[PRP] Sleepers Just Don't (MengSeng - 2pg134u)

[keiifuu]

Senga was cold.

It was a strange notion in of itself - the wolf was usually within the boundaries of neutrality towards weather. Cold or warm, it didn't bother him, not usually. But this ice in his skin seemed marrow-deep, eating away at any warmth his body found, pressing deeper and deeper the more and more he tried to eradicate it from his bones.

It itched and clawed at him now, an omnipresent part of him alongside the voices. It didn't help that the only places to travel now were the reserve lands and the boundaries of Amityville itself. And he was growing tired of this cage.

Senga sighed and pressed his hands to his head, to the back of his neck, to the scars that ran like train-tracks over his skin. He was perched at the edge of the forest, sitting in the long grass that seemed to croon and shift in tandem with the presence of the wind at night. He thought of venturing into the dark crevices of the forest itself, but what would he find there but more cold, more hollowness, more black.

The voices rose like a wave in his head, drifting like shadows and flickers of life in the endless darkness. They crooned and wavered against his skin, but even they had nothing useful to say anymore.

Senga tensed, and after a moment he forced that same tension from his shoulders, and shuddered as he opened his hand to stare at the black-red crescent marks in his palm from where he'd dig his claws in too hard.

He was restless again - and really, when wasn't he these days - and even meditation was out of his reach. The young executioner sighed and bowed forward so that his entire spine was exposed to the red-orange moonlight from above, pressing his head to the cold of his skin.

Damn it all to hell, but he really needed a distraction tonight.

And was he waiting? Waiting for him, to see if he'd be drawn back as well?

Senga's eyes fluttered and shut at the thought.

Well, it wasn't like he would ever admit something like that out loud.

kurotomato

ITS REALLY LATE AND THIS POST IS REALLY BAD i couldnt remember if this was a spar or not so i rolled just in case but feel free to punch me if it isnt

 

[kuropeco]

Mengyao was not cold; in fact, he was too warm, draped in the many layers of his Conquest robes, shades of blue and gold and green covering his otherwise slender frame. He was not asleep either, though he perhaps should have been; but the nightmares that plagued his thoughts were rampant tonight, angry and dark, and his mind was already filled with such blackness - he did not need to close his eyes and amplify it.

So he decided to take a walk, late at night. Shedding at least two layers made it easier to be quiet, to not wake those that slumbered around him, and now Mengyao's sleeves were easy to push up and see the scars on his wrist, the collar of the simple tunic low enough that the half dozen or so cris-crossing lines on his lower neck and collarbone were starkly visible against the pale skin. Absently he ran his fingers over them, a dark look passing across his face, half doused in shadow.

It was a game they were playing, but a deadly one, one where their futures were entwined together. He did not hate Senga, but he hated that Senga brought out what he always tried so hard to keep buried - that deep seated hunger and blackness, always simmering below the surface of his Insanity.

Hated him and yet exhilarated in the freedom, in the all-too-desirable freedom. Putting on a show was what Mengyao had done for most of his life; keeping up appearances, holding fast to the ways of his clan. And he had learned to appreciate it, learned to love it.

But he'd had a taste of the darkness now and it ate at him.

Crossing over a path of grass, something light caught Mengyao's eyes, and he turned his head, his gaze falling on a figure at the base of a tree, hunched over, his pale skin a sharp contrast to the night that surrounded them. And somehow he was not surprised; somehow it was almost as though he had been hoping that the other would be there.

Had he? Mengyao moved silently across the ground until he was right behind him and then he knelt, reaching out a hand to slide his fingers against the side of the executioner's face, drifting down his neck, his voice a low, almost taunting whisper.

"Good evening, Senga."

keiifuu

gurl pls ur posts are never bad ok and idk what this is either IT'S WHATEVER U WANT IT 2 B BB

 

[kuropeco]

( oops dis is a roll just in case )  

[keiifuu]

Senga could sense Mengyao's presence before he felt the fingers against his cheek, hot and clammy as opposed to the cold chill that spread across his entire body. He shuddered, his skin prickling with gooseflesh as they moved, drawing trails of heat wherever they went. His body bent, yielding to the touch in a fluid motion.

