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[18+]  So singt thy biting winds

Offline Eirik Apr 2 2020, 8:58 AM
#1
  • Corzya
  • Age: 20
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Eximius
  • Rank: Servant
  • Total Posts: 131
  • Played by: Day
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Long gone were the days when he woke not knowing where he was. The Rembrandt’s ceiling had become more and more familiar. He adjusted to the constant rocking of the ship. And soon he became used to waking with a roof over his head, wreathed under layers of sheets and covers and even, sometimes, with another sleeping form close by. As he wakes that night, pitch-black still, he hears the rumble of thunder in the distance. Eirik rolls over, finding the rest of the bed empty — a faint yellow light coming from the office.

The first storm he’d weathered at sea had made an impression on him. He’d thought that the waves were like mountains of water. The winds shook the ship and made it groan; the lights overhead were flung about, and in the end he had huddled down in the cabin until the swaying eased. A ship like this wouldn’t easily be sunk, but he didn’t know how the crew had gotten so blasé about it. To him surviving the storm’s wrath was like a brush with a watery death, for the sea had reached over the deck with her fingers in an attempt to pull them all under, so riled up from the wind and lightning. Eirik reaches over the side of the bed to grab a soft silken robe, sitting up to tie it around his waist. Then he makes his way to a window to peer out of it.

It was all black, but for the sporadic flashes of lightning. Far off in the distance — miles away — a cluster of storm clouds lit up the vast expanse of sea.

In the end, Erik had glaring emotional vulnerabilities that were easily exploited for someone as savvy with the psyche as North. Attention and affection were new, exciting prospects for a wild-living rogue. It took only a few weeks for him to get used to the idea, and then another few for him to actively seek it out. And the more familiar he became with the Rembrandt and its inner workings the more he liked that he felt special. It was greedy to be sure. And callous. For he had damned the rest and fallen in love and lust with the feeling, and shortly thereafter with the captain, the source of it all. He didn’t have to live in a cage. He got to stay in the cabin. And he needn’t entertain any clients, either; he was reserved. He could go where he wished — with some exception, of course, and not so much wherever they were docking in case he heeded the call of the wild again. But before he knew it he didn’t even mind that.

Eirik could have turned around and went back to sleep. From North’s office he could hear noises, too; some shuffling of papers, or clink of metal. He wondered what he was doing in there so late at night, or so early in the morn, whatever the case may be. And he was missing his presence. So, he pokes his head ‘round the corner to peek in on him. Eirik’s eyes light up as the candlelight reflects against it like a cat’s, only abating as he stepped closer and round the office table.

He slides both his arms around North’s shoulders. He presses the side of his face against his hair then rests his chin on the top of his head. The robe he wears reveals a glimpse of his flesh, including the now-very-faint mark of his arrow wound. “Do you hear the thunder?” he asks him, voice a little muted in his post-waking state. “Still a ways off but the clouds travel fast.”

He suspects he is not as worried about it as he is, so he tries to conceal the fact that he’s just trying to pry some reassurance out of him. Erik looks down at his work, which he is no doubt impeding. “It’s the middle of the night.” What’s all this for?
Offline North Apr 2 2020, 2:49 PM
#2
  • Corzya
  • Age: 45
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Human
  • Rank: Slaver
  • Total Posts: 109
  • Played by: Onii
300 Mana · View All Items?
Many weeks at sea were commonplace for everyone on board but the ones they'd picked up along the way during that voyage. Even Eirik had become far more accustomed, at least in aspects where it was necessary for him to easily get around and--gods forbid--not miss his chance to stock up on the sweets that were typically made with him in mind. While The Rembrandt was a fine-oiled machine that hardly catered to any whims, it wasn't all that much for the captain to request an increase in the frequency of desserts per day. They may have been small morsels to conserve resources and keep crew members from putting on too many pounds, but it was nice nonetheless. Any time at port during those months used for restocking also had North making special trips, even setting aside a small personal cache of confections in his office for the Eximius who had long since moved in there with him. It should have been concerning...After all, while North wasn't a very paranoid man he was very sensible, and didn't typically just foster the thought of letting someone share his cabin with him over long periods of time--especially not if they'd met in...well, the way he and Eirik had met, over two glasses of mousse and a crossbow bolt to the ribs. And at first the distance was kept, the boy was left in the operating room while he healed up, his wounds redressed periodically and he was monitored from there. Then he was allowed to stretch his legs on the deck and get some sunlight. After that he was offered to eat among the larger population as opposed to being holed off by himself, though the uncensored commotion of the crew proved more a concern for Cristiano that he'd let the wild Eximius eat in the more intimate setting of his cabin.

These minuscule tokens of attentiveness seemed to grow on Eirik as time went by in ways that North had easily pinpointed were..maybe a little excessive--but certainly not to his disliking. That growing attachment, the lack of attempt to jump off the side of the ship (not that it would have been SMART) or tuck away a knife at dinner time to use later was comforting enough that a transaction was made; that more freedoms were doled out as reward for good behavior. He was typically monitored on land whenever they made a stop, and wasn't allowed to disappear outside the port city, but overall was even allowed to stretch his legs the same as the crew. The crew in turn knew by now that Eirik was a "reserved comfort" of North, and for the most part had acclimated to seeing him wander around, peering into the kitchens at the head chef and his crew as they put the finishing touches on a cheesecake. With exception, of course, to Shirii, who was infinitely more respected and feared than Eirik was, people typically weren't allowed to watch the chefs work. Eirik however had that right as long as he didn't get in their way or get hurt.

Eventually he wasn't in the least bit wary about the boy. Respectful enough to know he was still Eximius absolutely, but no longer questioning whether the boy would snap on him and try to slit his throat when his back was turned. It was like falling in love with a tiger and keeping it in your living space--dangerous, but attractive.
Especially when it imprinted on ya. He'd noticed it well enough when the previously-flightly Eximius grew less shy of his proximity, his touch, and eventually sought those comforts out with a boldness that he'd not believe was real if he'd seen it weeks ago. It was cruel to exploit or indulge any nature of Stockholm, but North would argue it was better than the alternative of forcing and torturing, or neglecting and allowing him to lament over the reality of where he was and what was happening. True to his nature, North Cristiano could be a very extravagant man when it came to his own--and he considered Eirik just that, his own-- and in true fashion he pinpointed the man's preferences and indulged them when he felt it was warranted. He was invested in the utmost quality of his being because he was his, and the same as any other bull watching over the ranks of his herd, North proudly kept his new companion sated and situated.

