ʙᴀʀᴋ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ɢᴏᴅ, ꜱʟᴏᴘᴘʏ ᴊᴀɴᴇ
Mature/NSFW content ;).
A feast! According to Lady Dimitrescu, a decade and a quarter had passed without such a delight and, in its honourable return, an artistry of wedges and slabs of stringy-textured meat, golden chalices brinked with blood wine that stained your tongue like sour blueberries, and lavish cutlery was arranged along with a table-long crimson cloth. Golden leaves withered out of vases and three hefty chandeliers with flambeaus in its black tarnished metal clutches swung over their heads. Inhaling the alcoholic syrups, the three Dimitrescu sisters veered into their swarm-forms and made the overhanging decors swivel, their rusted chains groaning and tugging at the ceiling. Their mother made no attempt in stopping them, acknowledging Mother Miranda's amusement since, after all, the feast was only devised for her pleasure.
Ethan originally found hesitance in the indulgence of a celebration held to laugh at the death of operatives just attempting to do their jobs. But it wasn't them they ate...oddly enough; he thinks it was cow despite the morsel tastings he had. The evening's progression bore a loud talkative nature and soon hysterical screeching of laughter and anger and yelling, Ethan suddenly finding himself in a more sober moment a prime contributor. He conversed nonsense with Moreau and jeered at Dimitrescu who appeared unoffended and instead entertained by this puny blond's ramblings. Heisenberg watched him meticulously across the narrow table, coolly leaned back and chin on his knuckle, the other hand expertly twiddling a knife suspended in mid-air.
"Karl, dear, don't play with your cutlery," Dimitrescu hissed, her chair positioned higher than even Miranda's so her bosom wouldn't squash the table and her high-piled plate of food. "Use your manners—"
TWANG!
The butterknife punctured the evening chatter, pricking into the fine, silken veil of Bela. Her eyes struck wide, but the sickening thrill of menace inspired a giggle, and she ripped the knife free, holding the blade's tip delicately. Dimitrescu resigned to silence as Mother Miranda commended Heisenberg's fondness for his uncle role. He only grinned in return, loosening the collar of his tunic, but his eyes remained lingering on Ethan. The blond cowered into his seat before whispering politely for Donna to pass the jug of blood-wine.
"Ethan, that's your fourth—"
"I can handle my alcohol, Donna," he rasped, the sharper note in his tone heard by the entire table but was answered with smirks.
Donna did as he had asked before excusing herself for the evening. Angie wasn't as enthused to leave but, upon the doll-maker's departure, the feast's festivities dwindled, and the family unsteadily dispersed under shadows and into the dim snowy landscape. The weather abated and allowed an easy traverse to the factory, smog and smoke billowing against the daybreak; alas, their morning seemed years away. When dull sunlight shivered over peaks of snow mounds, pink crystals caught alight and roiled beneath their staggered steps, contending the glistening grip of ice and their knees found relief from the aches when they reached the frontmost hanger-area. It was there the final hours of night spiralled.
Ethan's arms roped around Heisenberg's dense neck and his coarse fingers instinctively draped over his waist, keeping him from puddling on the floor. Chin propped on his friend's chest, Ethan asked, "Kar, I'm confused."
Aren't we both?
He frowned and reeled Ethan into a bridal carry, an urgent regret pounding in his subconsciousness as he wasn't too steady himself. To ensure somewhat of a balance, Heisenberg grounded himself from the thick cloudy haze in his head by gently clutching Ethan.
"I don't understand why you would ever feel..." the blond licked his lips, conjuring...fathoming the question stinging the tip of his tongue as severely as the wine had. "That way for me, I think I mean."
He fiddled with the ends of Heisenberg's hair and traced his jaw where their hands met in a firm grip. They paused in the corridor between factory and home, the final cross into intimate territory. "I never wanted to tell you this," Heisenberg begun, rooted remorse scratching its way up and out of his throat; it shredded his voice. "Those years you were trapped...or dead—I'm not sure—I watched you."
this hulk of shadow with a little light, awaiting my next breath
A brave spark of recognition came to life in Ethan's eyes but still, a crinkle of his eyebrows prevailed. "But why?"
"Because," he slurred, "I knew I could find your trust and hold it...uh...tight. I just suppose these emotions happened to become more when I felt you."
Your physical being was—and always will be—more than your crystal skin, Ethan.
He resumed his lumber forward after Ethan diminished into a light, silent weight whose presence was only noted when his fingers lightly pinched into Heisenberg's shoulders as he placed his friend on the couch.
