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HABIT would say he was raised to not play with his food- but there's so much wrong with that sentence that there's no real point in trying to convince anyone. He will say, however, that he very much enjoys stalking his prey before the kill, he likes to savor the innocence and the unknowing behaviors of his victims before he sinks his claws into them. Like a vulture, he can pick up the stench of death and it beckons to him with a sultry smirk.
But today, surprisingly, it's not the stench of death that calls to him, but instead something far more exhilarating- an exotic combination of roses and lavender. And the erratic sound of a heart threatening to prance out of a chest if it wasn't held back by delicate ribs.
In the comfort of his own room, a sanctuary that was once home to only him and his thoughts, Noah tentatively presses his hand down upon the gauzy ruffles of the gown. The green of the fairy costume, Noah decides as he admires the way the cheap fabric hugs his figure, looks admittedly nice against his sun-warmed skin. Translucent tutu and pale flowers crawling up his chest, he might feel a bit ridiculous as a grown man in this costume but damn if he doesn't feel pretty as well.
"My," purrs HABIT, dark and low, as he circles Noah, a beast crowding his choice of prey. Noah flinches visibly at the sudden appearance of the other in what was originally a safe haven all that time ago. Noah also flinches when a hand, calloused and hardened by who knows what, flits about his waist, disrupting the carefully laid tutu plumage. "Don't you look positively ravishing today. What's the occasion, sweetheart? Niece's birthd-"
"As a matter of fact, yes," curtly interrupts Noah, tongue sharp against his teeth as he eyes the man taunting him. Primly, Noah smooths out the ruffle with a tsk. With as diligently as he can, Noah turns away from HABIT and focuses on the mirror in front of him, fiddling with his costume- he wants it to be perfect.
For a moment, it's just Noah and his reflection. It's the romance of his collarbone, barren with subtle dips that are just barely kissed with the scratchy petals of the costume as the flowers climb his slender torso. It's the broken promises of his shoulders and arms, stitched together by long past nights and soaked pillows, however, they still stand strong and lean because he carried more than he ever needed to. It's the dream of an exposé on his thighs, swathed in sheet black fabric and muscles carved by monsters bigger than he. It's the violence of his hair dipping over his forehead and crowning his eyes, almonds dipped in chocolate that could cause any man to cave into a craving. It's the harsh line of his jaw, admiring the softness of his facial hair and how it's so much closer to him than anyone else has ever been before.
"Pretty as a lily," croons HABIT, voice dark and raspy as Noah spies the man slinking up behind him. HABIT can't even really see over Noah's shoulder, but Noah knows HABIT knows about the flush beginning to creep across Noah's cheeks as the smaller breathes out upon the juncture where Noah's spine meets his shoulder blades.
"I don't have time for this, HABIT," Noah snarls, eyes never leaving his own face in the mirror.
A hearty laugh erupts from HABIT, Noah can feel it pressed into his skin like a string of music. HABIT's lips are supple and sweet against the apex of Noah's spine, relishing in the shiver he knows Noah must be suppressing. "How cute, you still think time is an issue for me," bemuses HABIT, his fingertips beginning to crawl upon the soft curves of Noah's waist, playing with the fabric.
Noah remains steadfast, never breaking his eye contact with himself as he huffs out indignantly, "What do you want. I will not deal with you today, none of your bullshit, HABIT." Fixating on the warmth of his skin, Noah admires the hollows of his throat, only himself knowing the secrets buried there.
"Well, what I wanted was to see if Firebrand and I could strike a deal about how to handle our little Obsy problem," confesses HABIT, an uncharacteristic air of boredom clinging to his words as he tightens his fingers on Noah's waist and draws the man tight against his own body. "But I'm more invested in this right now, I must admit you've got something downright delic-"
"I'm not here to help with your fucking bullshit, man," seethes Noah as he spins around, facing HABIT with a scowl pinned to his face. It only takes a moment for Noah to realize that was the one thing he shouldn't have done, strong fingers grasping his jaw and pulling him down for a kiss. Or what HABIT insists on a being a kiss. It's filled with teeth and hunger like a starved animal, something like anger coating HABIT's tongue as if wax. The hands return to his waist and Noah doesn't understand anything.
HABIT nips at Noah's bottom lip when he pulls away, a playful sneer dancing upon his lips as he rolls his body gently against Noah's. Noah remains silent, but his hardened gaze is softening as he looks down at HABIT. "I know you want to play, sweetheart," drawls HABIT, sultry and sweet with the venom sitting on his tongue. He winks and adds a catty, "you wouldn't have gotten all dolled up just for me if you didn't."