North let him stay one night when the operating room was "in use" and the sounds of wailing from the cages there would surely have kept Eirik awake had he slept there. He'd seemed so at home there, twisted up in the heavy duvets as the ocean rocked around them, the chill of the room seeping in from an open window melting away when underneath the sheets and bear furs. The next night, he was allowed, and the third and fourth until he was a permanent resident.

Numbers. They weren't his specialty personally but the banker always proofread and made adjustments where necessary. Over the many years they'd been in business together, the work he'd been getting back from the loan shark were less and less marked up in red ink to the point where his original work was unrecognizable. He'd gotten far better at catching mistakes, noticing the missing sums of money and figuring out how to track them down. Right now Javel was waiting on the auction receipts from him so he could compile this season's gross income over what was spent for food, basic needs, medical supplies--the works to keep them actually running. The auctions that the circus carried out in their stead was passive income at best, with the personal hands-on sales racking up far more gold, but The Rembrandt sent so much Product there that in the end it was a very sizable morsel. The issue with that was...that the receipts were separate, one for each Lot #, and THAT meant that he was left there trying to jot down all the sums separately, add them up, and then pass THAT to Javel and hope that it was actually accurate. The thick stack of receipts were copied down one by one in the most tedious task possible.

A glide of movement crossed his peripheral vision, his silver eyes flickering up to the face of the Eximius who had just slipped out from the beckoning pitch-dark shadows beyond the office's doorway. As much as he'd wanted to join Eirik in bed long before now, Javel would be waking them with knocks to the door in the morning if he didn't have at least something for the ornery businessman to chew on. North waits for dialogue, some sort of explanation about why he wasn't asleep or what it was he wanted, but instead it comes in the form of action. Eirik slips around the desk and attaches to him at his shoulders from over the chair and North instinctively leans back with a long, audible exhale hissing from his nose. A soft grumble ripples across his large chest, the sound of a contented animal, his pen practically tossed into the jar of ink as his now-freed hand comes up and rests at the back of Eirik's nape, large fingers working the groove of muscle there. A soft petting, really. “Do you hear the thunder? Still a ways off but the clouds travel fast.” North had heard it in passing but wouldn't have actually remembered unless it was brought up. "Aye, I hear it." He answered back, as closely similar to Eirik's soft tone as he could possibly manage. "Jus' white noise, eh? Like snorin. Not a single storm's threatened this girl yet. Can evacuate ya easily too, if you worried about sinking." His use of Teleportation wouldn't be a secret by now, and so he reminds him that it was a possibility in case something really off the wall happened. All things considered, North was a very genuinely positive person. He downplayed things so easily, and at times they weren't even lies. Underestimations yes, but still not intentional lies. Going to him for any type of comfort or appeasement of concerns, then, was an incredible use of resources. Still, he's known a great many people on ships and knew that even the most secular or physics-based rationale wouldn't always quell the simplest fears of the heart, and fear of storms in particular was a common one that refused to die despite best efforts. "You're alright, boy..." He tells him as he shifts, tipping his own head back so that he can place a chaste kiss to the underside of the man's chin.

“It’s the middle of the night.” He needn't say more than that. His eyes fell to the mahogany desk riddled with stacks of paperwork, receipts, unfinished order slips and letters. Estimates and sketches of new equipment sent from blacksmiths who had been asked to detail the items he was interested in buying. And, most importantly, stacks of work featuring lot numbers, serial codes really, separated between the sold and unsold. One in particular of the latter group was staring him in the face just like it always was, Lot #45627844, and a graphite sketch of a dark creature ablaze. A heavy red stamp of "RETURN PRODUCT" had overwritten many before it.
North lets out a strong sigh that loosens his tense body further. "Inventory," he answers simply, "Lotta money comes in and out of here, y'know. More the former than the latter fortunately for my heart but. Wasn't always that way. Banker that'd done it for us got me on damn near lockdown until I get this for his books. No partyin on the deck for me, Jav says." It's said with a bit of a grunt at the end, a subtle show of his irritation--still trivial, though, because the banker wouldn't still be alive if it were genuine and deep-cutting. Javel had straightened the hell out of their books once the then-inexperienced captain had convinced this well-dressed Dire to work for not only a pirate ship, but a HUMAN at that. Fearing inequality and utmost persecution, Javel had been largely unwilling to leave his loan sharking business...but hearing that the Human needed financial help to buy another ship because he'd sold the last to save his Eximius best mate, well..it sparked some sort of hope that his lack of "seeing race" wasn't just a ploy. Clearly, he'd gotten comfortable. Comfortable enough to push Bull around with a studious finger and sharp, narrowed eyes. And Bull, well, he wasn't about to try and step in that ring of projections and graphs and inflation and act like he owned the place. So, he does what he knows.
Medicine and trafficking.
Offline Eirik Apr 2 2020, 8:38 PM
#3
  • Corzya
  • Age: 20
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Eximius
  • Rank: Servant
  • Total Posts: 131
  • Played by: Day
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“Hmm.” He even dips his head to make it a little easier for North’s kiss to land. He is a bit assured. The storms were far away. It was nigh impossible to see which direction the wind blew them, but perhaps it would veer off, or else burn itself out by the time it got here, covering the ship in a more gentle rain. Too bad they’d not a wind-vane. “Like snoring…” Evacuate him — just like that. He wonders where he would put him. On the bay, he supposed. He knew of North’s teleportation but was unclear on its specifics — just how far it might extend.

Eirik had never been interested in money or the accumulation of it. It just wasn’t ingrained in him. His (previous?) lifestyle ensured that he only cared about things that might help him survive and for that, salt was the far more valuable currency; sought it out as fervently as most sought out coin. He could get a few gold if he traded it for a pelt, some meat, or some herbs. That was it. So watching the numbers scrawled over North’s desk was almost unbelievable. It made him think all the money in the world must be here, somehow (strange that they don’t sink under the weight of it); hundreds, thousands, all separated by ticks for commas. On the flipside, it did pay for a lot of the strange, shiny things North kept in his cabin — things Eirik liked to get his hands on. Fancy trinkets and the like. Eirik was even impressed with the simpler ones, like the binoculars, or the globe.

“What’s that?” he asked, referring to the charcoal drawing, wondering idly what “RETURN PRODUCT” meant. He tilts his head, looking at it.

He thinks about what his looked like.