Humming, he opened an eye, wild and gold and haunting, and turned it to Mengyao without turning his head. He stretched his hands, skin pulling taught over lean muscle and bone. It was easy enough to see that beneath the pelt and the skulls, Senga was much like a starved wolf. Not as famished as those from Famine, but the shadows against his skin outlined his ribs easily, his hip bones sharp and prominent against the scarred flesh. The voices jeered and chattered and howled in his mind, sickening and cold and digging the chills in his body deeper and deeper in.

"You came, Mengyao." His voice was pricked with mock amusement, though it seemed subdued, almost haunting and melodic as opposed to the regular gravel and stormy undercurrents that created burrs in his words. "What a pleasure."

Exhaling a sound like a low growl, Senga twisted his body, arching his back in a stretch before allowing himself to flip over so that he faced Mengyao, staring at the other for a long moment. His body was still sore, aching from where the man had lashed out at him only a few days prior. In ways, he wanted to tear into him again, but not yet. No, tonight there was a chill in the air, and Mengyao was warm, and he could spill his blood later, but for now -

"Come here," He demanded, and without waiting, he pressed his claws into the robes at Mengyao's throat and pulled him closer. As usual, the other was covered in robes, warm and burning as opposed to the cold of his skin. He shuddered again, closing his eyes as ragged impulse awoke in his mind, and the fingers digging into Mengyao fidgeted, nearly wanted to bury deeper, to taste metal and blood. The voices jeered at him too, biting and teething against the hollows of his throat and his ears.

Looking up, Senga hummed, his eyes aglow in the darkness of the shadows that surrounded them both. He rested his arms around Mengyao's shoulders now, leaning against him like a dangerous animal, subdued but still willing to bite. What was this, this thing that they'd fallen into? This pattern? Where pain and anger and freedom and chaos all came together, deriving a sick pleasure in his core. What was it? And why didn't he have an interest in making it stop?

"Trouble sleeping?" He questioned, his voice smooth and hollow and gentle. Taunting. But they both knew what he was really asking.

Because Senga had them too, the nightmares. The endless black and the voices and the void that he'd slipped into long ago. Where his fingers scrambled for purchase in the dark he found nothing, and where his wings tried to find the will and strength to fly they felt broken, useless and heavy at his sides. He was falling - falling further and further, faster always -

And then there was Mengyao. A steadfast hold in the dark. A presence. A familiarity. Another creature to hurt and be hurt by.

kurotomato

i d f k b r o

 

[kuropeco]

They were, he supposed, like two magnets. When held the right way, they automatically repelled one another, yet they kept pushing and shoving and trying to fight back against that force. Yet when held a different way, they came together as easily as though they had both expected it.

And perhaps they had. And perhaps Mengyao was tired of pushing and maybe he just wanted to let things happen because it was easier that way, it was easier to just give in than to fight.

Senga's skin was cold against his own, Mengyao's warmth leaving his fingers as they touched the iciness. A flash of gold indicated the wolf's eyes were open, and he met his gaze with an equally haunted look of his own, his own eyes narrowing slightly, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Of course," said Mengyao lightly, lifting his hand as Senga moved, only to settle them back down again, fluttering against his neck almost as though he were debating how easy it would be to snap it. But he made no sudden move, gave no indication that he even intended any malice.

Senga's fingers clenched in his robes and Mengyao allowed himself to be pulled forward without any resistance, the voices in his head hissing lowly, muttering, chanting nonsensical phrases; an endless buzzing pressure in his skull. Senga was like a demanding child, a selfish being, but, then again, so was Mengyao, and a part him, the part that he was setting free, wanted that cold, wanted the darkness just as much as he did. It was pathetic, perhaps, but with everything that had happened, Mengyao had started not to care. His own arms slipped around Senga's waist almost automatically, one hand sliding up the other's back, wrapping him in the layers of clothing, absently pulling him forward so that Mengyao was leaning back against the tree.

"I hardly sleep at all these days," said Mengyao airily, staring up at the sky, tracing the lines of the branches above his head.

