Fugue State

a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity



New Thread

 Can You Get Enough Of Me?, @Sarah/Mattie
Jan 11 2018, 07:12 AM
1974 demon assassin, pimp, information broker
Mercy, mercy. Chains all wrapped around me, around me. Try to break free from the darker part of me. Mercy, mercy, please. All I see is a monster in me.
obsessed & in love
obsessing & shipped


The Gatekeeper
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897

Loki’s day at work was uneventful, you could muster. His hands full of duties he continued to accept onto his shoulders, he walked in the spaces in his office with a couple of documents in his hold and no, even minus interest to go over their words. If he could only download these pages into his head, resolve them in an instant and then shake off this acquired and useless knowledge he’d prefer it over every this wasted minute. Loki set the paper down just as the door to his office opened.


It was a custom to call him by his first name or his title.


After all, the latter was sheer respect, the former didn’t matter.

It wasn’t his real first name.

Loki paused, like he’d straighten and flash his sleek, but mostly unassuming height; like he’d make himself towering and tall and prove that outside of his softer appearance he was as harmless as a lion and its maw. He looked at the intruder slowly, and didn’t ask.

The man was staff. His suit ironed and his earpiece in place. His hair cropped. It made him look tight and professional. The man bowed his head.

“Your brother is here.”

And Loki straightened for a certain. He smiled.

“Is he? Second floor, third?”


Loki’s lips curled more.

“Go,” he ordered, flicking his hand at the man in dismissal, and waiting for the door to close before he returned to the document he’d rested atop his desk. He looked over its words. They blurred. His smirk widened.

Out the door in the moment, he was prompt, though not hurried in his journey to his brother. Down the hallway he went, that long, unwinding and dark hallway of the fourth floor where his office resided. And into the elevator, the only present access except for the holes for the windows he’d had filled with cement and barred to forbid entrance. They were charmed to look like they still held windows to the outside. He walked in and took the elevator down.

Second floor, the lounge.

It was a gorgeous place, moderately populated at this time of the night. An early one, too. Young and sweet like a virgin before her legs spread open, and it tasted like a pot of opportunities brewed in the smiles of his whores. The clientele was a varied one, and they all sat with a woman or two on their side. Some had male companions. Enjoying their company in giggling and hushed whispers, they all sat scattered across the vast and luxurious area. The staff sometimes popped up to check their glasses were always full and their wallets emptier with an hour. Boss’s orders. Loki expected a shrewd, businessman’s mindset out of all his employees, but it wasn’t quite on his mind when he walked in. Nothing really was. Nothing much. Just a sharp, obsessive need that he let take over him like it had its own wicked mind.

He immediately looked for Matthias.

His gaze scanned the place with a cold, violent amusement that if he had been lied to, if he didn't find him in two seconds or under he'd rain hell on this world. He did, in a moment. The air smelled faintly of hell. He knew only other eternal would scent this reeking stench, and recoil, too, if they were an angel.

To Loki, it was a perfume of power. His eyes were on his brother, sprawled on a couch like its only owner, Loki's own violent fondness for him like a shout in his eyes saying to anyone don't come over.

He walked to him without ado. Brushed an invisible hand through the hair of the woman sitting coiled next Matthias like she wanted some of the flesh that Loki beat it to every day. Brushed it, not really in a warning he was coming. Not to her.

Not to him.

Just his powers flexing their proverbial muscle, shooting an arrow at the hair she wouldn't feel being tagged with pain when he'd wanted to aim for her throat since he saw she'd touched his man. Punishment, clearly, for any peasant touching what belonged to him.

Loki joined them a smile on his face. It all sort of showed in it.

Introducing himself to the duo, he spoke with a confident whisper of, “Darling”, and the prostitute glanced up at him, and immediately noticed the look on him.

Feral like an animal's about to eat.

Fear flashed in her eyes.

Seeing his extended hand, she picked herself up from the couch, and this undeniably gorgeous, elegantly clad woman (as were all his men and women; he wrapped them in expectations and class) joined his side, her hand in his but only for a while. Dropping his touch to her lower back, he whispered to her, with a pleasant, cloying smile, “Entertain someone else, love, I’ll take care of this one. Tell Pierre to bring my usual preferred.”

She nodded, her frozen smile half thawing in relief, though not entirely, not fully as the coat of danger clung into her still, and he didn't even watch her depart for an actual second-- the most of his time he was willing to allot to her already had already been used up. He was just looking at Matthias.

She'd hoped to seduce him as per her job.


Loki’s eyes barely darkened. And then, he extended the same hand out to Him, like he expected Him to take it. And help him sit down, probably, his personal and real whore-- the only one that could dream of sating his heavy lust.

Loki lowered himself onto the man, and sat, calmly, into his lap.

“Hello,” he greeted, “brother.”

His ass in Mattie’s lap, his legs swung over the man, Loki leaned his side firmly over Mattie, like he wanted to suffocate him, or let him feel his quicker breathing, his quicker heartbeat (for you, Mattie), and draped one hand around his shoulders, his smiling, full lips an inch from Mattie’s.

“Did you miss me?” he asked him. He locked their eyes so easily like not a day had passed since their last luxuriant, rare time. Loki didn’t wait for an answer.

He trailed his hand down Mattie’s front, and his touch was obviously possessive without a further question; firm, and stern, like he sought to smear away every remnant of the woman normally employed to muck on men but not today. Not today. He felt the comfortable firmness of Mattie's muscles, and brazenly thought about how he'd have loved nothing more than to tug his pants down and mouth at his cock; he imagined flaunting their first union to the world, showing cock in ass and breathing out each other's title instead of a name; so that everyone and even this air knew who was whose. Brother. He cooed it into his thoughts. Moaned it. Exactly as he had then when in his bed, fucking himself so good he closed his eyes and came.

(After an hour and looking like a god of sex having a way with himself.)

“Would you like a drink? Let me serve you, brother~” he spoke, with a sharper, sensual smile. His eyes reflected some.

A half of that passionate, possessive love in his mind.

user posted image
Jan 11 2018, 06:16 PM
1964 Archdemon Luxury Hotel Owner
The Corruptor
A kiss like never before. Somehow you open the door, to how I feel inside. Blood red sunrise. I'm burning fast, I'm in love with you. And every time I move close to you. There's a fire in the room.
obsessively infatuated
obsessive // shipped
Mattie / Ninian


clandestine corruption
she/her/that bitch | PTSD | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
Matthias would think it a bit like falling down that fated rabbit hole with a one blonde haired little girl in a blue dress. Save she wasn't a she at all, and his hair wasn't long and adorned with a ribbon, nor was his dress blue... but his eyes were. Impossibly so. The sort of blue that you might swear you'd drown in if you ever fell in. An endless serene sea of tropical blue and they always seemed to find their way to his own. Perhaps he'd been cheeky to think the man wouldn't find those hidden places within his room, where he'd stare-- where they'd stare at one another with their passionate obsession wrapped around in a fist warm and wanting.

Or maybe Matthias knew exactly the time it would have taken Loki to find every camera hidden about his room.

Surely he'd not assumed the man would sit himself there and dip his fingers into the heat of himself while mouthing his brother's name. Surely his depravity couldn't have even predicted that deeply of a man he barely knew?

He had.

It still felt like slipping, as almost two thousand years landed them here, in the same city for longer than a few passing days. Longer than a few passing glances. Their time would stretch on and into it, Matthias would wonder, his mind a never ending seascape of thought. Never so much worry as wondering after things he had so little control over as the whimsy of his brother. Such an unpredictable man, and perhaps he was the sort who'd grown weary of the sudden flicking of his blood back to the bowels of Hell itself? Maybe this time would see them to a process where obsession grew to madness and madness grew to something untamed and uncontainable--

Until Matthias found his face in the warm acrid dirt of that sulfuric wasteland.

He wasn't a man above caution, it was the greatest separation between the pair of them, this need to be careful and work delicately around a delicate situation.

Matthias was also not a man who was impervious to the drawing of his wants.

His face a mask of stoicism as he stepped into the lift and saw himself to the second floor of this glorified whorehouse. It was a title he said silently and with nothing but affection and the utmost respect for its workers. After all, his dear brother had been one, once. His frame had fitted ill against Matthias' back then, a borrowed thing that contained too much bulk where Loki was paired best with similar, not opposite. Not when it came to the workings of his waist and how it bent. Matthias remembered it then, as he stepped out, shoes noiseless against the marble floors, hands straightening his jacket like he'd just stepped out of a car and onto a carpet, red--

As red as the welling of Loki's blood beneath his teeth.

