[ Angel Devil. ] [ chatcube, or action. ] [ if you're visiting the rose barn, look for the door with the creepy bat-and-angel-wing sigil on it. Knock first! Or get zapped. ]
[chuffs and reluctantly lets go of quetzal's hand. instead of chasing that hunger, he has to sit back and pin himself under quetzal's gaze. there's goosebumps on his shoulders— muffin's feeling bold now, but he's not going to make it through this memory without wanting to hide]
Okay.
[he holds the coin at the water, catches Quetzal's eye for confirmation— or motivation — then drops it in.
Muffin can't sleep.
He's laying on his back in bed and staring at the dark ceiling. His blankets are tangled around his knees, kicked off in a fit of restlessness, and his pillow's at the wrong end of the bed. He'd left it there after failing to fall asleep at a different angle. Still, he's too drowsy to get up and do something with being awake. On other nights he might go downstairs or make a cubecall if it wasn't already so late, but tonight...
His eyes go to the window. He watches the feathers hung up in the moonlight and lets his thoughts drift. And as his mind wanders, so do his hands. Idly at first. He plays with a lock of his hair, twists his tanktop's strap around his finger, he pulls his pillow back under his head. Still watching the window.
And as his gaze goes more hazy and his thoughts go further towards dreaming, his hand finds the warm, smooth skin of his shoulder. He follows the muscle up to his neck. It's aimless wandering until he comes back to the join between shoulder and neck. Something about that touch... Muffin pauses, closes his eyes, takes a long deep breath as his grip tightens, and digs his own claws into his shoulder. He tenses and growls thinly, straining under the "bite." But it's his own hand, he can't get free of it until he chooses.
And… Well.
Well. It was originally for the Lust square after all. The memory plays on for as long or as short as Quetzal lets it, until memory-Muffin falls asleep and there's nothing more to recall. The real Muffin's too paralyzed to pause it. ]
Edited (CAUSE I DIDNT LABEL FOR STUFF MY BAD .A.) 2023-12-14 18:01 (UTC)
[ Muffin's paralyzed, but at some point, as Quetzal watches in rapt fascination one could even call a trance, it becomes clear he sure isn't-- because he, perhaps subconsciously, rubs the pads of his fingers on his own thigh, back-forth, back-forth...
One may realize it's a match for the pattern of motion a certain someone is creating, in his memory. ]
[ there's a little jump in quetzal's body, like he'd been so wrapped in the show he'd forgotten reality entirely. he's still got that increased, unspoken renewed edge about touch that started a few days ago, but before muffin can potentially un-hold that hand he--
angel devil doesn't want to move and have to move his eyes and have to stop taking the pretty pretty picture of his pretty bird in, so he doesn't something else, instead, and a thornless vine abruptly swings from the curtains of fabric around his bed, and loops three times to tie their hands together.]
[muffin makes a soft sound, not unlike those coming from the sphere— one quiet so as not to interrupt quetzal's reverie, the other muffling his gasps so he won't be heard. though of the two, there's no shyness in the memory. muffin never expected then that he would be seen now.]
[his gaze flicks to the sphere, free hand going poke his brow like he's checking his reflection.
and imagines, briefly, a second body on the bed and a voice whispering in his ear. or would it be in his mind...? the thought keeps him enough that he startles when he realizes quetzal's watching him.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
4/4
...but I dare say we've escalated since then, in the ways you make me feel in touch with the blood singing in my veins...
no subject
Are going to like second memory then.
no subject
Show me.
nsfw (not safe for woolietown)
Okay.
[he holds the coin at the water, catches Quetzal's eye for confirmation— or motivation — then drops it in.
Muffin can't sleep.
He's laying on his back in bed and staring at the dark ceiling. His blankets are tangled around his knees, kicked off in a fit of restlessness, and his pillow's at the wrong end of the bed. He'd left it there after failing to fall asleep at a different angle. Still, he's too drowsy to get up and do something with being awake. On other nights he might go downstairs or make a cubecall if it wasn't already so late, but tonight...
His eyes go to the window. He watches the feathers hung up in the moonlight and lets his thoughts drift. And as his mind wanders, so do his hands. Idly at first. He plays with a lock of his hair, twists his tanktop's strap around his finger, he pulls his pillow back under his head. Still watching the window.
And as his gaze goes more hazy and his thoughts go further towards dreaming, his hand finds the warm, smooth skin of his shoulder. He follows the muscle up to his neck. It's aimless wandering until he comes back to the join between shoulder and neck. Something about that touch... Muffin pauses, closes his eyes, takes a long deep breath as his grip tightens, and digs his own claws into his shoulder. He tenses and growls thinly, straining under the "bite." But it's his own hand, he can't get free of it until he chooses.
And… Well.
Well. It was originally for the Lust square after all. The memory plays on for as long or as short as Quetzal lets it, until memory-Muffin falls asleep and there's nothing more to recall. The real Muffin's too paralyzed to pause it. ]
FINALLY FOUND MY DRAFT FOR THIS
One may realize it's a match for the pattern of motion a certain someone is creating, in his memory. ]
no subject
...puts his hand over quetzal's. hold hand.]
no subject
angel devil doesn't want to move and have to move his eyes and have to stop taking the pretty pretty picture of his pretty bird in, so he doesn't something else, instead, and a thornless vine abruptly swings from the curtains of fabric around his bed, and loops three times to tie their hands together.]
no subject
no subject
quietly, ]
I would have been... murmuring plenty of things, to you, you know. I wonder what might have come to mind...?
Maybe something about that crease in the middle of your brow... that keeps coming back, right when you move-- like-- that...?
[ he's gazing openly at real muffin's face. ]
no subject
and imagines, briefly, a second body on the bed and a voice whispering in his ear. or would it be in his mind...? the thought keeps him enough that he startles when he realizes quetzal's watching him.]
Would, um, have been better with you.