, thighs tensing as the familiar crescendo of impending release gripped him. His own member twitched between them, slick and dripping and so very desperate, and Soba mewled every time Cinna moved just so and rubbed against him while slamming at just the right spot to make Soba’s vision go white.
“Cinna—” Soba gasped, blunt human nails digging into flushed, scaled shoulders as words failed him with every mewling breath. The sounds Cinnamon was making weren’t helping— or were, depending on how you looked at it. And right then, Soba could only look into those predator-eyes, watch how his mouth moved and his teeth gleamed in the light, could only hear how Cinna’s breath rattled in his throat, the vibration passing between them as Soba returned the kiss with vigor.
“I love you, I love you, too,” Soba said by some miracle, the words rushed out with harsh pants for breath. Everything was so hot, his skin burning as he fought to maintain his grip on his lover, his Cinnamon Rook, his perfect shade of blood-red rose. “I’m so close, Cinna—”
Soba shivered, his words stolen from him as Cinna moved against him, their hips slapping against one another and making it hard to even remember to breathe, let along remember what words were and how they strung together. He blinked, at first not understanding what Cinna was asking of him, of what he meant by watching, and only after a few more addled seconds did Soba comprehend. He licked his lips, grinned through another moan, and shifted his legs just enough to hoist his hips up, all but slamming himself onto Cinna’s cock and crying out each time.
“Yours— nnh, fuck, Cinna, I’m—” he was babbling now, but he couldn’t hold back, not so soon after his previous orgasm, and eventually it all just became too much. Whatever rhythm they’d established became frantic and sporadic as Soba bucked beneath the Kulshedra— his Kulshedra— his thigh muscles twitching in time with his spasms as he came for the second time that night. Even so, he didn’t stop moving, gasping for breath as he rode through the tidal wave of sensation, making even more of a mess between them and desperate to see Cinna come as far undone as he felt.
Somehow, the human mustered at some manner of reserves, and shifted, rolling with Cinna still inside of him until the other Pilot was on his back. Soba’s hair stuck to his throat and collarbones, skin flushed and soaked in sweat, made all the more so from the sheer effort it took to keep his thighs moving, raising himself up only to rock back down on Cinna’s cock.
“Mine,” he breathed, voice low and raspy from overuse, eyes hooded and near pitch from how wide his pupils were as he looked down at his His. “Mine.”
-
There was a favourite thing of Cinnamon's and it was Soba's face lit up with pleasure. He rocked Soba through his second orgasm, growl rumbling in his throat, fingers gripping hips moving down to hold thighs. "Soba," He panted, voice shaky, giving a tremble when he was rolled over onto his back. He shook his hair from his face and Cinnamon let his Soba rock above him, his eyes fluttered closed and mouth falling open. He set his feet into the bed to stead himself, fingers dragging up and down Soba's torso.
His golden eyes opened again, his lower lip between his teeth. Seeing Soba mouth the words 'mine' and then finally hearing it had his ears twitch and his thighs twitch. He rocked his hips harder against Soba, feeling him and needing him on a strange bestial level. Cinnamon growled lowly, grunting with each thrust up on his near frantic pursuit to finishing. Pupils slitted, mouth open to pant, Cinnamon stared at Soba's mouth with hungry eyes and he gave a punched-out shout when he finally came. He held Soba tight to him, giving a few final thrusts up before he sat up, plastering their chests together and resting his cheek to Soba's chest.
Cinnamon groaned again, rocking his hips for a few moments before finally calming down, mouthing at Soba's collarbone. He purred, nuzzling and kissing at his lover's shoulder before he moved his hands slowly up and down Soba's back while he caught his breath and calmed. Pounding heart slowly going back to normal gentle thumps. "I love you," He breathed finally, voice a sweet rumble against Soba's throat before he groaned softly and gently guided them onto their sides. Cinnamon stayed for a moment, pressing his lips to Soba's in a gentle lingering kiss before he pulled away with a soft sigh.
"Hang on a second," He whispered, giving another quick kiss and wandering away, tail lazily waving behind him. Cinnamon returned with a cloth a few minutes later, already cleaned up himself, body cleaned up from the mess of lovemaking. Though he paused and groaned softly when he saw Soba again, he breathed deeply and closed his eyes for a moment before moving back to the bed to clean up his lover. Pressing the cloth over him carefully before tossing it into the laundry bin in the corner of the room. A little more manhandling, Cinnamon crawled over Soba on the bed and curled around his back, tucking his knees up behind Soba's and pressing a kiss to the back of his human lover's head.
"Hm," Cinna mumbled through a content purr, "I think I meant to talk more about something," He paused for a minute, lazily drawing his hand up and down the human's side, nails dragging just enough to cause goosebumps. Cinna hummed and haw'd, making sure his grumbles and growls vibrated through his chest to Soba's back before he remembered. "I owe you dinner," He murmured, "Do you want dinner, Love? Did we work up an appetite?" he lifted his head to rest his head on Soba's, curling a hand around to rest on his stomach, enjoying how cool Soba's flesh felt against the heat of his hand, "Are we a better colour now?"