I can feel the fire in my veins, burning fast and taking up the reigns

[quarrelsomecat]

There are still blood stains drying on Tybalt's shirt when they get back from the battle. Remnants of the fight visible in a contrast to the invisible lingering touch of the battlefield that always left his blood racing, his reflexes quick and his adrenaline coursing. Whenever the battle ended he was left with the same feeling. Edgy and riled up, like he could keep going for days. His sword was clean now. He never left the battle field without wiping the blood off her blade, but the handle was still warm against his hand, even after he had tucked her away back into the sheath at his side.

He did not enjoy the killing. It was a  side effect to the battle, but the fighting itself was a rush like no other and sometimes he thought he lived for it. It certainly seemed to be one of the only things he did well. Put a sword in his hands, or a pair of fists against his own, and you would not find a happier cat. He had followed Bran after the battle, like he nearly always did, an extra something to his step that wasn't a spring so much as an at-the-ready. the edge of the battle leaving him ready to spin and fight at the slightest potential, well after the battle was dead and done.

Comments

[faeconman]

Bran was one of the more frightening things out on the field, burning like ice as he picked off his opponents with precise efficiency and deadly silence. Every single one of them were paying for the death of his family. For the death of his woman.

If that was unfair of him... well, he didn't really care, and neither did they once they were hustled along to the next realm by the quick flashing of his blades. They didn't care about anything at all anymore.

His blood ran cold like the northern seas in his veins, and once the battle rage coiled itself up inside that place he could always feel nudging at the back of his mind it made him feel slow and sluggish.

You couldn't tell by his movements as he rapidly walked about half a step in front of Tybalt at an almost rushed pace - still with that eerie fae grace - but that did not make the feeling of walking under water any more pleasant.

That was why the first thing he did as soon as they got somewhere private enough was to swivel around in a blurr of movement to slam Tybalt up against a wall, despite both of them still being covered in sweat and dirt and blood. Despite armor still resting heavily on both their shoulders.

He just needed to connect to the world of the living again. Needed to pull himself back from the wintry realm of death and feel heat and passion and life.

So he kissed Tybalt. Bit his lip until it bled and lapped up the coppery taste of victory with his tongue before sliding it back into his friend's mouth so that they could both taste it.

[quarrelsomecat]

It was not an unfamiliar action, for the pair of them to dissolve into this mess the moment there were walls between them and the rest of the world. With the smell of death and battle still clinging to their skin, waiting to be replaced by a new set of scents.

A rush of air left Tybalt's lungs when he was slammed into the wall, cut off an instant later by insistent and determined teeth and lips. He hissed as blood escaped the fresh wound on his lips, but all the fire that had been boiling away in his blood bled now into this and he met the kiss with the foil to Bran's dark disconnect.

Fire and hunger and life flooded through the cat and he aimed all of it right back at the other warrior pinning him to the wall. His hands found armor ties and fastens with quick efficiency, tugging and twisting at them, shoving heavy pieces of that shell casing his friend away and fighting back against the kiss, welcoming the taste of his own blood on his tongue.

This was what he needed. A direction, an outlet for the burning fire of instincts and the blood on his hands, his blade, his conscience. He threw himself into it, more than happy to provide the life and the fire to warm Bran from the chill of death that clung to him. Fire and Ice colliding in a clash of teeth and tongues and persistent, quick fingers.

[faeconman]

Once the connection was made, Robin was reluctant to break it, grabbing fistfuls of Tybalt's hair as he let the other work on his armor.

He always felt like it would be so easy to give in when the rush of battle began to fade. Easy to just slip away and follow his many victims to whatever afterlife he'd sent them to.

But as he deepened the kiss he could feel heat spread over his skin like sunlight, re-igniting the spark of life within him. It was at a dull flicker even on good days, but at least it was there and it was certainly enough to make him want a whole lot of things that did not involve dying at this particular moment.

It was, however, inevitable for practicality to win out in the end and so he broke the kiss to step away and get rid of the parts of his armor that were simply impossible to get of otherwise.

[quarrelsomecat]

Tybalt was so far Robin's foil in the after rush of battle. Where the Fae sank, he flew, and he was all too happy to drag his best friend back up to the surface with him and pull him into the world of living for a while longer.

The blood and grime of battle that still remained caked on his skin in places pulled tight as it dried and he growled, a feral, animal sound when Robin broke away. But he mimicked the other man's actions and his own was shed quickly, tossed away until he felt the lightened relief of the weight of it off him at last. Even in the heat of battle his armor was lighter than it should safely have been, the cat refusing to sacrifice his quick agility for a few shreds or added 'safety' and it showed in the scars that graced his skin down his torso, across his arms, along his sides.

