House Party

[Oriena]

Nox struggled underneath her, and her grip tightened, seeking to remain in control. Fucking could easily become fighting when he was in this far; they were just two sides of the same violent coin. She didn’t even know which frenzy he’d visit on an intruder, but if Jaxen found Ori’s proclivities too much, he was unlikely to enjoy either result if she let him loose. Neither was Ori the type of lover who played nice with sharing anyway – something Jaxen should have known by that point, even if he didn’t understand why he ought to be pissing his pants at the feral state Nox was in right then.

Watching Nox go red in the face was not a turn-on, but it was a necessary pat on his stupid conscience to stop him doing something he’d ultimately regret. When his glare abandoned Jaxen and returned upwards, snarling a hideous smile, the clamp of her hand relaxed a fraction. Her chest was still heaving from exertion, her grip slippery as fuck in all honestly – they were both lucky the rougarou had done such a number on him. He was still forcing himself up, but if his ire was on her it was nothing she wasn’t willing to handle.

The sudden switch on her backside brought a gasp of pleasure-pain, and Ori visibly flinched, though she couldn’t spare the glance over her shoulder at the perpetrator. The fucker. Though admittedly it was probably why she liked him so much. Unfortunately Nox’s hand grabbed for her throat in the same moment, and in the lust fueled high she was slow to react. She’d avoided using the Power for restraints on purpose. In part because she didn’t want to remind Nox he had the same advantage, and in part because the ijiraq were fucking riled over something she had neither the patience nor interest to unravel. Nox had insisted on showing her his arm’s release mechanism when she’d first scoffed at his preference to remove it with others. But unsurprisingly it wasn’t her first thought as the metal fingers sank into the softness of her flesh.

The power raged in while her vision hazed at the exhilaration. The grip detached, but only because she severed the joint clean at the wrist.

[Nesrin Aziz]

When his hands took over the task, the relief Nesrin felt was immense. A glimpse at his face was not something he would have just volunteered to a stranger, so she knew it was her influence making him pliable to the suggestion. Wicked was younger than she might have guessed, his eyes big and adorable as they stared down at her. He was hot and flushed under there, and clearly frantic – not that she could blame him, though it made her wonder at the reason for his investment. It wasn’t like this was his place.

Nesrin tucked herself in close, silently promising it a secret kept just between the two of them. She wasn’t looking to out him amongst his peers – something she hoped he’d remember if he later questioned the moment. So she caressed the sheen of his cheek, letting her fingers trail a flirtatious sweep of his jaw, before pulling his mask back into place for him.

It was a heartbeat’s moment, all while the twilight zone party continued its calm exit around them, and with a hidden smile she shifted to move away after. The urge to leave had not diminished; if anything it had grown more insistent, and she didn’t fight it. Still, she was surprised when he took her hand, wherever he’d been going in such a hurry clearly forgotten. Perhaps she’d been a little over zealous after her earlier failure, or maybe Wicked was just particularly receptive.

She didn’t need a babysitter, but she didn’t resist his lead either. By now people were yelling and jerking, in pain or surprise, and he was tall; she was glad of the shield.

[Gideon]

Gideon sipped his drink, watching the chaos around him with slitted eyes, and considered when things had started getting weird. Before the orgy, or after? People were just upping and leaving, and he felt the undeniable urge to tag along after, like the world’s shittest conga line. In fact sticking around felt like a terrible idea. Fortunately Gideon was used to ignoring every sensible instinct, so for now he only frowned. Oh, and considered whether he ought to make some effort to track down his cousin, who he definitely hadn’t seen amongst those traipsing out. Except fighting against the crowd seemed like effort, and he could watch for Liam from here.

[Roza Vas]

The soft caress of lips on hers made Roza's heart sing. She still had the desire to get away. The music wasn't as loud but the feeling persisted and it was cold outside.

Together wrapped arm in arm Roza took them home. The Carnival wasn't too far away. It as late, but the Red Light District was still hoping. At least they weren't bothering them for now as they headed down the street away from the hubbub. She knew they would find the boy again. If anything they only had to come back for their coats. The owner had to know something.

Roza didn't care what her mother said tonight, tonight she pulled Esper into her room and into her bed. It wasn't at all about desire, and more about protecting the one she loved.

[Sage]

Sage lead Bode out of the building. The stairs were the most treacherous with all the bodies flowing out. But they still parted for him like the sea. It was amusing. He purposefully wandered through the throng just to see what would happen.

Once outside and in the cold air he looked around. He wasn't sure what to do. The feeling of urgency to leave fueled by Ashton's song was barely touching him. But it was a feeling he wanted to get back inside before Nox did worse damage. A few lights, a few bent out people were one things. Ruining his reputation or have the police called that was far harder to cover up and keep out of the public eye.

He looked to Bode with a sad frown, though she couldn't see it for the mask. "I should get back inside... unless.." There was still something drawing him to her, but he couldn't put his finger on way. It definitely wasn't attraction, but there was mystery in the unknown and that always called to Sage. He would do that work alter, now.... he looked back into the door. "I should make sure Nox doesn't break anything or anyone." Not that he could do anything about any of it.