"And what of you, little wolf? Lost your prey?"

keiifuu

#nohomo

 

[keiifuu]

The wolf's head tilted, a curious, haunted look straying into his eyes. Perhaps in some ways he wondered what it would be like to have Mengyao snap his neck, to feel those fingers curl around his throat and hurt. It was a burning, sick interest that dug itself into his chest, and the sounds of the voices rose and fell in a steady wave, chanting that even if that happened, even if Mengyao tried, they would still be there. They would always be there. An omnipresent abomination to keep him company in the dark.

The warmth of Mengyao spread like wildfire across his skin, burning remembrance into him even though he could still feel the cold down in his bones. His body shivered, and automatically he pressed closer, aligning their bodies with an almost candid ease. Exhaling, he pressed his nose against the crook between Mengyao's collarbone and neck, sinking into the warmth mindlessly.

He couldn't wrap his mind around them, and in a way he didn't want to. What use was there in defining this haunting, painful, magnetic relationship they shared? The more the darkness surrounded them, the less and less he cared. Here, now, he felt as though he were settled against someone who could destroy him an instant if he wished, draw a dagger across his neck and burn words into his mind that would haunt him for days. And he didn't care anymore. It was so much work to care, to consider, to wrap his mind around the idea of boundaries and unspoken customs and rules.

Perhaps in Mengyao he found a similar release, a rush of freedom, an entirely carnal relationship born of anger and similarities burrowed into the stark contrast that separated the two. He couldn't bring himself to worry about customs, couldn't see boundaries with Mengyao that he wasn't willing to push and destroy in a moments notice.

"What a shame." Senga hummed against Mengyao's skin, slowly beginning to feel the shudders subside. His eyes opened again at the question, and a slow laugh curled off of the tip of his tongue. He tilted himself back, just enough that they could see eye to eye, even though his were downcast and half lidded. The sickly glow outlined the scar that crossed over his left eye, and so close it almost seemed white-gold as opposed to the vivid color in his right iris.

"Chased it in circles," He hummed finally, his tone soft and haunting. "For hours, days - months - " His eyes flicked up, catching Mengyao's stare. "And then I realized that what I was chasing no longer existed." A riddle, perhaps, but Senga felt no need to let Mengyao in on the answer and instead leaned forward, catching his claws in the Nobles hair and pressing his mouth to the others ear.

"What of you, my noble predator?" Senga shuddered again, and this time it was not from the cold. His body twisted closer, a sinuous grace that seemed nearly vulnerable. "What is that you have been chasing all this time? What forced you back here, to me, tonight?"

kurotomato

I can't find a gay enough gif for this post and I have a lot of gay gifs

 

[kuropeco]

Perhaps the most appealing aspect of Senga was that Mengyao had little to no need to pretend. He had tried that at first; desperately, fervently tried to hold onto the elite, noble image he had spent years cultivating, perfecting until it had become so ingrained in his mind that he had almost believed it himself.

Almost. Until now, until the voices had stirred to the point of madness, until the darkness had risen in his throat and threatened to choke the life out of him. And pretending had become harder, especially when he was around Senga, who knew what he was, who could relate because he himself was drenched in the same blackness.

Lifen suffered, but she held on to her purity. She was his one beacon of light in the world, and he could not taint her with this darkness, his own impurity. Lifen was stronger than he was; she knew how to control the Insanity, hold the demons at bay.

Mengyao was not as strong as he pretended to be. And so here, at night, with only the wolf for company, he no longer had to try and hold onto that image because there was nothing left to hold onto.

Senga had already broken down those walls, shattered them beneath his claws, just like Mengyao had done to him.

Mutually assured destruction, Mengyao thought idly, and let out a low hiss of breath, visible in the chill night air. He slipped a hand up Senga's back again, gliding up to the back of his head as Senga leaned backwards, their eyes meeting, and Mengyao's fingers gripped the pale strands of his hair, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You're not disappointed," he said, and it was not a question, something flickering across his eyes. Senga's hands were in his hair, which was free about his shoulders, and Mengyao tilted his head back a little, the smirk widening.

"You were hoping that I would come here," he continued, and his own fingers gripped Senga's hair tightly, briefly, then slid down, to the fabric beneath the fur pelt, wrapping an arm fully around his waist and holding him closer as though to soak up some of the coldness, sink into it, let it bleed through him.