But he must not have cared too much, because there was hardly a pause to wait for North’s answer before he is running his cheek over his hair again, and pressing his lips against the top and side of his face once, twice, three times. “A shame the captain can’t join the deck when he makes the tap flow,” he says. North might have liked festivities, but Eirik was adverse to big crowds, and he tended to slip away when the carousing started. Then he rumbles under his breath. So close to his chest, North might hear it vibrate. “Javel says a lot of things…” Javel had left a horrid taste in his mouth (proverbial), for his first meeting with him had been something they called ‘an appraisal’, which was an embarrassing experience to say the least. There was clear indication thereafter that Eirik didn’t much like him, but at least he wasn’t throwing threatening looks in his direction, like he did Marty. “Hateful things mostly.” In any case he would love to see the day the eximius would say less but he wisely keeps these thoughts to himself.

Shirii he didn’t mess with. At all. One hiss from her and he was quick to back off; another one of his wise decisions that had kept him alive and well so far.

He went on, a quirk in his lips. “I could hear your pen scratching,” he said. “Night time work’ll make it slip, put in a bad number. Aren’t you tired?…And the sheets are cold.”

It was most surprising how demanding he might get when it came to affection. He liked it as much as he liked his confections. Yet none of it was ulterior; it was all the simple, plain want for contact, and the more North indulged him the drunker he got with it. He was a bit shy about displaying it in front of any crew members, of course, and he was even prone to looking sulky or ruminating in public — but, in private, and especially in the small hours of the night, he’d often roll over to seek out his warmth, or place a hand on his chest.
Offline North Apr 2 2020, 11:11 PM
#4
  • Corzya
  • Age: 45
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Human
  • Rank: Slaver
  • Total Posts: 109
  • Played by: Onii
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North was capable of a certain type of charm that, in the right point of view, made him all the more heinous. It was a genuine attentiveness without an ulterior motive in most cases, his preference for certain people worn on his sleeve. It's why The Rembrandt was home to a crew of hundreds by now, an infectious environment of pack mentality and relatively-free thinkers, and a captain who spun them around in drunken song just as easily as any same-ranked individual. It was easy for people on the ship (who are fortunate enough to get this side of him) to forget he was part of The Helm, as close to royalty as Corzya could get concerning its ranking system. A powerful man with powerful ties and even personal dynamics with other Helm and, in the past, even previous Pirate Kings and Queens. They may not have been as orderly as a Viceroy of Svalbard or a Duke of Dorsum, but in some circles that only made them more powerful. More readily aggressive, free moving without an excuse needed to be so.

So, despite rank and profession and how easily he was able to trap, capture, modify and sell living beings like merchandise, it was all just so commonplace for him that it didn't negate a kinder, more affectionate side to people he didn't (yet) plan on selling. He was one of those blatantly cruel people who could still have many coming to his defense, swearing on his good nature and reminiscing about the time he took a bullet for them or made sure they were paid enough on the ship to afford feeding their child back home. His herd was incredibly important, and that didn't change no matter how gruesome the nature of his lifestyle. He was shamelessly physical, and despite being rough by nature he could also switch gears for simpler, more paced interaction.
At least, until he got too into it.

Eirik had found his way onto that side by somehow charming the bullish Slaver into keeping him for himself. And as he sought affection, North didn't mind readily giving it. "Mmhmm." he responded with a hum to the confirmation of thunder being similar to "snoring," pressing his face against the crook that separated the Eximius' chin and neck. North was not only used to storms thanks to his life at sea but he'd even been born during one, and he can't remember ever seeing them as anything but just that--snoring. A rumbled that crawled from head to toe, urging you to let your muscles free and enjoy the darkness rolling in ahead. The calm before the storm. The charge in the air like an intangible perfume, attractive and exciting.

“What’s that?” He inquired about the glaring photo resemblance of the creature on the desk and North immediately knew that was what he was asking about. His eyes found it as well with a huff of breath like a load of weight was burdening him from the mere sight of it. " 's a Lot of mine," he's never shy about divulging his work, another boggling trait of his like he was completely unaware of how conflicting it may be to some--not that he's seen that sort of behavior from Eirik in all this time. He didn't have time to finish what he was willing to say about the infamous Pyromanic Eximius before he was being further graced with the younger man's coy (at least by North's definition) affection. He leaned into it further with a soft purr of his voice, a contentedness that Eirik would be used to getting out of the bullish older man. Despite the satisfying distraction from the stressor, North did his best to explain anyway, at times uttering the words against Eirik's warm and exposed skin. "...keeps gettin sent back to the circus. 10, 20, 30 times. ...construction and mining and pleasure seekers and--even damn pyromaniacs couldn't keepem, could you believe that? ..Gonna make us a lot of money someday." A diamond in the rough, really, with unforgettable presence and use. He'd thought for sure that infrastructure work would be the best for a creature perpetually on fire, smelting and adding fire to pressurized coal to make diamonds, welding, smithing--all the natural assumptions you'd make concerning where an Eximius of this type would be at home. He was that sort of thing you couldn't just let go even if it wasn't making you money YET, and although they were keeping a small percentage on the returns, the amount they could make from a full sale was about a thousand times what they were skimming off the top.

“A shame the captain can’t join the deck when he makes the tap flow,” North grumbled at that, though clearly he wasn't in a genuinely bad spirit about the idea. If he had been, it would have been far more obvious. This was more a trivial complaint than anything, because at the end of the day North liked money. Like, a lot. "Hrrrm, I knoow huh? Guess I can't really take the credit for makin' the tap flow if I ain't actually doin it." He could respect that idea, he supposed. if he'd played too much then eventually he wouldn't have the rights TO play. There was an order to things, even on a ship like this. "Besides," he prefaces the completed thought with a running of his hand further up the Eximius' nape and into his hair, massaging firm circles into the back of his head. "Not like the private attention I'm gettin now is anything to bitch about." As enjoyable as the crowds were--and every bull needs an allotted time to stomp around and toss his horns--North had to admit that having Eirik in his quarters with him wasn't all that to sneeze at either. “Javel says a lot of things…Hateful things mostly." North pushed a laugh out that was a cross between amusement and pity and mayhaps understanding. "I knoow, I knoow. You ain't the best of friends," he acknowledges, "he's a critic that one, that's fer damn sure. Nothin flies by him and he ain't afraid to say it neither. ...s'allright though, boy. You can take the banker outta the office but can't take the office outta the banker. 'less ya gettim drunk, I guess." Which was relatively easy--in the sense that it took a glass of wine for Javel--but it was also difficult, because of course a suited-up character like Javel wouldn't let you so much as near him with alcohol unless he was feeling entirely comfortable with the past, present, AND future.