[Nox]

He should have felt the soft flesh of Oriena's neck beneath his fingers. Everything in his body said he should feel that touch. He longed for that touch. But the false hand while he controlled it with his brain like a regular arm it did not give the return response back. Which is why he broke shit all the time and opted to not wear it while trying to be more intimate. But with Oriena things were different.

The horde focused on the lack of feeling just a moment too long that when the soft tingle of a woman channeling tickled his spin he gasped and then the hand was loosened from the rest of the prosthetic. A howl of pain radiated through his mind but there was none. The perceptions were distorted and the horde was disjointed in his mind. The floundered in disappointment and their power over him lessened to almost nothing.

Oriena still had him in a choke hold and he had yet to relax. Breathing was difficult and he collapsed back on the bed but his hand fled to Ori and pressed it to his throat and then reached to release the broken arm from its hold. God knew what dangers lie in the mechanical parts, what oils and wires might lead to dangerous outcomes, and who the fuck knew what was on the inside. And he certainly didn't want to end up with a sharp wire or metal in his body. Or in Oriena's.

The arm cluncked to the floor broken and Nox returned his full attention back to the game of cat and mouse.

The horde was gone but Nox knew how to keep Oriena's attention. They might be gone, but there was unfinished business and he intended to satisfy his need and hers. The frenzy was gone, but the violence and urgency hadn't fled. There were no holds barred as flesh met flesh, teeth and fingers dug into tender flesh. And by the time they both found that precious release they were covered in sweat and panting.

Moments fled as he lay on his back catching his breath with his eyes closed. He could drift off to sleep but he knew in a short while he'd be up to look for food. There was a process, a routine and a way things were done to satisfy the horde. And Nox had learned to follow them to keep everything moving in the right order in his life. There were words he should say to Oriena. Thank her for not letting him hurt Jaxen. For not letting him hurt her. But he said none of it. She wouldn't appreciate it. He reached over and gripped her arm before he sat up and stretch as he got up off the slightly lopsided bed. It would need fixing but it was doable for now.

His body was sore. It was always sore after a night with Oriena. There would be fresh cuts and bruises but nothing that wouldn't fade in a day. It was the scars and chucks of flesh that had been healed over that ached in ways he never thought possible. There was a lot of training he had to do to get back into shape. But he was grateful for the weakness just now.

Nox stretched naked on the side of the bed. "You didn't have to do that." it was his way of saying thank you without saying it. She hadn't had to protect him from himself. But she had. It was the reason why he trusted her as much as he did. Despite her words otherwise she cared if he hurt someone, even if it was only because he cared. But the arm is proof that she would kill him if she had to. She'd do what she had to and that was why he trusted her with his life. He'd live without the arm. He wasn't even mad about it. He should be. He was going to have to live without an appendage again and that fucking sucked. But he had tried to hurt her. She defended herself. Nothing at all to piss and moan over. It was done. And he'd deal.

He headed through the open arch door of the closet into the bathroom to grab a towel. His clothes were upstairs and there was no chance in hell he was putting those clothes back on. He would burn them the first chance he got. But right now wasn't that moment. "I'm starving. You staying? Want anything? I'm sure I can find something out there to chase whatever demons you want away."

Nox was not oblivious to the fact that a party was raging outside his room and he really didn't give a fuck at the moment. But he needed a steak and he need it rare and soon and it was a long fucking time since he could make it exactly how he wanted it in a proper kitchen.

[Nesrin Aziz]

Wicked made them a surprisingly clear path out, which was an unexpected boon but undeniably a useful one. Nesrin was more accustomed to shadows than people parting to make room, and she noticed he played a little with whatever was keeping people at a distance. She didn’t hate it. Outside he lingered on the doorstep, and her eyes were bright and amused for how tight she’d apparently made the knot. So he was one of Nox’s friends. Somewhere like Almaz would eat this one alive. She didn’t rate his chances back inside, should things go south.

The keys were still hidden in her hand. Possibly a problem, but one it was too late to rectify now. She considered Wicked anew in that light, but it was cold out here, and she didn’t want his company while she worked through her options. By his conflicted glances back, the hold of her power wouldn’t sway that far even if she’d desired it. He cared about what happened in there.

Behind the mask her eyes ran him up and down curiously, head half-tilted, and she lifted her free hand to sign thank you as she stepped backwards. Then she peeled off her name sticker and slipped away.

[[continued at Keys to the Kingdom]]

[Seven]

In Seven’s experience, it was rare to need permission for fooling around in someone else’s space. Privacy wasn’t always necessary either. Some of his fondest memories were in the company of others—pairings tangled but distinct, where the moans and whispers of pleasure blended into a haze, amplifying the experience until all sense of decency faded.