He was drowning in blackness, letting himself swallow it up because there was nothing else. He could not have what he wanted, so he would take what he could have instead, go down the other path because the first was ruined.

Mengyao sighed, the sound reverberating throughout him.

"Darkness. Answers to questions that cannot be answered. Refuge.

"You."

keiifuu

2homo4u

 

[keiifuu]

Mengyaos' warmth was like wildfire, catching in his veins and igniting only to die too quick, to last only long enough that it made him crave more. It was nearly a fixation, he imagined, this addiction he had to the others presence. And perhaps he found the same appeal in Mengyao, in the strange Noble that seemed so shattered and dirty beneath the surface, a precious gem cracked open to reveal a beast beneath.

Mengyao had known it from the start, had called him nothing but a beast, a cornered, starving animal baring its fangs. And perhaps he'd hated it at first, gods but Senga could not pretend to understand the vast inner workings of Mengyao's mind. But here, now, Senga felt no need for pretense, for pretend. The noble knew more than anyone of the beast that lived in Senga's skin, a carnal, sick, hungry creature that craved more than anything another presence to tear at, to be with, to protect, and to hurt.

Senga had no light to burn away the darkness. Where once might have stood someone he cared for there was only a dull sense of emptiness, a wound that had scarred over into apathy. Into nothing at all.

He slid his claws from the base of Mengyao's neck into his hair, biting at the skin and tangling where he could find hold. It wouldn't hurt, not the way it would if he were interested in tearing out sounds from the others throat. But it was there, it was firm. Not a ghost of a touch, not hesitant. He was no more scared of hurting Mengyao anymore than the noble was of hurting him, and in that unsaid agreement, they found themselves drawn together.

"But then," Senga hummed, his eyes half-lidding, "you're not disappointed either." His lips twisted into a grin that reflected Mengyao's own, wolfish and subdued, but ever hungry.

"It's empty, you know, the darkness." He laughed, and the sound seemed almost crooning. His head bent, and he nuzzled at the soft flesh at the base of Mengyao's throat, raking his teeth across it testily, like a predator considering taking a bite. But the carnal hunger subsided, like a wave, only to be replaced by the hum and jerking mutter of voices in his head. They bit and gnawed at him, veering away any peace, any semblance of silence he could find. "I can't help enjoying the company of a stray." He teased, his voice nearly a reverberating growl.

Senga sighed and leaned back, though he kept close enough that their bodies pressed together, Mengyao's warmth burning into him, and his own cold sinking into the Nobles bones. His eyes lidded, tawny hair framing his face in waves. It had grown longer, and he'd never bothered to cut it, allowing the strands to pool against his shoulder blades without the cover of his pelt. He growled in response to the hands against the back of his head, but the sound was almost pleased, like a canine who's ears were being scratched just right.

Leaning over Mengyao, he allowed himself to soak in the sight, the heat, the hollow ache in his bones that constantly swelled like an ebbing tide into lust and chaos and need. "What would you have me do for you tonight, Mengyao?" He asked quietly, leaning down so that he could rest his forehead against the Nobles. "What would you ask of me to give you peace and refuge?"

He hummed, the sound vibrating throughout his entire body, lithe and sinuous beneath Mengyao's hands. "But peace is a distant memory, and I doubt I can give you that." And he almost sounded apologetic, almost sounded fond.

"Tell me what you need, and I will give you what I have."

kurotomato

i didnt think it could get much more homo and then my fingers touched my keyboard and a rainbow came out

 

[kuropeco]

Simultaneously, it was Senga's icy exterior that was soothing to Mengyao. Coldness meant numbness, meant that he could push aside the memories he did not want to remember, the life that he no longer could hold onto.

He was at the very bottom of the pit now, so deeply entrenched that he could no longer see the top, the light that was somewhere above his head, somewhere farther than he could stretch his fingers towards.

I have fallen and there is no way to get up.