He remembered it then, that same suffocating heat he knew Loki's fingers understood best.

And oh, how he loathed those cheeky little whores, pressed between cheeks where only he should be fit.

It colored his mind dark as he strode forward, tugged to this place by every thread of invisible want, business as well, but it was the former he let drive him. He was aware. Of anything that was Matthias he could always be assumed of this; self aware, to the very pinpoint of every agony he'd ever understood, Matthias was aware of himself and why and how and because of what, that he did or felt everything.

She was there in an instant, like a flash of crimson against the fresh snow, she'd draw his attention with a touch as his eyes wandered in shameless appropriation for the finery that wrapped 'round him. Fit over his fingers like a glove. As perfect a fit as the suit that clung to him.

Casually, he'd argue.

His tie left behind somewhere and his shirt half unbuttoned, and yet, he simply looked a man who'd not yet dressed in full. Too put together all the same, clean and sharp as the knife that hugged his calf, just above the ankle as if he intended to flash death at everyone with the simple crossing of a knee.

He didn't need a knife for that.


As crisp as the sleeves of his jacket, his tone was too honeyed and soft, the finger beneath her chin gentle against her skin but forceful against its angle. Tilting it up in a need to test the bend of her neck and the willingness to comply. She would. It did bend ever so gracefully, long and snow white. Its possible angle teased against his sense the want to slip an edge against it, softly, gently, and watch the quiet trickle of red coat it like sugar did ones mouth. She talked, Matthias listened to none of it. The drill was not foreign to him and he'd not wait for her to finish before wrapping her fingers around the crook of his elbow and walking on.

You'll do.

Murmured through his mind as her feet, legs too short, worked tirelessly to keep up. Her attempts to steer him were all thwarted, like a woman trying to drag an ancient statue off its station. Godspeed.

Led them and sat them where he wanted, eyes picking out the comings and goings. His spot chosen for the length of time it'd take their third to arrive, how long he'd have to stride to reach them-- how long he'd have to walk and watch as this woman curled herself against Matthias' side and rested her delicate fingers atop his nearest thigh.

It'd be the longest time he could muster.

Long enough that his mouth was made to stretch in soft amusement as the man entered some time later, not long (good), but long enough for the woman beside him to make herself comfortable (better). Matthias watched him like every man had ever watched an animal they'd left the perfect bait for.

Not her at all.

What a whore he'd look, sat there with an ankle draped over a knee and a woman's hand upon his thigh. He could feel the itch in her fingers to shift it. She wanted to, to run it along in some feigned interest at the seam of his inner thigh. Cheeky cunt. He'd not even caught her name when the soft surge of power brushed by her, wafted itself against the back of his tongue and settled his eyes on the man of the hour. His long legs and his impossibly casual dress. It was the man and the shifting beneath his skin that Matthias honed himself on.

The exchange between woman and man was almost lost, though the tone of his voice as it brushed along her skin and bloomed her with caution and worry was nothing Matthias would miss. Darling. It wasn't for him and yet he was watching Loki all the same, his gaze focused and astute while the rest of him sat casually, comfortably there and without a seeming care. A fallacy to be sure.

Plucked from his grasp and sent off with a whispered note and the man, all tall and cheek of him, would set himself in Matthias' lap. He'd half a mind to remind him once more he was no whore, but the insides of him brushed with correction over his correction. He was a whore, for a camera in a room. For one man and one man only, or so Matthias had made sure of--

I love you, to the detriment of the world.

And so it would be.

"Hello, darling,"

It dripped from him like acid rain. Jealousy had never suited him, he'd never had a reason or aright. It felt cloying even in this moment, a hand shifting to press between shoulder blades. To run itself down a spine, counting, maybe for the wonder which ones Loki could do without and still remain tall and beautiful. Surely there were a few. It felt heavy and oppressive then.

He hoped Loki choked on it before digesting it with a smile, much like that piece of his palm some days ago. A week? It'd been too long either way.

Loki's hands down his front and it was the moan of their title in his head that would see his eyes hooded and his legs shifted to better accommodate the seated party. And he tickle at the base of his spine he knew would only grow and fester. Matthias' palm would rest comfortably upon his thigh, in a similar manner his previous Darling's had. Not quite the same. His fingers too digging. Too possessive. There was no question to whom he thought of this man belonging to.

"Mm, let them fetch it," as if this was their sole purpose. A purpose that wouldn't see Loki from his lap. Attention snagged by a passer by, someone too well dressed and walking with too much sway of hip to be anything but an employee. "Gin and tonic," coolly spoken as he settled his attention back to Loki. Ice when he wandered away, obsession and wanting when he returned.

"What is your preferred, brother? Something red?"

Thoughtful for a moment and his eyes would shine with everything wanton, face still too wrought for the company of public, stalwart and calm.

"Your lips are so very lovely when touched with crimson,"

Fingers wrapping 'round the far side of his waist and they'd squeeze gently as a woman wandered by. His gaze never leaving, frame reacting to the simple proximity-- a dog laying claim on its own possession, lest they forget.

"I'm here for business."

An excuse, surely, when preceded with--

"...it's been days."

The soft tremor of irritation in his voice was nothing he liked on himself. A man slavering over one last drop of water before the desert took him.

Matthias was not a desperate man, though he ought to have told his tongue that before he'd spoken.

(important tol things)

user posted image
Jan 11 2018, 07:18 PM
1974 demon assassin, pimp, information broker
Mercy, mercy. Chains all wrapped around me, around me. Try to break free from the darker part of me. Mercy, mercy, please. All I see is a monster in me.
obsessed & in love
obsessing & shipped


The Gatekeeper
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
Hello, darling. Loki’s lips curled.

Didn’t he just adore it when Matthias played along? It made him oddly recall when they were still boys, and Mattie the sort of soul that attached to anything brighter and bigger than his own person. Loki wanted to decide he’d remembered this by a flaw; that in the past week, he’d done nothing to trigger every forlorn memory of something buried in the soil with the other fifty murdered people-- a past. And theirs shouldn’t rightly matter.


Matthias placed his hand on his thigh. There was attention he’d paid to Loki’s back, to the spot between his shoulder-blades. Now, his other hand was atop the thigh, and Loki’s mind swam through seven different scenarios how this could go if Matthias only shifted his hand; to venture it up however also meant tackling the presence of the pants, to know that their powers to inhibit was only as strong as his will was weak to tear them off frame.

It meant considering whether he believed the heat between the legs valuable enough for him. A part of Loki wanted him to whisper-- yes. A part of him wanted to stand in a courtroom against Matthias on this, bickering that the heat of his that he’d never, ever really wanted to offer as anything of his was just out of this world.

That he was hot. And he was tight. A whorish, salacious heat Loki needed wrapped around Mattie. It was there as comfortably and immediately in his mind as Matthie’s hands on his back and his thigh. Loki hooded his gaze, and purred in an answer, his amusement faint, “Oddly, I’ve never taken to alcohol. I am, however, asking for a different delivery.

“Something special.”

For you.

Smiling softly, the sharpness in his eyes almost continued to belie the wickedness inside like a tale y’all should heed if the concept of the tomorrow was wanted. If you wanted to live, surely not so much with all the people passing back and forth behind Loki’s back and teasing him with the strange and evident lick of hunger in the eyes so, so blue like those on Matthias.

He smiled.

And said nothing for a moment as Matthias both praised his lips, and then said it’d been days. Loki would have preferred if his own appearance was a mystical cryptid that seldom entered into any moment; that his blond, soft self was a thing of the myths and legend and not real, not so, so real that any time he looked into the mirror he knew exactly how young he’d died. It made him unbecoming for Mattie in his own eyes. It made him lacking, like a raisin, something insignificant and dried up, wishing to compare to the kind of glow and shine that Matthias maybe didn’t even know he had. Loki’s lips remained curled, and into that so very promptly arrived a waiter, and Loki’s answer to it was a loud humming sound, and the tease in his smile. And the life in his eyes.