That being said, North could absolutely understand the hard feelings there. After all, he'd spent the first couple weeks openly trying to convince Bull to sell Eirik, even if Eirik was IN the room. Nothing personal, Javel just likes money and making quotas and ticking as many boxes as efficiently as possible, and he didn't see why such a blatantly GOOD sell would be the one North would bar off from actually selling. He talked about Eirik in terms of numbers, figures and how many zeroes would be attached to his name. About the features in his file that North himself had written up, and asked openly about the man's more intimate background details--should North have known them--to help pinpoint a more accurate pricing. Javel was a brutal highwayman. But at the very least, he was harmless. Completely by choice, though--he doesn't like getting his hands or suit dirty. Shirii on the other hand was always looking around for reasons to hiss at Eirik, to get him to back off and mind his step. It had gotten "better" over time, and that's to say that she now has begun to believe that she's made her point clear and no longer has to reinstate it virtually every time she sees him so much as across a room. They could share spaces now fairly enough, but when she had food she seemed incredibly more hostile. Seemed she didn't plan on letting that one look at her mousse months ago go anytime soon...

“Night time work’ll make it slip, put in a bad number. Aren’t you tired?…And the sheets are cold.” North didn't need to be hit over the head with what Eirik wanted. And it seemed that Bull was very accommodating each time the man made a request, blatant or subtle or otherwise, because even the hardiest of horned beasts could be serenaded by a gentle tug despite how it appeared. North was no different, and he didn't mind indulging as though he had something to prove with an "overly tough streak." He could sit you on his lap while shooting someone else in the head, enjoy a bath with you while picking from the most vast forms of torture for his crew to carry out on intruders, even so much as running the ideas by you as you leaned into him. He could slip rings on your fingers, ones that he'd just stolen from a sniveling group of soon-to-be enslaved people, complimenting the way the extravagant gifts looked on your hands. Bull was...a heinous contradiction of behavior at times. The Slaver reached up with a tatted arm and brushed his calloused fingers against the robe-covered shoulder of the Eximius, hand tugging at his shoulder to indicate he'd wanted him to come around to the front of the chair. "I'd be a shit captain if I got tired that easily..." he murmured, "...but I'll come and warm the sheets for you if ya like."
Offline Eirik Apr 3 2020, 8:31 PM
#5
  • Corzya
  • Age: 20
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Eximius
  • Rank: Servant
  • Total Posts: 131
  • Played by: Day
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Sometimes, like tonight, he is privy to the inner mechanisms of his slaver business. He doesn’t like to consider it too long, else he might spend more time pondering than was necessary. In between the circus to what he called the “pleasure-seekers”, who wanted, well, pleasure, there were precious few places a slave could safely end up. But he was alright, wasn’t he? North liked him. He stroked his hair, complimented him, soothed him, gave into his indulgences, defended him from Javel. The captain didn’t do that for every piece of “product”. He can still separate them from himself. And he could only assert that that was where they would stay, with a neat little line on which they stood and he on the other. So he glances at the portrait on the paper, and listens to what he has to say on it, and kisses him all the same. Even murmurs in agreement. “I can’t imagine being aflame all day,” he says. “He must have to sleep on a bed of rock.”

He smiles at him softly, North’s hand on the back of his head, making soothing circles. "Not like the private attention I'm gettin now is anything to bitch about.” He is emboldened at this, hands sliding down the column of North’s neck and towards his chest, sometimes pausing to thumb at the tattooed patterns in his skin. Eirik had some, too, over his eye and down his right arm, but they were of a different sort. More utilitarian — not artistic, nor making any sort of statement. Just writing, and symbols, all black, that he supposed had made sense to him at some point in time. But he had forgotten most of it now. “I think we ought to put the banker back in the office. The farther away it is the better.”

He lets North guide him to the front. He then swings around to settle there on his lap, taking the invitation presented to him. Eirik scoots around to make himself comfortable. Eventually he settles on having his legs dangle off the side of his chair, his head resting on one of the Bull’s broad shoulders, his back slightly curved. His hair was still tussled from his sleep. The robe is disturbed enough to reveal a cut of his chest. Distantly he hears the thunder rumble again as he leans against him, and sighs. He cannot remember ever being held like this. It might have happened before he’d lost his memory, but if it did, he couldn’t recall. Most of his experiences before the “big blank” had been him on his own, meeting few, but in fleeting passing; he was thus enamored with the sensation, and he melts into it.

“I can wait here ’til you’re done,” he offers, coy.

Not very feasible given their position. Soon enough the wooden arm of the chair would press into his back. And North might have a hard time writing with him sprawled all over him like that. But Eirik was acting like he meant it, so settled was he with his cheek pressed against him.

It was he who’d taken the first step. It had been on impulse. Looking back he might have seen that it was building, but it wasn’t until the first night he’d spent in North’s cabin that he had given him clear signals over what he’d wanted, pulling the older man over him as he had laid on his bed, legs over his waist and his fingers threatening to bite into the skin on his back. And he hadn’t even needed a single glass of wine for it. Didn’t much like alcohol, in fact. Called it all sour — even the expensive stuff.

Eirik thought of that moment briefly as he sat there. He had given it all so freely. And many times since. Soon enough, he hears the gentle patter of rain hit the ship’s roof overhead.
Offline North Apr 4 2020, 3:22 AM
#6
  • Corzya
  • Age: 45
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Human
  • Rank: Slaver
  • Total Posts: 109
  • Played by: Onii
300 Mana · View All Items?
North chuckled heartily at that assessment of the Eximius scrawled on the page before them. It was an astute one, he thought! And not one that many people were asking themselves when they bought the bastard, apparently; the upkeep was more than it seemed. "Can't imagine it's doin him all that many favors for the social scene, eh?" a rhetorical and cheeky add-on to the younger man's observation.

A long breath pushed from his nostrils as his neck reflexively tensed and loosened at the gliding touch, his throat knowingly exposed to a creature that could readily crush his windpipe without excessive struggle. Eirik's hands slid easily down the unbuttoned portion of the captain's undershirt, slipping over his heavily tatted skin and catching a couple scars that were painted over. Laughter purred from his throat at the statement, but it was clear with its lethargic tone and the way his eyes flickered closed that he was more than a little distracted from conversation. He's used to the candid dialogue by now, especially since that was a large part of Eirik's first impression with The Rembrandt and its Slaver captain. The boy was mouthy, and especially in private where there was more an air of freedom. Within reason of course, as always. But when it came to the things he said, there was little that made Bull brandish his horns in response. "We, heh..! You really set up shop in here haventya boy?" It could have been accusatory, and if he were a different captain it may have even been threatening, inciting an innate need to remind their belongings where they were on the rung. North found the choice of words to be intriguing, like watching a strange creature and its previously-unknown habits. To say he'd adapted to being the captain's property was an understatement, it seemed.