Not for the first time Mengyao's thoughts turned to Lifen, to her beautiful, innocent face, to her brightness. She was always there in his thoughts, but as of late he had tried to forget, tried not to think of how he could not have her, his precious, precious Lifen. There was no telling what he would do to her once the Insanity grew stronger - and Mengyao knew there was no if, but in fact, only a when. He could not fight off this infliction, and he could not risk tainting her more than he already had.

His heart was always hers, but he could not give it to her, so he stowed it away carefully in the deepest recesses of his thoughts, a place where no one would see but himself, a place where she would be kept safe from him and from anyone else.

Being here with Senga did not require a heart. In fact, it required the utter opposite. Mengyao let Senga do as he pleased, a slow smile curving his lips upwards. "No," he said. "I'm not disappointed. Not yet, at least."

"It's empty, you know, the darkness."

Oh, I know, Mengyao thought, as he tilted his head back, closing his eyes, his breath escaping in a low, almost feral hiss. I know very well this darkness. It is the only thing that remains constant.

"A stray?" he said, in a scoffing tone, opening his eyes to flick his gaze back to the other, smirking. He lifted a hand and sifted his fingers through Senga's hair, absently tugging at the strands, and he was still smiling as the wolf leaned forward, their foreheads together; a cruel, twisted smile only partially reminiscent of the calmer one he used to wear.

Can I sink any lower than I already have? But he knew the answer to that question already.

"There is no such thing as peace," said Mengyao, and his head buzzed unpleasantly, the voices sinking into his thoughts, contaminating them with hisses and snaps. His hand slipped down Senga's neck, fingers curling at the base of his skull, and when he spoke again, his voice was a low, rough whisper, frustration and a small fraction of confusion laced through the attempted calm words.

"What is it that you think you can give me, little lost wolf?"

keiifuu

 

[keiifuu]

Yes, this game of theirs did not require hearts. Perhaps that was part of some unspoken deal between them, but Senga did not care nor bother to read between the lines. He paced in the heat-waves and the frenzy that Mengyao gave him, and the comfort that they found together in the blackness, not born of something of the heart but something of the loneliness and the pain that scratched and bit and tore at them both.

No. There was no room for matters of the heart in their affairs. And even if there was, Senga's had shut his away long ago. He had no one to give it to, not like Mengyao did. Instead, he was too afraid, scarred just as much internally as he was on a physical level. Years of solitude had driven him to force it all away, lock it all up in a cage. And when the voices came, they scrambled over each other to get inside, but Senga swallowed the key and they dug into the marrow of his carnal desires and frantic urges instead, burrowing deeply into his skin even though they'd come searching for something else.

Senga growled again when those fingers brushed against his skull, his eyes half-lidded and pulsing with a sick, golden glow. And it was funny, and nearly sad - how long had he been lost in the darkness and unable to find his way...? How long had he been looking for another like him, only to find companionship in Mengyao, who was nothing like the wolf?

I've been lonely here in the black, he thought to himself, long before the voices came. Long before you found your way into this den.

The smirk elicited a spark of familiar need for physical contact in Senga, burning away his thoughts for a moment and allowing him to drag his nails against Mengyao's skin, pulling at his hair for a moment - before he subsided, if only for a moment.

Senga hummed at the question, a sound like broken glass. "I can't make it go away - " He remarked quietly, lifting his eyes to Mengyao. "Not the voices, not the darkness. I wouldn't dream of the thought of pretending to give you peace - there is no such thing between us anymore - " He bowed his head, nose and nose with Mengyao, his tone smooth and quiet, marked by an unspoken promise.

"But I'll give you a distraction instead. A release. All of that frustration, all of that anger - I'll eat it up and make it hurt just a little less." He let his fingers slide from Mengyao's hair to trail his jawline, cupping the Noble's face thoughtlessly, the nails of his thumbs biting against Mengyao's cheeks.

"I'll give you a safe haven for your anger, your loneliness, your hurt, you poor, lost predator. I'll consume it all for you, again and again, when the pressure becomes too much."

And he couldn't tell Mengyao why, why he was doing this for him, only that it felt right in such a twisted way, strange and simple and complex all at once.