“Mhmmm, I do have my own preferences…”

The preferred had been delivered, sitting atop a silvered plate with grapes. Green, and fat. Odd, for sure. Loki glanced at the waiter, not too long, and not too interested, but he looked.

And he lingered still, in a manner.


Because the waiter’s eyes did too.

On Loki’s presence, on his position, on the extreme likeness between his features and those on his brother. Perhaps Pierre didn’t really know who they were with the certainty that would lead him to betting money on it, but he suspected. And it was this suspicion that widened his eyes with realization.

And disapproval.

He was tugged down by his neck without Loki even moving a finger.

“You see,” he said, the plate with the fruit suspended mid-air-- their faces were close. Quite close, and Loki had leaned himself back, squirming as so in Mattie’s lap. You see?

“I really don’t remember asking for your opinion.”

The man couldn’t move. His frozen, nervous features surely tried to push his lips to talk-- but they’d been locked, held in position by an invisible power that painted him in the affect of resignation. Standing still, or rather slackening against the power that had decided he’d bow deep at the waist like a Japanese man, still when Loki lifted his hand and approached his face, the sweat that kissed him must have been with him since before then; it must have been stuck on him anyway to explain how it arrived so fast, so well, suddenly dotting his cheeks as Loki pushed his finger into the man’s eyelid, and caressed the man’s eyeball.

“It’d be a shame if anything happened to these,” he murmured to the man, coolly. A tone level, even, bothered by few to none fluctuations. It was easy to call it gentle.

Not so much when Loki’s eyes bloomed with color; when the whites flushed black and the hues red. When the skin around them blackened as well, rising out with veins like he’d swap frames with something twice the size of himself and burdened with a pair of wings that actually worked well.

It faded, and his blue popped out again, rising forth from their slumber while the red had reigned over. Loki’s smile was careful.

And cold.

He poked the man’s eye deep. Deep into his pocket.

Ignored how it watered.


And began to withdraw, sending him off with a flick of his hand. His attention returned on Mattie, his waiter scampering off, his heart closer to the space between his legs surely than its usual position in his chest, but Loki’s mind can’t have cared less about how deliciously amusing that was when he had something better at his hand.

His brother.

Beautiful and deserving of all the best things in the world. Loki casually licked the tear off his finger, and focused back on the moment.

“I do apologize,” he spoke to his brother, his lilt pleasant, elegant, even apologetic for sure. Loki hovered their plate in vicinity, reaching out to pluck a big, fat piece that he rolled over in his fingers, before popping it into his lips. He bit through it. It burst.


And its juice, little in volume, did some damage to the lips they moistened. Loki chewed slowly, the sweetness of the fruit explosive, the tart just so-so. He smiled at Mattie.

“A few days since what, brother? Do tell. We don’t share secrets here. What you tell us we treasure.” Resting over Mattie with a certain, and even possessive weight, he gave him such a hooded look they were in a bedroom, no doubt. Had to have been. Loki’s eyes lingered on Mattie’s lips, then.

“Are you well?” he asked, with a hint of genuine, warm care. He blinked, slowly. Something akin to a kitten for all its leisurely slowness that didn’t hurry. His heart palpitated as he hypnotized Mattie’s lips. They were too good not to want them.

Not to want him, in any way.

It made Loki realize how utterly warm the man felt.

“Do you want to taste me?”

The question surprised even Loki himself. It had sprung out into the air like a surprise villain revealed at the movie's end; nobody had seen it coming, and less so Loki himself who prided in a whole lot of things he couldn't name at the moment.

He just continued to remember that subtle ringing of that question slash request, that tremulous character-- the mark of excitement. Its grip.

It didn't surprise him.

His mind was so deep in the gutter it maybe been born there.

His thumb brushed over Mattie’s lower lip, losing himself in the bounce of it. Loki’s vision clouded.

At that moment to the detriment of everyone else, to any other man or woman who dared to look their way, Loki’s world narrowed down to Matthias in a manner that could have popped everyone’s eyes half an inch back; that would make them remember the touch of the finger, all too warm, all too hard on their eye, making it water, itch though the need to blink wouldn’t be satisfied just like Christmas presents weren’t handed out in January. It could happen, this all--

If they ever dared to look at something that was his, his, and his alone.

My brother.

My future lover.

Loki smiled.

It was full lipped.

And echoed that into his thoughts, once more.

My lover.

user posted image
Jan 12 2018, 03:33 AM
1964 Archdemon Luxury Hotel Owner
The Corruptor
A kiss like never before. Somehow you open the door, to how I feel inside. Blood red sunrise. I'm burning fast, I'm in love with you. And every time I move close to you. There's a fire in the room.
obsessively infatuated
obsessive // shipped
Mattie / Ninian


clandestine corruption
she/her/that bitch | PTSD | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
A deep thing, that hum from his throat, a throat that flexed and bent in some invitation as good as any parting of knees. Matthias leaned his head back in observation of the man sat in his lap, the back of his head pressing lightly to the couch just behind, lids hooded and low but the depth of such a thing would cover the sharp caution of his curiosity for a look most would have seen as sinful and little else. They were also not as close as Loki sat either, nor, he'd risk to assume, were they any as intelligent as the man in his lap either. Matthias would wonder after it as they studied one another. Perched there together like nesting dolls and yet there was a glint to them, in the far reaches, that spoke of their past like it were a bruise not yet healed. It bred a certain amount of trepidation in Matthias, the same sort that warred over the tight press of desire that settled in his pit.

A warmth that couldn't be helped when the object of his every want was there, the perfect fit against his groin.

Matthias would remain as he was, the lean of him softening a bit like the angle had been properly used and so, no need to overextend the point as it were. But casual and quieter than the boisterously smiling nymph that sat heavy and too warm against his thighs. The waiter was ignored, at least for a while, Matthias' gaze hitching itself to platter and Loki as he spoke cryptically over his preferences, a teased note that would remain as such until the luscious little green fruits were left to hover there.

They tickled Matthias' baser needs, the one that palpitated his heart and sung sweet murderous crying into his ears.

He'd not be allowed to remain there long, not as this man decided to compare and find so little contrast between the pair of men that his cheeks would flush and sin would rise into his eyes. Not the sort that stiffened him but rather that which balked and inched his flesh away in something like a fleeing from his bones.

Matthias would shift his gaze then, and as they sat there, he'd examine the look in the man's eyes--

Examined the pair of them there as they reflected back.

They did so look alike, Matthias aged and Loki not, but their features were just that if he'd leaned, perhaps you might have sworn it was an aged Loki whom the man sat himself upon. His love for himself so great, he'd let it age like fine wine so he could then sip it at his own leisure.

Pierre looked none to accepting.

It darkened their eyes.

Twin dragons and you might as well have been attempting to steal their only egg, for with ever the disapproval of one, so too did you damn yourself to wrath. Raw and bitter. It tasted like sulfur in his nose.

The man was yanked, in a bend that halved him and drew him close. There was a world of fear in his eyes while Loki's licked with passion and Matthias' with ice. Matthias could hear the man's thoughts, his mind cracked open as easily as an egg dropped upon the floor. He sat rather quietly for such as he was, watching Loki as he handed out reprimand to his employee. Matthias might as well have been in a business meeting he was only half invested in for all the attention he cared for this man. The tight winding of desire came with a tickle, tightening his fingers about the far side of Loki's waist. For good measure or perhaps to make his heart scream of blasphemy, so too would his palm trail along a thigh.

Fingers digging like they sought to tattoo their crescents into the fabric covered flesh, dipped gently to curl against Loki's inner thigh. A slight but obvious placement that did little more than darken the shade of Matthias' eyes by fractions.

He yet sat calmly, observing in a manner almost bored when his eyes reached the waiter, and alive with that sharp tinge of want when they flickered over Loki's profile. Over the gorgeous lines of his passion as it wrought his face in cold flame.

Matthias' mind would salivate beneath the weight of his want, a finger caressing an eye and his smile would appear then, faint and tugged off to one side. Cruel upon his face.

It'd end in what he mind would defeat as disappointment, though the moment and the place considered he supposed it was likely uncouth of him to expect anything more.

Matthias' attention would would rest upon Loki once more, where it need be. Where it wanted to be. Watched him as he popped the green orb between his lips like a tease he knew would knot the center of his brother like a fisherman and his rope. Gaze upon the glistening of Loki's lips and Matthias would note how they shifted to form his words, all lilted in that tone that spoke best his name in the middle of the night.