A large arm comes to brace around the younger man's lower abdomen on cue as he roosts in his lap, settling in as he had many times before. “I can wait here ’til you’re done,” he says so simply, knowing well that the same couldn't be said for Bull. "Aren't you a patient one, huh." He grumbled in response, the words largely deprived of his usual jovial overtones. It was a tense tone of voice, spoken as though from tight jaws. Some nuanced thing set it very far apart from the typical deadpan that followed his warnings and stern expressions of disgust. This was simply like pressure, a struggle for focus, cloudy thoughts. With his free hand he continued to sort through the parent stack of receipts and separate the "sold" from the "returned" so that he could continue to log how much money they were waiting on, and how much they already had waiting for them to pickup from Gibrantt. Even something this simple was carried out sluggishly, at times taking the man about a second or two to determine whether the page he was looking at was a sale or a return--despite the large green or red stamps indicating it clearly for him. The thunder rumbled yet again, a nearer warning now, a backdrop to the building tension in the room as the Eximius played at the edges of the bull's threshold. It was a common occurrence, and North had seen some aspects of it coming from their first encounter in the operating room. As he'd said, the smart-mouthed Eirik was more capable of being sweet than he'd initially pegged him for. From that point he knew that there was a lot to uncover, and by now he has. Eirik had made the first move, which could well have been North doing the same but seeing as it was the very first night that the Eximius had been transported into the cabin with the captain, he certainly hadn't expected a proposition that early in. The forwardness was exactly what he'd expect out of the deceptively smaller Eximius, though. And just like tonight, Eirik was commonly propositioning North, not the other way around. Not that Bull was the slightest bit passive, but he was typically the tempered sort of creature whose attention you had to draw onto you to get what you wanted.
Of course, the control you had over the pacing is almost or entirely lost once you cross that threshold.
That was something Eirik had learned that first night.

And he sits at that spot now, knowingly no doubt, the fine line between the two scenarios, testing where Bull's attention would stray. A heavy boom of thunder just overhead greets them now, closer than it's been thus far, the clouds having moved fast just as Eirik had assumed. And finally the release, the the tension building over the sea until the rain fell. It was like he could feel it, and perhaps the captain was even driven by it like a pressure in his muscles begging to be freed just as the sky seeped around them. In a quick motion he tossed whatever paperwork had been in his hand and immediately brought his second arm against Eirik's abdomen like a tight harness. Manipulating his body like a plaything, he grabbed the smaller man and wrested him closer, a hand assisting one of his legs to catch over to North's other one so that the Eximius was straddling him in reverse. Pressing, holding, large fingers digging into the silk as he gripped the man's hips and pulled him back and down, aggressively pinning him flush against his own crotch with a soft, satisfied grunt in his pointed ear. One arm braced around his waist while the other came up around his shoulders, resting entirely across with the hulking muscle pressing against Eirik's throat. Once securing him that way, the hand at his waist effortlessly flipped up the hem of the silken robe and shoved under the thin cloth. Tantalizingly slow, riding up and groping his thigh before refusing to go further. North pressed his lips to the man's neck with a hard breath, a brisk pass of his tongue and the scraping of his facial hair as he trailed up to the man's clipped ear. "...Still think you can wait, boy?" He didn't have a problem edging him, if so.
Offline Eirik Apr 4 2020, 9:54 PM
#7
  • Corzya
  • Age: 20
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Eximius
  • Rank: Servant
  • Total Posts: 131
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The robe was softer than anything he’d felt before, a luxurious veneer on it with a light inner trim, dun in color, patterns sewn into it. It was easy to slip on and off, which he supposed was the point of it. An excellent invention, really.

He wasn’t blind to North’s growing urgency. When he sat on his lap, he could hear it in his voice, just slightly strained. Usually articulate — words flowing out like a beer tap — his responses became brisk. Distracted. His motion with his paperwork slowed. (Not to mention he can start to feel the evidence.) Eirik pretends not to notice, just tucks his head closer and shifts his position. “Patient, mmm.” He strokes his chest, fingers brushing through the hair there. “I’m not distracting you, am I?” He smiles against the fabric of North’s unbuttoned undershirt. That seemed to do it, as North suddenly relinquished whatever papers he was holding to grip and pull him into position, flush against his body.

Eirik liked to hand him the reins when the time came. It was his job (along with whatever cleanliness was involved, of course…) to stoke the fire until the moment he could lean his head back and enjoy the ride — which was a moment to savor indeed — for he quite liked his assertive style. It always made him feel thoroughly tended to by the end and induced a pleasant soreness after the fact. After so many days together, too, Eirik had learned a good deal about North’s buttons, where to press and when, the spots that made him shudder or sigh, or even what he liked to see, or to hear; when to open a shirt; or, stretched out over the bed, when to part his thighs just enough to tempt him.

His hand shoots down to clasp on top of North’s as it slips under his robe. He bites his lower lip through a smile and an mmm, rising his hips up with the touch. Looking down he can see the motion underneath the silken fabric as he helps guide his hand towards his center. “No,” he says, simply. He lets him touch him, the warmth of his broad hand engulfing him; he breathes in quickly, letting his hips rise up and down against North’s body. “I can’t.” He moves against him, steady, until he can feel him start to bulge.
Offline North Apr 5 2020, 2:13 PM
#8
  • Corzya
  • Age: 45
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Human
  • Rank: Slaver
  • Total Posts: 109
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Eirik had a nuanced, but undeniable, element of control over how things proceeded. It was true that he'd easily pinpointed just how to get Bull's attention on all the right things, whether that was directly offering himself or repeatedly pushing a series of buttons in a way that pushed the older man over the edge. The latter was the case such as now, as the younger man feigned an innocuous motive behind his close proximity. There was no illusion between either of them that North was being teased, and there was also no illusion between them that the more he was teased, the rougher that the man's resultant behavior would be. Like finally capturing an elusive playmate, North made sure he got absolutely everything he could out of the younger man before thinking of setting him free. “I’m not distracting you, am I?” at that point all he could do was growl his frustration in response to the cheeky bastard, his expression terse and his movements no longer fluid.

It wasn't long until he had Eirik pinned against him while his hand roughly caressed the delicate skin of his thighs. North's breath hissed in his ear, clenched teeth and a tense face comprised of both desire and agitation. The younger man guided his hand where he wanted it to be and North followed, alternating between stroking his base of his cock and groping his balls. Anytime he decided that Eirik was enjoying it too much, though, his rhythm faltered until he was barely working him at all. Then he'd begin again sporadically when he felt like doing so, at times without rhyme or reason. He answers the verbal admission--what barely constitutes as one--with a long, amused hum that vibrates his chest. It was suggestive of someone who was prepared to give everything except what you wanted, until they felt appeased by your suffering. Eirik would have been familiar by now with toeing this line between being used the way he wanted to be, and being punished by barely getting there at all.