I won't give you a path in the dark, his words seemed to say almost hauntingly, but I'll give you shelter from the storm.

kurotomato

 

[kuropeco]

This would be his path, then, Mengyao decided, and there was a sort of bitter sadness in his face as he looked at Senga, tracing the scars across his face with his eyes. This would be his path because there was no other one to take, because neither one of them had anywhere left to go, no one left to turn to. Mengyao had already pushed away Lan, Lifen, the two people who were the only ones who had managed to put up with him for this long - but he had already broken Lan and Lifen was too precious to go near.

So this was where his footsteps would tread - a downward descent into darkness, and then he could go no further. He was very near the bottom of that descent now, dragging the one person who could understand right down along with him.

He'd loathed Senga for how easily he had given in to the voices, but now he was right there, giving in alongside him. They were not similar in any respects but this one, this one constant that neither could break free from.

"Nothing can make it go away," Mengyao said softly, mirroring Senga's gesture, his hand slipping down the side of the wolf's face, feeling the ridges of his bones beneath the pale, tightly stretched skin, the slightly raised scars that marred him, tainted him. "Nothing will ever take this away because there is nothing left to take away."

I have already lost all that there is to be lost.

Both of Mengyao's hands were raised now, gripping Senga's neck, fingers digging into the base of his skull, his thumbs pressing against his neck as though to strangle him, but the hold was not tight enough to do that, almost as though Mengyao were simply holding on.

Lifen, I'm sorry.

Lifen, I love you.

Mengyao's breath escaped in a low hiss, his eyes closed, the burning gold of his eye hidden now. "We'll make a deal, then," he said. "You and I. While we are on this path, we will both be each other's distractions. You the prey, and I the predator. You will take my frustration, my anger, my madness - " His thumb pressed against Senga's jugular. " - and you will devour it."

He smiled, and the bitterness was still there, the same haunted sadness.

"And I will do the same for you. We are each other's distractions."

Mengyao sighed again, his eyes still closed.

"So keep me distracted, wolf, by whatever means you see fit."

keiifuu

........i d e k

 

[keiifuu]

Senga exhaled, a sound like broken glass, pressing his nails against the pale skin of Mengyao's face. He could feel the heat radiating off of the other, burning into him, a sinking flame that made gooseflesh spread across his own skin. And it was that burning presence that forced him to hold on.

Because what were they doing, here, now? They weren't tearing at each other, opening each other up, trying to kill and maim what gave them such sickening, inhuman rushes. They were aligned perfectly, magnetic and pulling at each other instead of pushing and ripping and desperately searching for something to fill the void.

They were at the end of the descent, Senga thought, and a new sadness pooled in his body, a sickness spreading through his veins. They were fully immersed in their darkness, grasping for another body in the shadows, searching and lost and shattered by the invisible claws roaming in the endless depths.

You'll grow strong enough to run, Someone had told him one, pity in their eyes, and then you'll spend your short life running.

But where was he supposed to run now? There was nowhere left to go, nowhere left to turn. Senga's eyes lowered, and he tilted his head into the hands, turning to nuzzle the fingers briefly before they descended to his neck. He hummed out, a low vibration of sound coiling in his throat. "No. And - " He paused, his voice cutting out almost painfully. "And it is only a matter of time before it devours what is left of those things that make you whole."

And then they would become fragments, desperately searching for the things that had once filled their fractured existences. Craving for things that they could no longer have. Senga let out soft, keening sound at the sudden pressure against his jugular, as though egging the other one. "A deal then. Just ours." His hands slid from Mengyao's face to his collarbone, nails scratching at the delicate flesh. "Burn it all away, Mengyao. Until there is nothing but ashes left. And we will coexist. Fragments of a whole."

He keened again, a soft and haunting sound, and leaned forward, ghosting his mouth against the corner of Mengyao's closed eyes. The wolf had always been physical, conversation eluding his grasp. And he would do exactly as Mengyao had asked. He would devour all of that desperation whole. Lan's words fell into place briefly in his mind, and he wondered of all of the things that Mengyao was losing, and not only himself. He thought of the woman herself, and the artisan, and all of the members of Conquest he had been acquainted with.

And it nearly hurt to understand, that to some degree, it felt as though Mengyao were sinking into the darkness, and leaving them all behind.