"Since last you came,"

It was such a blase tone, the room was sure to have heard him correctly though their context was off and they'd likely assume he'd forgotten the last word, over.

"At least for me,"

There was accusation in his voice, as if he imagined Loki and his many suitors, all touching themselves in tandem through the lenses of cameras-- as if the thought of this man perched upon his lap, ever wasting his seed on a bed not borrowed, and fingers not burrowed, and his own name upon lips sweetly bruised from the press of washcloth to ferry away blood, was the gravest of mortal sins.

How dare he.

In such a subtle tone it might as well have been a needle expertly jabbed into flesh so as only to feel the twinge of its invasion after the fact.

From the lips of a man who'd surely not taken his frustrations out on a doppelganger who really only looked similar in small points of reference. Perhaps how dare he belonged to himself as well. But Matthias wasn't here to judge anyone, he wouldn't claim himself a god of any standing. Simply, he had wants and it'd been days since they'd been filled--

He wondered then, how unfairly Loki felt the situation was. Half tempted to ask. Half tempted to offer the same in kind. Cameras were an easy install after all.

Stared for a moment as question lapsed into question and his brow rose in evident curiosity.

"This is hardly the place for sweet nothings, dearest brother mine," tutted softly and then created a sin of his own. The hand upon Loki's thigh left (everyone gasped then) capturing that whorish hand and it's need to feed Loki grapes. The subtle whisper of lover echoed in his mind as he pressed two of Loki's fingers against the sticky sweet juice upon his own lower lip-- two fingers he knew the fit of, knew well the way they trembled the man's frame when he cried out for his likeness and relation.

Swiped the juice from his lip, drying it to something less inviting for all those who glanced his way.

They'd press against Matthias' tongue seconds later.

Matthias knew well Loki would connect the dots as his tongue hugged the pair of fingers and dipped them well past their point of sticky. Till the knuckles that pressed against Loki's body in a refusal to dip any deeper, sat flush against Matthias' cheek. His cheeks hollowed and his tongue laved, fingers pulled from his mouth as desire swarmed his eyes. Dangerous and raw. A yes given in not a single word.

The soft pop of his cheeks as Loki's fingers were plucked from his mouth was impeded upon by an old friend and a drink on a tray.

Poor Pierre.

"Pierre, yes?"

It was a gentle question Matthias' eyes upon the man in a curious fashion, his eyes watery and irritated-- he looked terrified and rightly so.

The smile that lapsed across Matthias' face was charming and soft, a man made for trust as he leaned, pressing himself against own brother as he plucked the drink from the tray in a manner meant to soothe and ease worry. He was, after all, a man made to seduce into corruption. The sound of Pierre's mind as he nodded was messier than Loki's, fretful and wild with fear.

Matthias ignored it.


Gentle once more and the man would, timidly though his eyes were on Loki.

The glass in his hand was pressed to Loki's, the warm of Matthias' fingers grasping hold of the man's chin, Pierre's, shifting his attention in a touch sweet but firm as he examined the adulterated eye. "I do apologize for my dear brother, he's a terribly passionate little nymph," tickled, he sounded it, though only enough that Loki might catch it. The deep lick of lust for the chaos he held lesser of in its rawest form. A petting over the back of his obsession, even as his fingers trickled down Loki's spine.

"Tell me, does it hurt?"

A nod, the man's eyes grasped hold of Matthias, forced there by the fingers that held him yet.

"Would you like it to stop?"

Curious terror, it'd curl his features as the man whispered some pitiful yes.

"Alright then--" his fingers would slide off Pierre's chin, flattening a palm like a platter set before him as Matthias' tone dipped low and rough. A sultry that wrapped itself in beguiling silver-- "give it to me." Curiosity lapsed into fear, eyes shuffling between the brothers to land on Loki. Matthias' sigh was soft as he fished a spoon from the bar, its silver handle grasped between his fingers in an offering. "Do you need some help?" He'd wait there expectantly, the man's hands shaking before they even gasped hold of the utensil and lifted it from Matthias' fingers. With that he'd sit himself there in a lean, plucking his drink from Loki's hand with a last cautionary tutting to the man holding the spoon.

"Shhh, Pierre, not too loud now.... you'd not want to frighten the clientele, now would you?"

Sipping his drink, its cool and refreshing bite washing the taste of Loki from his mouth with some regret that turned his blue, temporarily dispassionate eyes towards the man seated upon him still (they'd warm to something Hellish as surely as they wandered Loki's features), like the mutilation in progress beside him was little more than a fly buzzing across the room--

A minor irritation.

user posted image
Jan 12 2018, 04:27 AM
1974 demon assassin, pimp, information broker
Mercy, mercy. Chains all wrapped around me, around me. Try to break free from the darker part of me. Mercy, mercy, please. All I see is a monster in me.
obsessed & in love
obsessing & shipped


The Gatekeeper
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
Loki’s lips curled in amusement.

“Do you think I would?”

Could he imagine it, his dearest brother? Would he enforce it, this odd, and laughable belief that behind the closed doors Loki gorged on men like water? That he handed himself out, true to his position of once a whore; perhaps it was an old cloth he slipped into, the favorite kind of sweater deal he had no heart to toss into garbage.

It amused.

And his amusement sat cold, strange on his face, like he loathed they discussed an impossible potential when they could have been wrapped in each other; they could have been, man in man, hand in guts and searching through the right organ to tug to make the other sound like a whore high on cock. It amused him, too. The thought that he could possibly find himself in such a position, spread naked and fucked raw. He hoped when they did it, that when he’d pushed Mattie sufficiently enough to the bring of snapping, the man had no mercy.

That he raped him. His own brother. Older and yet younger in appearance. Sweet and gorgeous. Raped him. Well and hard with the weight of his body bearing down him until Loki felt truly and well possessed by him.

That he took him, and that Loki’s no’s were as sweet as they were a clear and well enacted ploy to wrap the man’s attention around himself with an obsessive fear that he’d get rejected. Never. But Loki needed the hard swing of the man’s hips.

He needed to be his.

It burned so brightly in his head at once he knew why he’d been sent here. Hell was a meddlesome mistress. She liked to interfere into matters that weren’t really hers to influence. Loki found that he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind one damn, damn bit in this realm. Not even a smidgen. He just smiled, calm and approving as Mattie sucked his fingers. As he teased him with an imagery that Loki was quick to interpret, and even quicker to validate with that hooding, darkly entertained glance, and that stab of warning.

Don’t, his thoughts said. Don’t.

Or I won’t hold back.

Blood had rushed below his belt. He hardly saw the need to hide it. He just contently looked at Pierre.

The man was his beloved employee normally, although forgiveness wasn’t and never had been in Loki’s capacity. And thus he looked at the man, blinking even sleepily as though this were the first and last moment the men saw each other as quintessential strangers. Loki glanced back at Mattie-- and stared at him, curious.

Now, what are you planning, brother?

He’d never seen Mattie at work.

He just watched.

Smirked, somewhat, at that sweet and filthy pop and then accepted the drink in his (shaky-- when did my hand start shaking? When did I?) hold. He said not a word. Even as he was teased, amazingly, called a nymph which made him roll his eyes and look away in that exasperated kind of amusement like Matthias were relying on an old joke between them. It wasn’t too terrible, but it made him feel like a married couple toying with food. He slanted his look at his employee.

It didn’t last long.

Back on Mattie, Loki admired his profile with a great sense of naked longing, looking so voraciously smitten with him Perrie would have feared correctly that in a few seconds’ time he’d see one man end in the other’s stomach. How good would Mattie taste? As well as that one eager, first bite, the first of the thousand to come? Loki looked at Mattie’s lips like he’d chew on them. Like he’d eat up every word of theirs they sought to expel quite before they even wrapped around them. He didn’t manage to hold onto this fantasy, irked, crossed and slighted when Mattie touched Perrie.

And what right did Pierre have to stand in the way of the man’s hand? Rude. A cheeky mewling whore who did NOT BELONG IN MATTIE’S HOLD.

Give it to me.

Loki’s mind darkly purred. It cut through his violent thoughts, this simple request that prompted Loki to lean his cheek again Mattie and slant a studious look at his employee. There were many more Pierres in this world.