The bullish man's form practically engulfed that of the smaller man's from behind, the hard lines of his musculature pressing into his spine and his chin digging into his shoulder. Eirik's writhing elicited a reactionary buck of the Slaver's hips, timed with the other man's movement to reinforce the strength of their contact. A hard scoff of breath steamed against Eirik's neck with each delightful contact and the force of his hips steadily increased until eventually the unyielding fabric of his slacks made it far too agonizing to continue. With his one arm still bound around the man's shoulders and keeping him close at his throat, North suddenly ripped his hand out from between Eirik's thighs and shoved it between the minute spacing between his hips and the man's barely clothed ass. He pulled his wide belt loose in a single motion and popped the clasp open with a satisfied groan once the tension of the tented fabric eased around his dick.

The chair they were in was hand carved and stitched, dark leather trimmed with barely-there seams. Wide and perfectly-sized for a man like North, but otherwise roomy for a man like Eirik. North brought his arm around the man's waist again and, with control over both his upper and lower halves, he partially rose up so that he could wrest him around to the chair like he weighed nothing. The Eximius was forcefully pushed down into the wide cushion of the antique chair chest-first as they switched positions, and a large hand pinned down the back of the man's neck to keep him still. Fingers dug around to the front of his throat while North's free hand forced the thin patterned gown up over Eirik's exposed ass. His own breath was labored and loud, his chest violently rising and falling as he further shoved his pants down past the curve of his ass to completely free himself. He then reached under the bottom of the chair and pulled a crank that hiked the height of the chair where he wanted it to be, just below the line of where his hips fell. Lower, because from that trajectory he could rely on strength, weight and momentum in the best of ways. "...do you fuckin' deserve it?" He snarled beneath hard and uneven breaths, and a firm strike of Eirik's ass would greet any attempt to verbally respond, the red mark especially profound where the bottoms of the multiple rings met his tender skin.
Offline Eirik Apr 5 2020, 8:47 PM
#9
  • Corzya
  • Age: 20
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Eximius
  • Rank: Servant
  • Total Posts: 131
  • Played by: Day
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He huffs, every once in a while releasing a grunt or a groan or a whimper hidden behind a hard bite to his lower lip. He had given up trying to be still, his hips gyrating against his, feeling him buck up almost reflexively so that he might feel the hardness there. His middle rises into an arch. His hand simply rests on North’s arm, squeezing every once in a while. His knees can’t help but rise, or point towards one another — squirming might be the word for it — overwhelmed with the curling, rising pleasure. “Oh don’t,” he manages to breathe when North slows. He knows pleading seldom helps, but the instinct is still there. His other hand has its fingers brushed against the side of the captain’s neck, his head tilted to rest his temple against his cheek. He can feel North’s head dip once in a while to breathe against his skin; it gusts against his collarbones.

He reasserts his grip onto him. He feels motion, and opens his eyes to the sound of his belt buckle popping open. As he busies himself with it, Eirik turns his head to breathlessly smile against him, reaching an arm back to touch his short, peppered hair, feeling the short stubs of it near the root of his neck. The robe is all astray now, the sash practically undone, the fabric slipping down each of his sides and sagging off both of his shoulders, baring the whole front of his body in the candlelight; well-formed, with softly defined hills of lean muscle — temptingly nubile with tapered waist. And now with a seeping erection.

Eirik’s pressed against the chair. He never protests where the captain puts him, even in such vulnerable positions as these. He’s used to the way he throws him around. The robe is lifted up; he makes a low, soft sound, lifting up his hips just so; his feet spread out a bit to find their traction on the floor. Jolting, his head would lift if it weren’t for North’s grip holding him down. The red mark stings on his flank. He pauses to pant a little. “You know I’ve done naught but good, North.” Eirik tended to bypass his titles, landing on his name most of all — only using ‘captain’ when being facetious.

He raises his hips. Up, then down. He can feel him, all pressed up against him, promising that initial pain as he squeezes past that first ring of muscle and then — well, onward; it takes him a few good pumps for the pain to meld with pleasure until he is overcome with it. It’d be a poor joke if someone nicknamed the Bull didn’t live up to the title, but Eirik could assure anyone curious that, yes, he was properly hung and you would feel knocking at your guts.
Offline North Apr 9 2020, 3:31 PM
#10
  • Corzya
  • Age: 45
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Human
  • Rank: Slaver
  • Total Posts: 109
  • Played by: Onii
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North continued to edge him by going from a rapid stroking that plucked those groans from his lips to an almost standstill, barely a touch, his fingers tracing up and down the man's throbbing cock while he was forced to recollect himself away from what bliss he could have had. By now he was good at reading Eirik such that he could stop just short of the climax, leaving him twitching and squirming desperate for relief. North grunts in response to Eirik's begging, both affirmative that he'd him and indicative that he also wasn't moved by it. In reality he enjoyed hearing him beg, and that's of course why he doesn't give him anything to alleviate the need for doing so. He lets out a shuddering breath as Eirik writhed against him, angling his hips underneath him so that his tent was properly positioned under the smaller man's weight. He then turns into the man's lean against his cheek to acknowledge him there though, despite how he won't grant his wish, pressing a kiss to his temple. A consolation prize, even if the real prize of getting off was going to elude him for quite some time. Deciding he missed the sensation of making Eirik squirm, the torturous cycle repeats.

He manipulated the Eximius into a face down position in his chair then and took in the sight of the man waiting for him. His eyes roamed over every portion of revealed skin, the slopes of his lean muscle that peeked out from the tousled robe. Disheveled, and tempting. “You know I’ve done naught but good, North.” He snorted a breath of laughter at that, airy and clearly distracted. "b u l l s h i t" it was sharp, as sharp as it could be in the gaps of his own panting, which suggested that of course he wasn't sold. Without easing his grip at Eirik's throat and ass, North roughly pushed himself up against the man, shoving up against his ass and using his own knees to force the man's legs apart the way he wanted them to be. His cock rested at the very top of the man's ass and even the slightest movement left him huffing as he recollected himself. He set the man free only to roughly grab his belt by the buckle and rip it free from the loops of his slacks. He scrambled forward for Eirik's hands and once gathering them in a pin behind his back, he looped the belt around his wrists and slipped the tongue through the buckle before pulling the wide loop flush against the man's skin. Wrapping the belt around his own clenched fist, he held it like a secure leash for a dog--easy to manipulate, and something to hold onto. He pulled it taught, slack nonexistent, and kept it that way.