Tybalt tugged Robin back into the kiss, his bleeding lip smearing against Robin's, and his nails scraping at the other man's skin. Let him take whatever sparks of life he needed from the Cat. He was filled with enough fire for both of them.

[faeconman]

Bran didn't have nearly as many scars as he should have, Fae skin healing smoothly and their healers aiding that process with magic and skill alike, if you were fortunate enough to have the means to aquire their services.

Being a soldier in the service of a Lord did provide access to that, and while Bran sometimes thought it would be better to leave the scars as reminders of what he thought of as his sins, he was not yet so far gone that he would refuse the aid of a healer to stave off infection and speed up the healing process.

Not yet at the very least.

His hands were sliding over Tybalt's scars, not consciously registering any of them but knowing them all by heart by now. He'd heard the story behind each and every one as he lacily traced them with fingers and tongue, some were even his doing because the damn fool cat seemed to like making keepsakes of just about any injury, even one sustained by making mistakes during sparring.

The metallic taste of blood should have been unpleasant, but paired with the heat and passion of Tybalt's kisses it turned into something strangely life-affirming, and Robin lapped at it with his tongue before sliding it deeper into Tybalts mouth, needing more, needing everything.

[quarrelsomecat]

Scars might have been the markers of Tybalt's life story, but the past only existed in those scars and a few lingering emotions. The now, the driving force that kept Tybalt pushing forward, was so tightly wrapped up in the Fae now, he wasn't exactly sure how to untangle it. Here was someone who fought along side and with him, without ever knowing the truth in his title or the history behind his skill with a sword. All the things they shared came from experiences and battles they had been together for.

Tybalt was willing to give whatever Bran needed. The Fae gave him the very drive he sought from Tybalt after the heat of a battle or whenever a darker mood struck him. And he was happy to give it back. His lips parted a little further with a groan, the taste of Bran's mouth mixing with his blood when his tongue pressed against the Fae's.

He pressed forward into it with a soft, hungry sound. Both hands sliding over smooth skin, down to Bran's hips. Shoving forward he pressed Bran up against the wall and let the fire burning in his chest fuel the kiss, sliding his body up against the other man's.

And then the prose turned purplish, my apologies

[faeconman]

It was impossible to remain cold and distant under such fervent ardor, and Bran almost thought he could hear the roar of a forest fire in the thunderous rush of his pulse that made blood and passion alike race through his veins.

The sound he made was one of surrender, but not defeat. He was giving in, not giving up.

All right, let life claim him for a while longer if this was to be part of it, perhaps it might even actually be worth it. Perhaps this was enough to warrant further existence.

His fingers buried themselves in Tybalt's hair as he felt and tasted and arched against that lithe body that could move with such deadly grace.

It might well be the death of him in this moment.

perfect purple prose?

[quarrelsomecat]

Tybalt could nearly always pin the point when Bran's attitude shifted, and he purred against the fae's lips. He let his fingers press into skin and tug Bran's hips forward against his, rocking into them.

It was always harder to focus after a battle. His blood pounding in his head and set on fire with adrenaline. Only burning hotter with the other body so close to his. Bran drove him just a bit crazy, and he was never completely sure why.

His lips moved to Bran's neck and turned to sharp nips of his teeth as he slid one hand up his torso.

This was the only thing beyond fighting that made Tybalt feel alive. It wasn't the same, perhaps, for him, as it was for Bran. But it was similar. At least he liked to think it was. That he could understand a bit why Bran needed this fire after the battle left him cold and hollow.

pfft <3 /purples on

[faeconman]

Bran's hips rocked against Tybalt's as well in perfect time with the cat's movement, their bodies knowing each other by heart and when the mind let go they were free to speak without the interruption of thought.

They fit and flowed against each other, dancing to the drum of racing heartbeats, moans and sighs making secret music filled with ancient mystery and wonder.

Why did Bran need the fire? It wasn't something he thought about, instinctively shying away from what could possibly destroy everything they had.

The unspoken words that were not so much waiting to be revealed as they were memories too vague to properly recall anymore. A lost opportunity turned to something irresistible but ever so fragile. They were Icaruses flying ever so close to the sun, and that is where he needed to be.

He was fettered to the world by his search and longing for something they would never call theirs.

Love.