What the fuck did he care if he just robbed it off one?

He smirked.


It was as the drink was returned to Mattie’s hold and Loki paused to give his man a look of adoration. Mattie might have been his husband, burdened terribly by his work. Loki snapped his attention back onto his employee and spoke to him, “Go to the bathroom and return, hm? With it. I want you to understand something.”

He curled his finger at the man. And beckoned him frighteningly, frighteningly close with the help of his power that would inch him nigh until they were almost nose to nose. An employer and their employee with his watering eyes. Loki just locked their eyes--

“I had a worse punishment planned for you. Do not deny my brother. Go pluck your eye out, or I will pluck your lungs while he watches.”

He leaned away, then.

Leaned, and rested against Mattie, panting some, his control a delicate thing either held impeccably in place, or in a slipshod sitting view for anyone who wanted to watch him descend into the madness nobody would match in any manner. Annoyed, with the downwards curl to his lips, Loki waved the man off, and he hopped to stand and staggered out of here, out through the door eventually and Loki growled.

Heat entered his features.

“People and ruining the good mood of others,” he spat, in a cold stab. His lips stretched back. Flashing his teeth, he remained in position as so, appearing no kinder than a feasting animal eager to rip out the throat of its owner for the weeks of fasting that had saturated it with the hunger to survive. It mellowed out.


Somewhat as he looked at Mattie and hoped to calm himself in the familiar features of his. It was a marvel, really, to realize he’d only spent the past months visiting his brother similarly, but there’d never been a right moment like the last one between them. Was it because he’d always been summoned before it could? Because he’d never actually felt like being a true bother and sabotaging his business meetings like a jealous

Was it because they’d kept missing each other’s depravity in turns?

Was it because after all this time of chasing each other they weren’t prepared to be together?


Well, hopefully Mattie didn’t mind what happened next.

Grabbing Mattie’s drink in his hand, Loki made it an obstacle easily removed so he could hold up the hand to his own lips.

And then BITE.


Until his teeth pierced skin and buried themselves through the flesh of him.

And Loki’s eyes burned a vicious red.


It screamed in his mind.

Mattie’s blood stained his mouth. It dripped, too, inside. Like a whore. Like the very whore he would make of his brother, naked and fucked raw. Loki knew Mattie liked reading his thoughts. He knew it, because if he had an akin advantage he’d rape it for all it had to offer.


And so.

He fueled him.

He fueled his brother.

With a very smothering, smothering and unpleasant visual and need.





To have him. And so he imagined himself tearing open Mattie’s abdomen and eating his flesh. He wanted to stick his head in him. To reveal him. Vivisect him. To wash him in acid to remove every gross putrid living thing Mattie had touched that wasn’t him. That wasn’t Loki. His features paled like they did when the transformation was about to happen. The attempt at transition to his demon self, bulking and black though before it could go black it would go pale. It would dim his face, slapping it with a gray gradient and stand out his eyes, dark.


And red.

As violent as the man he was inside.

And Loki grabbed Mattie’s face in his hand.

And dug his fingers in it until he bled.

“Don’t do it again. You’re MINE.”

user posted image
Jan 12 2018, 07:46 PM
1964 Archdemon Luxury Hotel Owner
The Corruptor
A kiss like never before. Somehow you open the door, to how I feel inside. Blood red sunrise. I'm burning fast, I'm in love with you. And every time I move close to you. There's a fire in the room.
obsessively infatuated
obsessive // shipped
Mattie / Ninian


clandestine corruption
she/her/that bitch | PTSD | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726

It purred from him anew and every dark recessed corner of his mind grew. Every dim lighted area flickered and threatened to go dark. To let a man sit and stew in his thoughts of this other man mewling through the day as he tutted softly to every pretty face that was set before him. Every whore graced with the same cute little pet name, like he favored them over a man he simply titled in a manner that tickled them against the depravity of their sins. They flirted with something that not even the world's God shunned from his bible, not in full. Deemed a mortal sin by those in power and yet it ran rampant in the pages of His manifesto.


It lit Matthias' gaze with everything green and vividly so.

A man who hated the crooning Baby he was so often greeted with, that ridiculous Mattie panted from a throat of his created whore. A man who cared little for pet names at all but would have sworn on this moment that Loki himself could have made pet name of Cunt and Matthias would have moaned like the filth he was so rightly assumed by society. Or would have been had they cracked open his mind and examined the tight coiling of himself around every notion of his own blood.

Gin sipped and his eyes awash with their figurative putrid green, a color that only darkened as he glanced back to Loki. His lilt something haunting and too sweet. A tone that better stripped clothes from skin than did fingers. Spoke such sweet sultry nothings that surely Matthias' mind could get no darker. An expansive void of black dotted by every star of red, little whims that wanted so very much to simply reach out and pluck the eye like it were flower. Perhaps then he'd offer it to his beloved, penance for all the times he'd attempted murder and hadn't yet been strong enough to be anything but a laughable entity stuck to the heel of a shoe.

It'd resonate in his mind, clear as a bell tolling from atop a mountain.

My brother.

Teeth grasping hold of his flesh, not yet, but also yes-- grasping hold of him in such a fevered pitch he was sure the man upon his lap could feel it then, that initial throb. A beast rising from its slumber as it was called from by the lips of its would-be lover.

Oh, how he'd long in that moment to call the man such. Feign their relation if need be, if it allowed them a better title, he'd not have cared about losing one for the other just so long as he could lay claim to the space at the center of this other man, the one keeping both his eyes, precious and blue and beautiful.

Matthias' eyes were on this man, Loki, the other ignored as he was sent off to the bathroom with his spoon.

The moment was over though and while there was some regret the man wouldn't pain the room with his agony, Matthias seemed not to care much. His eyes still green and his mind still whispering darling, like it were better weapon than the one in his boot. Sharp and keening and surely it'd slip through him with relative ease.

Beyond the expanse of jealousy was calm. Exacted and sharp, a man seemingly bothered by little outside the orbit of himself and this other. He could feel it, even if they couldn't see it at the ready, that salivating animal that paced beneath his skin, sallow cheeked and heavily breathing, if feet clawed and its pace glowering over the floor. It longed. For so many things it longed. To possess. To claim. To be so in turn. To simply be petted like it'd done a good job. To be acknowledged in some capacity that made it feel wanted, even in some small unkind mention.

To be hurt and abused, all attention was good attention to the mind of a man obsessed wandering aimlessly back and forth.

The drink gone and Matthias gave no resistance to the flash of teeth or their burial into his hand.

Their eyes bled red and angry, but it was the subtle part of Matthias' lips that gave him away, the want to pant and plead and beg--



Masticate me.

The curl of his lips were cruel, though the world would state him as charming then, perhaps a man smitten. But his smile was nothing to be trusted, nothing worth anything in the realm of these mortal things and their fallible hearts. Such useless things they were. His smile was nothing long for this world as it was, but neither was his moan--

It'd come eventually as every vibrant display of vitae in Loki's mind poured heat to his lap. His mind a wild ride always, stood is such crisp focus then, the sort he knew would fell the world if he filled it with promises he intended to break. His features stared at in such soft chill, lips parted ever so softly, the staining of his last deep exhale they'd see their filthy moan as fingers dug into his face, cheekbone blooming in such beautiful pain it couldn't have been real.

I could, however, be harder and deeper--

Loki couldn't read his mind.

His hands displaced then, one cupping the curled fingers in his face, this one Matthias found to be the most important of the pair as he pressed against it with every want to shove fingers clear through his cheek. Press his tongue against their bloodied tips as if their force was some better fucking than he'd ever received otherwise. Dragged them then, when the skin proved too resilient and his ecstasy too wanting. Dragged them down his cheek to carve fissures, to build the skin beneath Loki's nails and see the soft leaking of his flesh down his cheek.

He could already feel the ire of his future self, as yet another suit was deemed ruined by the presence of too much blood.

The other hand worked in tandem, its grip upon a thigh would shift as Loki's own did down his cheek.

A praise for a praise and he was sure there was horror in every eye that twisted their way as hands slipped down cheek and up an inner thigh.

He was none too coy as fingers slipped over the half-hard cock pressed against Loki's thigh. None to shy as he palmed it and then squeezed it in the wake of that deep heady moan of his. Something his, if you trusted the dig of his fingers. They might as well have been in a room somewhere for all the care they paid those looming about the room.