With a twist of his hips his girthy cock was pressed directly against Eirik, putting weight against that ring of muscle that kept him closed. It's as much warning as the man would get before he pushed inward, although he has enough manners not to shove himself down to the base right away. North's breath sounds like pressurized steam snaking from broken pipes as he leans forward, partially over the man beneath him like he was about to collapse on him. The shorthand pumps of his hips worked inch by inch into Eirik, and North simply fucked him with the length he had managed to stuff into him before the repetitive stimulation slowly but surely eased his muscle open for more and more until he had successfully hilted himself. With one hand in control of the belt and the other wrapped around the man's hip, North quickened his strength and pace of his pumps until it was continuous, the slap of his hips against the man's ass barely spaced as the momentum shoved Eirik farther into the chair and sent ripples of movement up his lean form.
Offline Eirik Apr 9 2020, 11:28 PM
#11
  • Corzya
  • Age: 20
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Eximius
  • Rank: Servant
  • Total Posts: 131
  • Played by: Day
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He doesn’t resist as he ties his wrists together. His fingers flex as he gives it that last pull through the cinch, closing down on him tight. His hold on it strains his shoulders back, just a bit. All throughout Eirik lays there, face turned so his cheek was pressed on the seat cushion, his hair all splayed about his head. It’s not tied around his throat this time, he thought. Even then, the way he pulls it back, holds it in his fist like a leash — he supposes North gets a kick out of it, reminding him of his status when he was most vulnerable. He might startle away when some new, novel method is introduced, or he might put up a token snap at him when he felt particularly humbled, but for the most part it wasn’t contested. Sometimes he might even repeat it for him. These declarations, made within throes of passion, might be mistaken for lover’s words without context.

So he waits, listening to the belt leather creak. Feeling it tight against his skin. He can hear his own heart beat in his ear. One attempts to bend back when he feels North’s other hand clasp his hip, gripping his flesh hard so that it dimpled. He is pulled back to meet him and he bucks, making a loud gasp — he feels him close in on him, feels him settle there between his legs (they part wide over his knees) and all that hard cock — all pressed against him and then, with some hand-held guidance, beginning to align. And press. And then part. There is the noise of it, soft. His pre-cum makes it slick enough for entry as he passes that first, tight, ring.

Oh, it hurt. It always did at first. Eirik’s eyes shut tight. He bites down on his lower lip but that doesn’t stop him from whimpering and moaning. He is tense and stock-still; yet North might see ripples of movement in the muscle of his back, gently straining against the belt. He can sense him lean over him, leveraging his weight against the chair to work him open in short thrusts, changing its angle. He travels further, and as he reaches new depths Eirik’s body squeezes and spasms minutely around him…and then, close to the hilt, he feels it. He jolts whenever it’s brushed against. His gasps become soft, low moans. Slowly, adjusted now, he turns to pleasure: his muscle loosens and tenses in rhythm; he sings a nice, pleased tune; and he starts to reciprocate, hips lifting ever so slightly off the chair.

He falls into a rhythm, fast and hard. Easier now. He hears the noises, the way North’s breath sounds, and is overcome with the feeling of being filled up. He doesn’t know how long it goes on but he is at times fast, then slower to savor it, then fast again — and with each thrust the pleasure gathers at his center fit to burst.

“North ‘m going to…” Not asking for permission exactly, but he was keenly aware of how quick he got sometimes. “Going to…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence and never does, instead replacing it with a bigger, more full-throated cry.
Offline North Apr 12 2020, 5:17 PM
#12
  • Corzya
  • Age: 45
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Human
  • Rank: Slaver
  • Total Posts: 109
  • Played by: Onii
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North enjoyed some level of torturing the younger man. It was never the sort that could threaten to leave him disfigured, or the sort required stitching him back up. While he could be so inclined in other settings, Eirik was incredibly fortunate in that regard. But it was clear that North liked watching him squirm, and the most reliable way to do that was to overstimulate him. Part of why he always starts so slow is to make sure he doesn't miss the hint. When Eirik reacts the way he does as he eases into him, there's a deep purr in North's chest that let it be known he was pleased with the response. Committing it to memory.

He was relentless. Hard and fast, the room filled with the sounds of his hips colliding into the man's ass, his cock repeatedly plunging forward and back, and the sounds of both their breaths and groans. He chased each of those helpful rises of the Eximius' hips, crashing against him like a hard wave each time with a huff of breath. North alternated from fast and ruthless to slow and exacting when he felt himself edge a little closer than he was ready to be. The dichotomy of the way he moved was jarring as he slowed, taking his place on top of Eirik's back as he switched his position for a moment. His hard abdomen pressing against the man's back as he leaned in, his breath warm against whatever skin the disheveled robe left bare. His hips expertly rolled into him rather than aggressively rush him, accuracy over brute force, his thick cock pushing against that perfect spot that Eirik had indicated. Overstimulating him as much as he could, a little aggressive nudge of his hips every now and then slipped between the passionate but otherwise well-oiled swivel of them.

“North ‘m going to…” It was all he needed to hear, though the way the man's body felt underneath him suggested well enough that he was close. He drew back once more, shouldering his full weight once more as he picked up his pace yet again and aggressively hunted the man's climax. The hand at Eirik's hip readjusted, fluidly slipping around and under, past his thighs and tightly grabbing onto his seeping cock just before he succumbed. The tips of his fingers toyed with his tight balls, the twitching mess of muscle of nerves, pushing out a pleased but distracted breath of laughter that was quickly muted by the other man's declaration. That alone had nearly pushed North to the edge but he resisted if only for a moment longer, significantly dropping the speed and strength of his movement to give the man a moment to breathe.
Offline Eirik Apr 13 2020, 3:24 PM
#13
  • Corzya
  • Age: 20
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Eximius
  • Rank: Servant
  • Total Posts: 131
  • Played by: Day
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His chest lifted up part-way off the seat cushion, head back as much as it could be, feet off the floor — he seems to coil, and then finally with a cry (tapering softly at the end), he comes. He rolls his bottom lip underneath his front teeth. Breathes. Slowly his body grows more lax even as North goes on, nudging against him a few more times, something his overworked body registers but fails to respond to in its post-coital haze. Eirik’s cheek then drops against the cushion again. Sometimes he could tell when North finishes inside of him via a spread of warmth, but others he can only tell when it all sounds slicker than before; either way a portion of it would drain itself down the inside of his thighs throughout the night. The sheets were a fairly regular concern he tended to.