"Don't look so sad, Mengyao." He murmured softly, and his tone was haunting and cruel and tender all at once. "Everything shatters with time. It is the only truth in this ever changing world of ours." He bent his head, nuzzling into the crook between the Noble's shoulder and neck, a hiss of breath escaping from his mouth. He settled against Mengyao, feeling the sharpness of the mans fingers still pressed into his neck, and wondered half-heartedly if Mengyao would ever let those fingers tighten and destroy.

"I'll burn those memories, that desperation out of you tonight." He hummed silently, sinking his claws into the nape of Mengyao's neck tightly, sinking his fangs into the others collar until he broke skin and left a mark, almost a taunt, a gesture as though to snap the sadness away from Mengyao in favor of physical pain. "So don't look back, Mengyao. Run, and keep running."

Because that is the only thing left for you now.

kurotomato

i d o n t k n o w a n y m o r e i am so sorry i torment you with this you officially have free passes to punch me forever

 

[kuropeco]

Mutually assured destruction.

It was the only phrase that seemed to fit them now, the only words that made any sense. They were both at the precipice to nothingness, and now they would drag each other down, all the way down, into the last dregs of blackness because there was nothing left for either of them. Briefly Mengyao wondered if Senga had someone else, someone like Lifen, in his life, but he pushed those thoughts aside, setting the image of his precious Lifen deep in the recess of his mind, not to be touched.

He would not taint her, not like he was already tainted, drowning in this affliction.

His thumb pressed down on Senga's neck, just a small pressure, Mengyao's eyes flickering across the wolf's face, hearing the sound that escaped with a small smile, almost as though he enjoyed hearing it. Perhaps one day he would press harder, feel the snap of bones beneath his fingers, hear the cracking of his neck against his hands - but not today, not now. They were locked into this deal after all, sealed into the fates they had not wanted to choose, but had been forced into choosing because there was no other way.

He felt lips against his eyes and the smile widened a little, his own lips quirking upwards with dry amusement. But the amusement slipped away at Senga's next words, the sadness still in Mengyao's face as he opened his eyes, staring up at the sky above them.

"I am not sad," he said quietly, but they both knew it was a lie, the words tasting like acid on his tongue. "I am...resigned."

Everything will shatter and I along with it.

He felt teeth against his neck and Mengyao let out a hiss of pain, clenching his teeth together, a muscle in his jaw tensing, along with the rest of his body, and his fingers tightened against Senga's neck.

But then they relaxed, and Mengyao leaned back, his head against the tree, their faces mere inches apart, sliding his hands up to rest on either side of the wolf's face.

"Desperation is a weak emotion," he whispered bitterly. "There is no use for it, but it is already there, eating me up inside." He leaned closer, nuzzling the side of Senga's face, his lips ghosting across the other's cheek as his eyes fluttered shut tiredly. "But you understand, little lost wolf. You understand very well the cruelty of this world, don't you."

It was not a question, but a statement. Mengyao leaned back again, his hands still on either side of Senga's face, holding him in place with pale, grey hands tainted with Insanity.

"You will run until your lungs give out and your heart stops and I will be there to shatter your remains."

keiifuu

/punches u

 

[keiifuu]

It was the heat, and the cold, and the coexistence of chaos and peace that made Senga shudder, his body caving and bending inhumanly beneath the Nobles touch. His own hands slid against Mengyao, pushing and pulling and scratching. There was a hunger in him, insatiable and angry, that made him want to tear the others chest open, dig deep into the hollows of his chest until all of the black that had swallowed Mengyao spilled out. And he wanted to consume it, to consume all of those burdens that weighed him down.

Because a sliver, a fraction, a tiny beating emotion within him hated the notion that the darkness had consumed Mengyao so wholly and taken all that he cherished away. Because a sliver, a fraction, a fragmented protective urge burned in him to tear away those things that haunted the Noble and let them infect only him instead. It wasn't martyrdom. It wasn't selfless. It was simply there, a craving that he could not shake.