When the moment calmed and his deeply lidded eyes peeled open, it was to stare at the man a long moment, confounded you might assume him before he answered a question long since dormant.

"I do think you would,"

The subject some dead society he'd dig up to bask in its long lost art.

"I've watched you do just that, for centuries. Hand yourself out to men and women who deserve none of your time, so why not now? Why not here?"

Baiting and sharp, his tongue was dangerously casual.

"My begging at your heels for lifetimes surely couldn't have led to such a sudden change of heart."

His smile was returned then, cool and spreading in the face of men who had no such thing; hearts.

His fingers loosened against Loki's thigh and his palm rubbed against the half-hard cock in every motion meant to be as soothing as it was likely not. His attention would shift then, the flawed logic of this asking was nothing he could entertain in full. He touched dozens of people, as he was such Loki did as well-- but it was the man who wandered back that caught his attention. A hand was produced and into it, shakily, would come to rest the soft almost golden brown hued staring pupil. "Well done, Pierre. Sadly, you've lost your charm... and made a terrible mess of yourself. I must apologize again, as I leave you in the very capable hands of my beloved brother." His shirt was a bloody mess, but it was his gaze that amused Matthias, as it caught on the hand gripping hold of Loki's cock.

The other hand, stretched oddly would deposit the eye into the glass yet perched in Loki's grasp as it tumbled to the bottom to stare at them idly. Tinged the gin red though it seemed not to bother Matthias in the least as he lifted it once more and sipped its refreshing, biting liquid.

"It might have been all I've ever wanted from you, brother, but that doesn't mean I trust it."

Trust you.

He wanted so very badly to tack it upon the list his beast paced beneath, trust, but fool him once...

user posted image
Jan 12 2018, 08:35 PM
1974 demon assassin, pimp, information broker
Mercy, mercy. Chains all wrapped around me, around me. Try to break free from the darker part of me. Mercy, mercy, please. All I see is a monster in me.
obsessed & in love
obsessing & shipped


The Gatekeeper
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
Mattie accepted his touch onto himself like he appreciated its presence. Like those filthy moans of his pointed at a masochist that Loki had not seen coming. One part of Loki decided he hated it (who’d done this to you, Mattie?).


Another was quiet. A slumbering quiet beast that felt a sense of calm in the reality of this. He smirked. A slow curl in his lips, it took its sweet time to infect him with the amusement that it summoned naturally. He smirked. A point to bring up forever after like the key plothole that had been haunting the nation since the TV show’s favorite heroes didn’t get together. Loki wanted to sit back in some backwards lean of a victor certain of themselves. When Mattie began to palm him, he shuddered. He didn’t stop this abject moment.

He did quite little. Passive like for a moment, he let Mattie have the reins, gloating at the view of this, at the ability of the man to hold Loki’s attention in a way nothing else dared. Nothing.

At all in this realm.

Scared, perhaps, that though the red in his eyes had faded, their cruelty never did. He smirked a bit wider, but it froze when Mattie began to taunt him.

Loki wanted to tut.

Pausing, cold in Mattie’s lap, he didn’t say anything for a moment as he regarded the impudent blood of his that dared to question something long lost. A part of Loki’s past hidden so well behind his eyes even Mattie didn’t know the truth of the intentions driving Loki to the brothel’s front door. And then, he was with them with a century and then a bit more. Why?

Whyever plunge himself into the world of tits and cock if his own preference normally made them a dessert and he had no sweet tooth?

And his smirk was gone.

For a moment.

It returned like after all, there was no making his cruelty and the smirk truly go down. There was only keeping them at bay with such things as words and distance.

Temporary and without effect.

Loki hummed.

Cold, still, though silent, he looked at the fae Pierre, here returned with the eye he did drop into a drink and Loki wanted nothing more than to drink it and then chew through the eyeball of his. He assumed Mattie had a better purpose for it. Perhaps he collected eyes-- perhaps he liked staring them down until by the force of sheer primal fear he forced them to manifest the lid they blinked to hide behind.

It made Loki’s smirk so wide.

Loki returned his attention on Mathias.

Inspiring Pierre’s departure with a flick of his wrist and that given gesture of fuck off, he kept his gaze on his brother and hummed with much drama, a thoughtful repose assumed in wake of Mattie’s question.

“Hmmmm… distrustful of me, brother? Don’t worry, as am I of you yet… after all, we went centuries without this, why now?”

Like a devil, he adopted a tone almost seductive. And it’d be warm and beguiling, not so much in the case of the former, not at all like the hug of a loving person; but it would feel warm, it would feel tepid rather, it would feel a bit above cold and it would feel more than what he used on these useless others, on this world that Loki looked at and saw a thrall. He leaned in and cleaned Mattie’s face with a drag of his tongue.

His brother was right. Caution was quite due, and Loki’s previous experienced stayed his advances for a moment, and calmed the violent burning of the lust in his head.

Only for a moment.

For every instant that he attempted to be a considerate man, a sensible man, a man who thought things through when it came to his brother, his urge to devour in him rose defiantly in response. A fuck you, clearly, to the face of a man who’d been stupid for this attempt. Better to fell in him in turn for the accidental felling of himself he had caused for the minute calmness.

Better to teach him that he was never right to assume control of himself.

Loki smiled rather calmly as he leaned back, Mattie’s (healed) face cleaned. And he asked him--

“Well, what do you want in turn for this? To believe me?”

It amused him. Briefly looking around them, he noticed that the general reaction to their presence burdened on concern. Most clients, however, were keen to rely on the don’t ask any questions philosophy that this place was known for. After all, Loki pleased utter garbage. The people here were monsters; fetishists and perverts, if they didn’t ask you to shit on their plate and watch them eat it for dinner, perhaps they wanted you to wear a pretty bow on your head and pretend your name was Suzanne; a long lost woman lying buried where they’d dumped her body after they killed her and chopped her into pieces.

Don’t be a Suzanne if you’re ever choosing a career. Loki settled, and slanted a look at Mattie.

“You know I don’t blame you for these questions,” he mused, his tone smooth, and soft. Planned out to the last sound. “I don’t blame you for this lack of trust.

“I don’t give a shit. You're still mine. And you always were.”

He caressed Mattie’s cheek with the back of his hand.

Sighing out dramatically, Loki did begin moving off the man, his hand slipping in Mattie’s to drag him along so they could be stood up, both, one taller than the other and both impossibly so, with their silly, long legs and their need to stand on them with their elegance. Loki’s lips were still stained red. Slipping off with Mattie, however, and wordlessly pulling them away from this site of almost murder, he appeared to care as much as he did what kind of a rumor would spread now that Pierre had lost an eye. He didn’t care if Mattie grabbed his drink along. He cared the man came with, subjected to the petulant dragging of Loki who’d not have denied the title now even if it made everyone here laugh.

He was petulant.

So what.

He was also walking off with Mattie for whatever purpose, for whatever reason, a sense of private that they needed to discuss some matters. That was how what he’d have explained it to you had someone stopped to ask him this question between now and then when it happened.


The door to the lounge opening and Pierre coming back with a vengeance.

To stab Loki vengefully in the cheek with the very weapon he’d used for plucking.

The spoon.

It happened so abruptly Loki halted.

He didn’t stagger, not really, but he reeled back in a cold, and lame shock, standing frozen on the spot where the man had swung at him and the world had flashed silver for a moment. Embedded in his cheek, the spoon sat there confidently. Loki left go of Mattie, and frowned as he reached for the handle of the utensil, and took it off-- ripped it. The demon blood of his blackened quickly. He looked down at it in a frown and then at the man-- at the traitor.

And Loki’s eyes shone in cold, hard disapproval.

user posted image
Jan 14 2018, 04:18 AM
1964 Archdemon Luxury Hotel Owner
The Corruptor
A kiss like never before. Somehow you open the door, to how I feel inside. Blood red sunrise. I'm burning fast, I'm in love with you. And every time I move close to you. There's a fire in the room.
obsessively infatuated
obsessive // shipped
Mattie / Ninian


clandestine corruption
she/her/that bitch | PTSD | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
The lacking was nothing Matthias couldn't have predicted, nothing he'd not seen coming and yet it still sat heavy and woolen over his shoulders as they sat there wondering over the the why's and the now's of this moment. The catalyst was an easy enough truth; Hell. But she hardly explained the full of it. Their meetings had tossed them in clashes many times before now and each one had ended in a rather quick ending. Their orbiting was nothing secreted, nothing unusual, but their staying was. Even when it was little more than their feet in the same city or region it was brief and over with in days.