"Holy shit, where did the floor go?" Ethan jokingly panicked; he wasn't too far gone in alcohol's clutches. Heisenberg shook his head, the edge of his grin flashing a shard of teeth and latched for the grip of a wall as he tried to leave. "Aw—you're not coming to lay with me?"
The metal man's back erected and a little quiver wavered over his face, his lips and nose scrunching up. Those confronting words sundered Heisenberg's conscious, footing uttering whether it was wise to leave or stay. "You're drunk, Ethan—"
"I'm still conscious of what I want," the ivory haired man cajoled. "I'm not oblivious to your intentions, Kar."
Fuck! Where the fuck did this come from?? Heisenberg failed to disguise his momentary aback expression but did manage to close his jaw and reposition his authority with a wider stance. "Don't."
"Don't what?" Ethan purred, slouched, and laying hands between his thighs. He simpered, an impish tone breaking through and a blithe notion filtered into his words, "if you're sure you can control yourself, then stand near me. Innocent men don't quiver in the corner of a room with their tail between their legs."
A bilious shade darkened Heisenberg's eyes and he encroached, usurping the room. Upon the command of "closer", Heisenberg clenched the cushions with his veiny hands on either side of Ethan's shoulders and pushed a knee between his legs, feeling the protest of smaller hands. His neck-chains and whistle bumped Ethan's nose and, crudely, he invoked the visual of a bare chest, the metal jewellery swinging back and forth, back and forth with each thrust of a hip; it became so vividly real like the hand on his lower back, assisting in the pushing—a dither ran down Ethan's spine, interrupting his lustrous thought.
"Ah, look who's nervous now," Heisenberg brooded, his leering presence enclosing the air around them. Ethan wanted to end the game—he had lost control and that was against his reasoning of starting this situation. He went to leave, to retreat after committing to his part of the tease but Heisenberg's hands came down on his chest and his voice raised, "sit!"
"How about you sit for once?" Ethan hissed, grabbing at Heisenberg's shirt and ripping him off his already limp balance. He braced himself against Heisenberg, having switched positions, and smiled bumpily. He released a petulant laugh, lowering between the man's legs, Heisenberg regarding carefully but made no attempt to stop him.
The blond moved quick, a hasty undoing of his belt. Heisenberg's fingers pressed into the couch's arms, once blunt nails tearing a hole through the fabric and, in the wake of impending pleasure, his hips posed to arch as a mouth curled around him. Ethan's tongue frisked and fluttered, the odd inexperienced quality projecting innocence and the mere deliberation of such a possibility festered up a fierce heat in Heisenberg's stomach—Oh God, he might've not been his claim, but Ethan was vestal, untouched and unstained. He just needed some guidance.
Heisenberg's agape mouth came back together, and chin met with his chest where a sheen gleamed with the openness of his low shirt. His head stilled from its restive, thrilled lolls, and their eyes found their eventual meeting, Ethan's kept low, but he too shared pleasure in retaining eye contact. A vehement wolfishness on Heisenberg's face inspired a light fear within the blond and he went to pull away, drawing out a long, thin line of saliva and panted with small rises in his chest. Heisenberg's leather and scratchy grapple found a lock within knots of his fair hair and when Ethan let out a noise of surprise when his mouth was forced forward, Heisenberg thumbed his forehead and hushed, "I'm just giving you a little instruction, it's OK."
Ethan's throat constricted and he gasped, stifling a violent choke. Face tainted pink, his eyes glanced away, spotting a jittering pack of nails on the table, linking it to Heisenberg's flexing hand; it was unintentional, derived from the metal wielder's pleasure.
"Look at me," Heisenberg commanded, tightening his grip and Ethan blinked up, a low-hung mist of tears in his eyes. "Fuck, good boy. Keeping looking at me."
Ethan sunk into the floor, a tic passing from his knees to neck when Heisenberg held him. Ethan slapped at Heisenberg's leg and was pulled away again, gasping and coughing gently. Heisenberg grabbed his chin and angled his head towards his, now leaning into him, and thumbed his wet lips. His eyes, half-closed, travelled down Ethan's jittering body and he reached to grab his wrists, rubbing them soothingly until they stopped shaking.
"I think that's enough, blondie," Heisenberg told him, his voice returning to the usual shallows of deepness. He flicked away Ethan's chin and made himself modest, stepping over his friend still on the floor. He clutched at Ethan's hair once more before vanishing out of the living space and into the factory's corridor. Ethan collapsed against the couch, struggling to pant.
The fuck kind of blowjob was that? he shuddered. His throat burnt and he touched it with a very distant sense of achievement, followed by a darker urge of guilt.