Tonight, the chaos of a group wasn’t in the cards, but that suited him just fine. The hands guiding him up the stairs ignited his skin, drawing him into the pull of something quieter, yet no less intense. Halfway up, he stopped. He grabbed the man’s hips, pausing the ascent, and pressed his lips to the small of his back. The warmth beneath the fabric, the faint musk of him, was its own kind of frenzy.

Moments later, the door shut behind them, sealing out the cold glow of the aurora. Seven leaned against the doorframe, taking a moment to admire the one who had so easily lured him. Lean and wiry, his companion's muscles shifted under his skin with a graceful fluidity that promised more than just touch. Seven could already imagine the play of his tongue along that taut abdomen.

With deliberate casualness, Seven pulled off his mask, running a hand through his hair before letting it fall loose around his ears. In silent response, he slipped out of his shirt and let it fall, each movement slow, deliberate, a performance in its own right.

When he let his pants fall to the floor, he wore a g-string beneath, and he stood with the poise of one so perfectly comfortable in his own skin, the night’s activities were clearly a regular event.

"Do you want to know my name?” he murmured, close enough that his breath brushed the other man's ear. He nipped at the lobe, the rasp of his stubble grazing soft skin. Their body heat mingled, the air between them thick with something heady and intoxicating.

He didn’t care if they stayed nameless, but there was a certain power in speaking it aloud at the right moment. A name gave shape to the gasps and moans, a grounding for when the pleasure became too much to bear.

For now, he waited, giving in to the slow burn.

[Hayden]

Hayden's eyes were all for the man in front of him. The slow sensual movements. The perfect timing. He knew a player when he saw one. He knew from experience. Tonight would be an excellent night.

Everything about this man made his skin tingle and Hayden was lost in the moment. He asked about names and Hayden had gandered his name tag before he slipped off his shirt. Seven. It fit with all the other names he'd seen. The Wicked Truth. The Emissary Cle0patra There were any countless nameless people. Hayden put his hands on the man's hips and leaned it to kiss his shoulder before answering "Sure love, always good to have a name to scream. Mine's Hayden." Hayden continued to kiss his way up the man's neck to his ear.

"I'm Seven"

Hayden chuckled. "Oh we are using our made up names." Hayden quoted an old classic. He leaned back to look upon the face of the man who had just given him his fake name. The one he played on the internet. But when he looked at him there was no joke on his face. He wasn't lying. It wasn't that there wasn't a smirk, or a sparkle in his eye. It was the way he held his stare that Hayden knew it wasn't a lie. "You're shittin me." Hayden laughed. "Don't tell me your younger brother is Eight and your oldest is One."

Hayden continued to laugh as he backed up towards the bed, his hands grasping Seven's as he walked. He licked his lips and sat on the bed letting go of his hands. "This better not be like your endurance limit or anything cause I have plans for you tonight." He moved back towards the headboard waggling a come hither to Seven. Hayden lay back on the pillows with one arm behind his head and his finger still beckoning him to join him. "Let's see how your name sounds." His head fall back as if he were in the throws of passion and moaned like things had been going for a long time. "Oh, Seven." Hayden's outstretched hand fell to his thigh and he pulled it up over his leg and over the curve in his hip towards his navel.

Hayden hoped he hadn't over done the teasing. He lifted his head just a slight and peaked through heavy eyelids to see Seven's reaction.

[Seven]

Hayden’s body was flawless, unmarked by imperfection, and he knew it. He positioned himself like a sculpture—laid on his side, his elbow propping up his face, his pose both deliberate and effortless. He knew exactly who he was and what effect he had. The showmanship was intoxicating, and Seven watched with rapt attention, unable to tear his eyes away.

When Hayden teased him about the future, Seven allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. But it wasn’t long before his gaze was drawn downward, following the slow, deliberate movement of Hayden’s hand as it trailed up his own thigh. The gesture was pure invitation, and Seven was happy to oblige, letting out a low murmur of approval before moving to join him.

Starting at Hayden’s ankle, he cradled the other man’s calf in his hands, his touch gentle but purposeful. His lips followed the path of his palms, barely brushing against the skin as he hovered over him. The low light cast soft shadows over the curve of Hayden’s thigh, accentuating the taut lines of muscle. As Seven’s hands roamed higher, the pressure of his touch deepened, savoring the firm resistance of flesh beneath his fingers.

He paused just shy of Hayden’s inner thigh, teasingly close but not quite there, before shifting his weight to lie fully atop him. The air between them thickened with anticipation, their bodies aligned, heat radiating in the space where their skin and flesh met.

Seven’s eyes locked onto Hayden’s, the shadows playing around them, obscuring the full depth of what lay beneath. He wondered what Hayden saw in him in that moment, what thoughts flickered behind those half-lidded eyes.

His fingers traced a slow line along Hayden’s cheek, a soft caress that belied the growing tension between them. His hair fell forward, brushing their faces, mingling as their lips hovered inches apart, close enough to share breath.

“That sounded very nice,” Seven murmured, his voice a soft rasp, lips barely grazing Hayden’s. A playful, hungry smile curled at the edge of his mouth. “But let’s see if we can get you a little more practice.”