Now that he was coming down the ambiance reached him again, the rolling thunder and pitter-patter of rain, or the faraway creaking and groaning of the ship. He is still encompassed by the older man, hand wound underneath his body, abdomen resting over him — hips still pressed. And, of course, his wrists tied. When the movement stops he tries to turn his head to peek at him. He wants a look at his expression, wondering if it’s a pleased one, Eirik’s cropped ears perked up to listen. When North finally pulls out, he winces only slightly, his inner muscle relinquishing all that hard length with a small wet pop.

Eirik gathers his feet from under him and adjusts himself into a half-sitting, half-slumped position on the chair. His hair is messier than before. The robe is completely undone and nothing more than a pile of fabric hanging off him, sash untied. One side of his face is red where it had been rubbed against the seat. He can tell without looking that his lower stomach is all damp.

“I’ve made a mess,” he said, voice subdued as if a little embarrassed.

The bodies down below in the hull demanded a lot of time and attention, it was true; and their management of them if his papers were any indication at all; but having one live in the cabin had a whole different set of “needs”. He was capable of entertaining himself, of course...but he would regularly try and test to see how much attention he was going to receive once they were in private. In this way he wore his affections on his sleeve. It was achingly naive really. Eirik straightens up with some difficulty, given he’d no use of his hands. But he manages. Languidly (and with a superb sense of balance) he manages to get upright and lean himself off the edge of his chair, plopping his forehead against North’s still-clothed stomach. His knees are collected underneath him, the calves dangling off the edge. After a moment — a simple show of affection after the fact — Eirik raises his head and his gaze so that only his chin rested against his shirt.

He raises up his wrists from where they were affixed behind his back. A silent request that the captain untie them.

“You don’t have to pull so tight,” he mumbles. “They’re getting tingly now.”
Offline North Apr 15 2020, 7:23 PM
#14
  • Corzya
  • Age: 45
  • Gender: Male
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  • Rank: Slaver
  • Total Posts: 109
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It was easy to tell when North was not only close but had committed to finishing inside him. His breaths devolved to grunts, the movement of his hips faltering between fast and desperate to slow and involved. He capsized over him, his hands gripping tightly into Eirik's slick skin and with a final thrust he pressed into him and came. His form fit the other man's as well as it could while he filled him, flush like they'd been glued together, disturbed only by an instinctive push of his hips and the result grunt of breath in the Eximius' ear. His head fell against the man's back and pressed feather kisses to his exposed skin, coming up to his shoulders and the side of his neck. He greeted Eirik's curiosity with a satiated expression, and a series of kisses against his nearest cheek. His manner of aftercare for the man was always so involved, surprisingly enough, every tiny detail seeming to deserve a mountain's worth of attention. Bull had a tendency to take very good care of his things without fail, because naturally in this context it didn't do him any good to have rusted or neglected belongings. His breaths softened from their earlier harsh release, gusting against the man's clipped ear as North nipped the lobe. A hand came up to run fingers through the disheveled head of hair to straighten it as best he could for him, though in this position that wouldn't be easy. With that, he gathered himself enough to pull himself out, and as though he'd been a plug, he can immediately hear the patter of liquid on the floor between them.

Eirik sits and North stands, adjusting his stance and staring down at the man who, too, was taking stock of what shape he'd been left in. “I’ve made a mess,” he says and gets a gruff, clearly satisfied response of "offered to take ya to bed." Not that this would have prevented anything at all, but the sheets were much easier to simply gather up and have cleaned. As it was usually Eirik who cleaned up after them, it would have made things easier for him--as for North, he didn't particularly have to worry about that. He welcomes the lean with a hand coming up to comb through the man's hair with better accuracy this time, going with the natural direction and easing through the slight knotted areas. When Eirik looks up at him, he grazes a knuckle or two across the man's reddened cheek in a soft stroke so as not to agitate it much further, their eyes met all the while and only separated at the movement behind the man's back. Like North had forgotten he was bound, and in all truth he probably did.

Eirik complains about it. North says nothing in response, slowly moving in response to the request. He fluidly lowers down in a crouch, his shoulders slumped forward and his posture uncaringly relaxed. With Eirik at a higher ground now, North reaches behind the man and pulls the belt away from his skin, widening the loop until it came undone. His own hands then came around, snaking over the man's hips from 'round the small of his back, then to his thighs, his knees, and soothingly running up and down the distance between the two. He then reached to seize his arms, pulling them until he had the attention of his hands, pressing them against the sides of his stubtled cheeks so that they were near enough that he could kiss the man's wrists repeatedly, alternating between which. His gaze never left him during the act, his own hands assisting with the complained-about sensation by massaging the muscles there. "What else is botherin you?" It was carried on a husky breath of air, low but genuine. Eirik had been so malleable, so prepared to take whatever Bull sought fit to give him only to clean up the mess, that as usual the man was willing to extend some amount of countermeasure. Glancing touches, a brief respite, focusing on all the things he'd disheveled just moments before.
Offline Eirik Apr 18 2020, 10:22 AM
#15
  • Corzya
  • Age: 20
  • Gender: Male
  • Race: Eximius
  • Rank: Servant
  • Total Posts: 131
  • Played by: Day
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He hoped the offer still stands. He felt bed was the next, natural step after this. “You’ll join me?” Surely Javel would live without a few sheets of paperwork in the morning. “I’ll clean up in the morning. First thing I will.” He looks up at him as his large hands run through his hair. Almost blithe. He was often the one to rise much later than the captain, but if Javel was really waiting on some numbers then his knocking would wake him too.

With some finagling, his wrists are released from their bonds. He feels a rush through them as feeling returned and blood was allowed to pass. The wrists are red now where they’d rubbed against the belt, its leather patterns imprinted. They’re held and moved to the front, the Bull taking them, touch gentle — a stark contrast to his earlier treatment. He was a sucker for the gentle persuasion, it was obvious. And the way North lowers — so that Eirik looks down on him — was a surprise.

He glows as he does. Like a blushing bride. He can’t help but smile; it spreads despite himself until it dimples his cheeks.

Nothing now. The truth. North gently massages both wrists and forearms; he kisses them, too, as he sat there in a warm and dimly-lit cabin. The ship creaks. Once a foreign noise to him, it had since turned to comfort, especially at night (like snoring) along with the ambient chatter from the crew-members outside. His chest’s rise and fall had evened out, slowed. He sat there with his knees curled in his post-coital haze — robe resting over the small of his back — and starts to move a thumb to brush down the side of North’s face. Erik feels the short hairs of stubble scratch. How bright his silver eyes looked even in the dusky glow of candlelight.

“Here?” he asks, freeing one of his arms to indicate his lips, hoping he’d give it the same treatment.