But weeks were unheard of.

So was his lacking of a return trip to the fires.

"If I knew the answer to such things, we'd certainly have no need to ask after it, hm?"

What proved anything at this point? Time, likely. Matthias knew nothing else that would give him anything like peace of mind when it came to the pair of them. Trust was nothing bred so suddenly when the face of its opposite had been seeded over the course of two thousand years, the turn around for such might as well have been two thousand more for all Matthias knew of it. Still his palm shifted and the soft tang of gin rested upon his lips in such sharp opposition of the feel of Loki beneath his hand. Caution culminated a wall around himself but Matthias wasn't fool enough to believe it made of anything but sand. A castle built of it around his feet-- and oh how quickly the last had fallen when a man presented the right stroke of petting upon an ego fragile and damaged by that same hand.

Matthias' attention was careful, as careful as his hand was not, as the trailing of his thoughts were nothing chaste. The arm lust seated in his lap, a note not bound to only Loki himself. "Your hubris has always been my greatest hurdle, dear brother, I fear it might always be as such," he knew well what Loki thought of him. A prized thrall that followed wonderfully at heel, nothing qualified as equal, not quite yet.

It sounded nothing bothersome to the man who sat there watching the shift of an eye through his drink.

Thoughtful for the few scant moments before Loki's mischievous whimsy tugged them to their feet.

Long legged and the pair was wander, men made of sticks perhaps, stood upon stilts and Matthias' reach was nothing less then ground-eating, even as he wandered in such a casual lilt of feet over floor. Silent. Elegant. He did regard the man who tugged and pulled, a figurative mention to be sure. Studied the lack of sway to him as he strode beside something he wanted. Such an odd moment that lacked all sultry Matthias had come to know him of. But he wasn't here to beguile and catch the eyes of others. He seemed oddly contented, or so the shift of his hip would tell.

They'd not even get to the door before it was flung open by none other than their apparent foe in this moment.


Matthias saw red.

The world would see it of him as well.

The silver sticking out of Loki's cheek would chill the air by noticeable degrees. Matthias' ruby eyes peering at a man whose lungs were running rampant in his chest, his one remaining eye wild and wide, shining with every notion of justice that had long been twisted rounded in Matthias' own mind. He knew it well. Ever the man plagued by self awareness and he knew the hard and unyielding color of it.

A hand pressed to Loki's cheek then in survey of the damage already healing--

Mattered nothing.

A masked man. Matthias might as well have been wearing something gleaned from a store's self. Hollow and frozen in time, as chilled as the monotone of his voice.

"Come along, Pierre, we have things to discuss, you and I, that should not involve the rest of the room."

No room was given for a change of his own course, dragged along like a dog at the end its own leash. Plucked by his scruff without so much as a touch and the man would wander with them as they made their way to a room too well guarded to be anything but Loki's own office. The lift ride tense and beyond uncomfortable. No time was taken to admire the room, to study its carefully placed objects or what they even were. A man on a mission and he was yet calm and his actions elegant and unhurried as his TK sat the man upon a chair as a quiet tisk hissed through his teeth.

"Abundant mistakes have been made tonight, Pierre. I trust you're intelligent enough to know this does not come from nowhere?"

Matthias worked as he spoke.

The drink against his palm displaced to a table before his fingers flicked buttons through holes and his jacket slipped from his person. If you trusted his actions, the unbuttoning at the cuffs of his sleeves and the meticulous and careful rolling of the fabric to the middle of his forearms, one might have thought him doctor preparing himself for surgery.

The air chilly once more and the man's flesh would give rise to defiant texture as he sat where he was, obedient if only for the terror reflected in his remaining eye.

An envelope opener would find his palm, cold and metal and as he examined its slightly dulled edge he'd frown softly. Not at the instrument but rather the moment in general. The man next as his form halved in a squat that sat him slightly lower than the man seated. Red eyes-- red eyes settled in pale, graying skin would peer at the man a moment. "I can ignore a very many things. Your insolence in the face of love you will never understand. Your hesitation when asked to do something as simple as the removal of yourself--"

The metal tip of the letter opener would find the man's chin, tilting it up softly to meet and eye with Hell itself.

Matthias' tone was soft then, just above a whisper and it was meant for one man, though he knew well enough the other would hear it as well--

"I trust then, you know where your folly lies?"

A nod, faint. A shivered motion that did nothing but raise the flicker of fire in Matthias' eyes.

"I can not ignore such trespasses,"

His lean then would rise him, a slight motion that pressed the letter opener through the soft underneath of the man's jaw. Shoved it through to pin tongue to the roof of his mouth as he stood, a painfully (every pun intended) slow motion as his voice sounded in that same personal tone. Their noses almost brushed. His hot breath spilling across the man's lips.

"Never again will you touch what's mine.

"Do you understand, Pierre?"

Yanking the dulled opener from the bottom of Pierre's mouth, the hiss from his tongue was in everything disapproval as the man blubbered softly in a tremble that spoke him softly and rapidly of family. Family that Matthias has no care over. Family that saw no halting in the slip of his dulled knife into the middle of a man seated against his will--

Family was nothing Pierre had spared the Irbson's from his look of distaste.

The ignorance would be repaid in full.

Borrowing that soft sense of pure and untwisted justice from the man's eye Matthias would see something passionate and true turned into something wicked and coated in gore.

Every wound made carefully and small enough that it'd not see the man dead for long and painful whiles.

Dissected like a science project, the resilience of the fae would do the man no favors as he was carefully cracked open wide like a coconut. His touch scarce as his actions precise. The ring of Pierre's voice everything tormented and ringing sweetly in his ears. A background crescendo that would pattern Matthias' heart in its steady rise.

He'd have labeled it excitement if he'd not thought it crude.

A piece of art one might assume of him, sat there and peeled open wide, Pierre's heart a laboring thing that floundered there like a beacon of stress. Matthias found it nothing appalling. In quite a contrasted frame of mind he'd always found beauty in the internal structure of man. A living, breathing, sculpture of the anatomy of every man and as Pierre threatened to choke on his own tongue, his teeth macerating through its thick flesh long moments before Matthias finally hit his point of idle study.

A cluck and he'd pluck it from the man's throat with a thought as he took half a step back to settle himself there beside Loki.

His eye critical and displeased. An artist who was never happy about his end result, even as it bled out ever so slowly, Pierre's fae genetics trying in every desperation to fix flesh. An immortal struggle against the expansive hold of TK that did nothing to colo Matthias' features with fatigue. The light cropping of sweat upon his brow settled there in every nod to his concentration after his craft.

From throat to just below the navel, Pierre sat a man turned inside out and held in place.

"A tenacious species, the fae,"

An idle murmur as he flicked the kerchief from the pocket of his waist coat and wiped the blood from the letter opener. His fingers next, though they were half as bloody as they should have been-- cleaned all the same before his attention turned to his brother. Features almost apologetic as a clean finger tilted Loki's chin to brush a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Reverent and sweet.

Thumb brushing across his healed cheek, Matthias' face yet everything dislocated from the craft that sat dying quickly upon his chair.

"Apologies for the mess, Ciniath,"

Another murmur that saw his gaze flutter back over the man with a frown.

Clearly displeased with the end result.

Self critical and he'd see the letter opener back to the desk where it'd been lifted from even as his attention pinned itself to the wide staring eye. It'd grow dim and pliant by the time Matthias dug his fingers into the corners of the socket and yanked it gently from its recessed place within the man's face. Not nearly as clean as a spoon, its tendrils and roots coming with.

"Lesson learned, Pierre."

It'd lose the light of life long before it joined its other half in his glass, a thing ignored as he stood there beside his creation, without any care over it, eyes warming as they glued themselves to Loki-- more importantly, to his healed cheek. Lingered there a moment before meeting their eyes in a lock unforgiving and far too passionate.

"Apparently whimsy is not saved only for you, brother...