"Resignation - " Senga hummed out, the word hollow and bitter in his throat, he lifted his head, the coppery tang wet on his canines, and pressed his mouth thoughtlessly to the corner of Mengyao's mouth, ghosting his lips over the warm flesh, his fingers slipping to the nape of the others neck. "I wish I could have saved you Mengyao, from this darkness." He closed his eyes, the words soft and simple and there. "I would have brought you back into the light - but I cant. I can only give you this."

And he was bitter, and angry, because he couldn't save anyone. He couldn't protect anything. Iyari, and Jay, he couldn't protect them, and sooner or later, they'd slipped through his fingers and left him hollow and alone. And he couldn't prove anything to anyone. He was the colt, the black sheep, the child playing in an adults game. He could remember the sourness and scorn in Soren, and the way Nergui had pressed her lips against him like a mother bear protective of her cub.

He was useless in this dark. But Mengyao was here with him, and Senga would be damned if he didn't give the man all he could, because if he couldn't, his existence was meaningless. There was no reason for him to continue on.

"You can't control it," He hummed, eyes half-lidding to the way Mengyao pressed against him, keening quietly to the ghosting touch. "But I will take it from you, and make it my own. Because I know it intimately, that world it creates." His body shook, as though awoken to memories by the haunting sound of Mengyao's voice calling him out on his knowledge of cruelty in this world. And every scar seemed to burn, and for a moment the ghost of pain seemed to return. But he shook it away and turned his head, nuzzling against Mengyao's fingers, grazing his lips against the Insanity-tainted skin and scratching it with his fangs in an open-mouthed kiss. His lips curved into a smile, haunted and sharp and tired all at once.

"But I have promises to keep," He recited quietly, "and miles to go before I sleep." A golden eye opened, half-lidded and glancing at Mengyao, wholly consumed by its eery glow.

"I'm running at your heels, Mengyao."

I will not leave you alone in the dark.

kurotomato

 

[kuropeco]

He was wearing less layers than he normally was, but still enough to cover them both, to shelter both himself and Senga from the cold night air that surrounded them, dug into their skin. Mengyao did not mind the cold; in fact, he craved it, but Senga was the opposite, craving the heat of another, and Mengyao did not hesitate to be that other, to be there in that collision of ice and fire.

A part of him wanted to feel the snap of fragile bones beneath his fingers, feel the scarlet blood run across his hands; but another part of him, a deeper, more secret part of him wanted to make sure that Senga did not ever feel the loneliness again. He had had people once; he had once known what it was like to feel as though he were cherished. But he could not take the risk of tainting them, and so he had pushed them aside, leaving only himself in this world.

He did not want Senga to have to feel the way he felt. Perhaps that was why he had been so angry at first. Perhaps that was why he had clawed at the other, snapping and biting and tearing like wild animals; because there had been some part of Mengyao that understood, that did not want to have someone else sink as low as he.

A low growl purred in the back of Mengyao's throat at the touch of Senga's lips to the corner of his own. "No you don't," he said quietly, and sighed, his breath ghosting over Senga's cheek, skin drawn tightly across his fragile bones. "I am not worth saving. I am not...I am not strong. This is the only path that I am capable of taking."

His fingers slipped up and down the other's neck, curling around the back of it almost absently, Mengyao's eyes closing again before he raised his arms, hands back on either side of Senga's face.

He felt lips against his palm, then teeth; cold and heat mixing together. Mengyao opened his eyes, and his gaze was sad, lifting his other hand to stroke across Senga's forehead, down the side of his face, drawing himself closer. "This world was not made for people like you and I," he whispered quietly, and closed his mouth over Senga's, inhaling sharply, as though drawing the other's breath into his lungs. It was not a kiss, not really, and it was not at all like the tender kisses he had given Lifen, full of love and emotion and desire. Instead it was the sealing of a promise, a devouring of the wolf's words, swallowing them whole and letting them sink into his veins, etched into his very being.

He tasted blood on his tongue. His fingers dug almost painfully hard into Senga's cheek as he pulled away, leaning back against the tree again, and another sigh escaped his throat, a shadow passing across his face. His hands slipped down to rest idly on Senga's waist.

"I will run and you will follow, because that is where our feet will go. That is where our futures lie, tangled together in a broken, bloody mess here in the shadows."

keiifuu

/just walks self off a cliff