His drive to fight is less than ideal today, Noah understands this- he has plans and just wanted one day to himself, void of all the atrocities in his life. But now one of them has found purchase between the ruffles of the tutu, lightly holding onto Noah's slender waist. Ignoring the slight flush still staining his cheeks, Noah turns around again- only this time, he refuses to look at himself in the mirror. Tsking once again, Noah crosses his arms and scowls, "I really don't have time fo-"
"I have all the time in the world and so do you, Noah," gleefully interrupts HABIT. The hands on Noah's waist are getting careless, antsy as they begin to slide underneath the fabric with a listless idle. Mouth hot and wet against the long column of Noah's spine, HABIT devours the hidden shiver Noah has to pretend didn't happen. "Besides," HABIT's hands inch towards the angle of Noah's slim hips, the juncture where they meet his thigh, presses his palm close to the slowly growing arousal found there. "A pretty little rabbit such as yourself should get to feel good before being sent out to the slaughter."
The words don't sit well with Noah but he doesn't disagree, merely nods. It's weird, almost hypnotic the way his head feels fuzzy when HABIT lifts his head with a finger. It felt more like a suggestion but Noah did it without hesitation.
"Look at yourself," growls HABIT, though it does not instill fear within Noah, but instead something warmer and erotic. So Noah does, letting the rough hands map out his body.
The mirror in front of him is a full length one, he's entranced by the image before him. There's a glassiness to his eyes, stained like a cathedral- maybe there's a version of heaven found within. There's a gangliness to his limbs, almost comedic, but he can't even try to suppress the shudder when HABIT drifts his fingertips along the sleek muscle, admiring it as if a work of art in a museum. Every muscle and vein screams that this is wrong, but the way HABIT brushes his lips against Noah's spine makes his head feel dizzy.
"It's a fuckin' shame," HABIT breaks the silence as he skips a rope of teeth tainted kisses along Noah's shoulder. Noah notices how his legs can't stay still. "You look like sex and you aren't even tryin'." The hands work over the cords of muscle in his biceps, ghosting over across the flesh like a forgotten memory that is just too far away to know if it's real.
"Just ge-"
"If I wanted you to talk, I'd tell you to," reprimands HABIT as he slinks a hand around the front of Noah. It stalls upon his throat with a leering grasp and it's subtle but reminds Noah of the danger of playing with fire- he can only get burned. But Noah wants some of the heat, craves the singe of a fiery tongue. He gasps as HABIT's tongue traces along the span of his gently sloping shoulders.
Dipping his other hand back beneath the frills of the costume, HABIT smiles into the warmth of Noah's flesh. It surprises Noah, the gentleness of the touch as HABIT palms him through his boxers. Noah moans softly into the calloused fingers that cover his mouth, teasing at the corners of his lips.
"I'd ruin ya, if He didn't already have a claim on you," confesses HABIT, a near sadness can be found in his words. Noah momentarily wonders if he should be honored by the sentiment but is quickly distracted by the cool heat of the hand that snakes into his boxers and wraps around the shaft of his cock. Teeth scrap along the joint of Noah's shoulder, a teasing gesture that Noah wistfully hopes won't leave a mark.
Noah worries his bottom lip, groaning softly as his cock is pulled from his boxers. On the nape of his neck, HABIT's lips feel like they're weaving a tapestry upon his skin. The hand around Noah's cock is stiff, almost mechanical, but it moves with a fluidity that has Noah's hips, slender and soft, chasing after the sensation. But the nails clawing up his forearm, mapping the subtle veins in his arm, draw him against HABIT.
Noah shakes like a leaf, buffeted by the harsh winds of HABIT's storm. He's caught in the eye and he likes it. The rains of the kisses plastered along his back, making him weak in the knees. Lit up by the lightning of the nails scaling his chest, hidden by the pretty and fake petals. Deafened by the sound of the thunderous desire dripping in suave confidence from HABIT's voice whenever he spoke. There's a flood happening and Noah thinks he would happily drown.
"Cum, pretty boy," whispers HABIT into Noah's ear, something reminiscent of an actual lover and it strikes something urgent inside of Noah. He swallows, hard. Noah bites the inside of his cheek as he eyes his reflection, locked in on the sight before him. There's swear shining on the hollows of his throat and his hair has begun to mat on forehead. The skirt of the costume is rucked up and his cock, swollen and hard, is presented as if a gift, exposed. Around the shaft, HABIT's hand is steady, almost mechanical as he smirks into Noah's shoulder. He must feel how close Noah is, the vibrant need for release like a brand in the pit of his stomach. It only takes the drag of HABIT's tongue, a siege into the last bit of Noah's crumbling resolve, along his ear and a sharp growl, feral and starved, for Noah to come undone. "Make a beautiful mess for me, sweetheart."
Noah's cum soaks the underside of his outfit, while the rest dribbles and spurts onto HABIT's waiting hand. Across the mirror, cum sprays and splatters on the glass, and Noah wonders why it looks so jagged, like the stunted edges of a knife. It feels tight, the breath in Noah's chest as he watches the petals dance on his torso.
"Next time I won't be so kind to let you leave."