"Though, I did owe you for the secretary,"

The curl at the corner of his mouth was faint in its amusement.

user posted image
Jan 14 2018, 06:52 AM
1974 demon assassin, pimp, information broker
Mercy, mercy. Chains all wrapped around me, around me. Try to break free from the darker part of me. Mercy, mercy, please. All I see is a monster in me.
obsessed & in love
obsessing & shipped


The Gatekeeper
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
Loki had a punishment ready just when Mattie moved them. Loki’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t stop the man. His eyes squinting in curiosity, the ghost of their previous conversation was dancing in the front of his mind like a fresh, mocking reminder of the truths they both knew; that they didn’t trust each other, and that the hubris of both, rather, could be perceived as the one true enemy to a happiness there surely can’t have been capable of finding in melting the distance between each other. Loki took them to his office, or perhaps he followed. His eyes were on his brother, both suspecting him of foul play and merely scrutinizing him, again. Just some hard, prying stare that hoped to make a sense of the situation without plenty contextual clues at hand. Eventually, Loki just looked away, and faced forward. His office would welcome them, open, vast and mostly barren, occupied by as little furniture to make any visiting to feel big, and noticeable. You couldn’t get lost in here.

Between the oval table for business meetings, and the many chairs it had tucked to it, and then Loki’s own desk, a thick, heavy piece that he had lined against the wall where a window should be, but there was and were none here, there was nothing else to interest your gaze. Perhaps the twin bookcases to either side of Loki’s desk, leaning against the wall did the job in some part, their books, however, even from distance seemed to contain titles either too short not to disconcert, or sprawling and long like quick guides to plucking eyes out over dinner with dad and mom. Loki watched how Mattie shed his jacket. There was no hanger here.

Slipping out towards him, Loki was a wordless, watchful presence that judged the man’s every move, every fidget in his complicated motions. He found there was a bit of surprising broken rhythm to them. That took the jacket gently between his fingers and slid them off the forearm, and held it, protective, quiet even as he continued his analysis of Mattie’s actions as falling between premeditated and sudden. A series of impulses but why? Why? Loki poked his tongue onto his once wounded cheek. He looked at Pierre.

Stabbed through the roof of his tongue, he made yet for no truly shocking sight-- but it was the words. The words that resonated with Loki the most. Never touch what’s mine. A first true confession of sorts that what they had going on was awfully mutual like both sides of a hand drenched in blood. It pinned Loki’s eyes on Mattie in shock.

So this was anger, then. This was nothing more, nothing other than the possessive, horrid anger born of love and concern. Loki’s lips twitched.
You love me, he thought, and he didn’t seem to know how to react to that. You love me, Ninian, and he was seeing the last time he’d bent down to kiss Mattie’s forehead and called him my sweet little boy. It slapped Loki’s eyes with emotion. Wide-eyed, shimmering, they seemed pinned on Mattie with every crying awe of a fan unable to believe that their idol’s love was returned in kind. But was it? Why was it? Because they remembered each other from the last time one picked up the other and the storm raging overhead felt like a fond chuckle? Because one had spent chasing the other for all of eternity, and at some point Loki had found himself answering to Mattie’s pull, perhaps not in meetings, perhaps not in physical, personal expressions of the desire to own the other, but ways that Loki would never be able to confess in person?

I beg, never harm my brother like that.

Who had threatened the devil--

If not the man who had climbed down to the pits of hell where nobody entered out of their own desire?

I will do you any favor, I will be yours--

But you will never touch my brother once more.

He'd been punished for that, gone away for a year but down under it had felt like another century. But the Devil had agreed.


Loki's own words echoed in his head, as old as the last sweet brother of mine he’d said out loud. It twisted Loki’s lips into a bitter smile.


Tenacious, indeed.

Mattie’s jacket was no longer with them. It was on Loki’s desk, draped there neatly, inspiring his regret he didn’t have a better anything to hold it all neat, all long, all unwrinkled like it ought to look, exactly like its glorious owner. It infected Loki’s mind with every critical thought of how he could improve his room.

Carve open the windows once more, sitting glass in place of solid walls. He wanted to shine some light here so in case Mattie visited again, he could watch him glow beneath the moon, the sun, and any celestial object daring enough to land its touch. Loki wasn’t even really aware of Pierre. He’d stood here, watching the torture, Pierre a mere part of it that hadn’t factored into Loki’s attention. The hard quality of his pinned gaze had only found one man to admire.

I forgot you were a doctor.

Because he might have had Mattie researched and read like a book on science.

Mattie kissed the corner of his mouth, and brushed thumb over the cheek. Loki’s eyes hooded. Staring at his brother with possessive, and cold warmth, he remained motionless on his spot he appeared to have found his roots sinking through, planting him here on the spot like there was no better place for him in this world; anywhere that had Mattie was where he’d stand and exist. He looked subtly at Pierre. Open wide and teasing the audience with the organs flush in some life. Mattie plucked out his other eye, and Loki, amused, smiled.

He hummed.

And met his brother’s gaze upon some prompt, and bared himself, naked and vulnerable like an abused nerve to the heat of the man’s passion.
It made Loki shudder.

It made his eyes some creation of shock and love that he first thought to hide. He looked down. Blinked, slowly, and attempted to regain his cracked composure by walking here as he tended to; a space owned by him, but his steps didn’t really tell it. His distraction could be read from every fiber of him.

“Well,” he began, his voice somewhat strained as he faced Pierre. He twitched his lips in a smirk of amusement. “I suppose there are plenty Pierres in the world… and plenty long-legged secretaries who are after all innocent in their own right.” It rose his shoulders and fell them, next, a shrug that he wasn’t feeling too well and thus even it, along with his gait, appeared like something forced. Loki needed desperately to wear his mask again. To appear the one in control instead of that touched, charmed lover who didn’t quite know how to process this confession from his brother. To be above and beyond that trembling receiver of such an attention, too understanding now of at least this intimate and familiar part of Mattie not to feel that troubling and inevitable draw to him that had just begun creeping over the surface of him. All the teasing aside, all these games removed and Loki looked up slowly at his brother with all the honest understanding they were actually wrapped up around each other. Should he call it love? Should he be sad they’d gone from being sweet children of the sun to Devil’s bitch and whore, slaves to the darkness behind their eyes? In a fit of humanity he loathed and didn’t end, Loki smiled and moved forward to the man.

“Thank you, brother,” he whispered to him, a tone perhaps a bit cajoling. Soft and broken. He wanted to be short, suddenly. Like a woman. So he could stand himself on his tiptoes. So he’d feel beneath Mattie instead of being his equal in every way.

At least you didn’t go through the suffering I did, he thought to himself just as he expressed his thank-you in another way. It was preceded by--

“You did well, my sweet boy.”

--before he kissed him, something intended as soft.

Lips on lips, he’d tell you it was possible to meet them and end it before the minute finished bleeding into the next. That it was possible, as well, to avoid meeting their chests as he did and then begin pouring himself into this, surprisingly, heatedly, a rush of emotion and need that Loki felt arise from the depth of his depraved and old being, right where he began as a person or perhaps even ways below it like his love for Matthias was the true foundation that inspired everything he was.




Kissing him with an actual romantic emotion. Did this mean, this display here, that if anything ever happened to him Matthias would pry open the chest of every man and woman and mock the beating heart he displayed? Did this mean Loki was safe? For the first time in his life since his passing, he might have had an actual presence between himself and the nastiness of this world that would hope to see both his cheeks slit open. It made him break away from the kiss, but their lips remained, one pair over the other's. It kept his eyes hooded, vulnerable.

He had the letter opener TK’ed into his hand in a moment.

“Brother,” he said, passing ownership from man to a man and stuffing it in Mattie’s hold. Loki’s eyes were lustful, and warm. Their look of open and licentious admiration was nothing anyone could easily bear unless they were the intended target. He kept their noses close, so they shared oxygen. And closed his eyes, and grew relaxed against the man. The man he now wrapped his arms around, surely in a clinging hug.

“I want you to hurt me… I want you to replace all my hurt with all of you…”

His heady, tempting tone remained silken as whispered into Mattie’s ear--

“... Pain turns me on.”

And he locked their eyes then, intentionally, darkly. With every needy, unashamed need to belong to this man and defeat Pierre’s previous cries of those of his own design.

And then paint these spaces here with his cries of Matthias, Matthias.

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