From being an Abandoned who had rarely left the Hollowed Grounds, to embracing the call of adventure, to dying and being reborn first as an Ascended and then as an Ancient, Maea has gone through quite the amount of changes in her life. One thing remains common, though, in her attempts to find out just where she belongs; she’s always had a craving for knowledge which has brought her to so many places and to meet so many people here in Caido. We can’t wait to see what else is in store for her!
Congratulations, Maea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
His task had been long in the Greatwood, and Sam wasn't sure it was truly over yet. Zariah was gone but Edy still sat in the throne and he did not know if his relationship with her would get him out of the trouble hanging over his head for not signing up to the army. There were reasons to return to the woods, but...he couldn't resist just one night spent in his home, in his warm bed.
Entering after the wedding, in his simple white shirt and black pants, suspenders hanging from his waist, he stretched as he walked in. At first when he heard noises from the kitchen he froze, panicked, sure soldiers had come to collect him; then he relaxed as he remembered Nate. It was good to know that Mia had not been alone (though you'd think she had been, from the way she wailed and looped around his feet) and that his house had not stood empty.
He walked to the kitchen door and knocked on the frame, surprised at how happy he was to see his Outlander refugee. "Hello. How have things been?"
07-23-2019, 05:53 AM (This post was last modified: 07-23-2019, 05:55 AM by Nate.)
NATE
The tragic flaw of charming men
is exactly as it seems,
too much grease,
can break down a machine.
It was amazing how many things that Nate had considered staples of his life were boring now. He didn’t know if it was burnout, boredom, or something else, but since Sam had left him alone he had been spending fewer nights out, choosing instead to try to brush the rust off old skills.
Nate had been trying to make pasta, a half dozen failed attempts swept to the side. His grandmother had made this seem so easy, and he had done it as a kid. The sound of the door opening and Mia’s mewling reached him as he went to begin another attempt. He turned to face the door just as the frame was knocked on, and was surprised to seem Sam standing there.
With a smile on his face, Nate wiped his hands on a towel and approached Sam, looking him over him once. Just to make sure he hadn’t been hurt on his adventure. ”It’s been quiet, for the most part.” At least as far as he’d been aware. He had never been the type to follow news. ”I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
The kitchen had seen better days. Nate's attempts at making...whatever it was he was trying to do had left flour all over the counters and egg on the floor. Sam, who had always been meticulous about cleaning as he cooked, was struggling to not look about the kitchen with a disgusted expression.
"Well, I...I heard things were a little better, and I finished the work I had to do, for the moment." He explained, leaning against the door frame. "What...are you trying to make?"
Before he could wait properly for an answer though, he slipped, tipping forward and holding himself up with the edge of the counter. "Oh, sorry, I -- I haven't drunk in a little while. I saw The Voice, but...it was a while ago now, and.." Shaking his head, he sat down in a chair and rubbed his temples. "I'm just a little weak. I'll have to go to the shrine tomorrow."
The tragic flaw of charming men
is exactly as it seems,
too much grease,
can break down a machine.
Sams explanation for his return was met with a nod, and the beginnings of a concerned quirk of his brows when Nate noticed just how heavily the other man leaned on the door frame. He was distracted from his worry when Sam asked what he'd been making, and Nate sheepishly turned back towards the disaster he'd made of the kitchen.
"It was supposed to be pasta, but..." The rest of Nate's answer trailed off, and he stepped forward to help catch Sam, a steadying hand on his shoulder. "I can make you something." The offer was all but automatic, said before the rest of Sam's words had processed. Right. Sam was some kind of strange vampire, but not.
There had to be something he could do to help. Something more than just supporting Sam as he moved to the chair. "Well... you don't have to wait until tomorrow, right? I'm here, and..." Nate paused, not sure how to offer himself up. Was it even a possibility? Instead of words, he looked towards Sam and tapped his neck, hoping his meaning was clear.
"Pasta...oh." Was all Sam muttered in response, in a tone that very clearly said he didn't think Nate was making anything more than a mess in his kitchen.
He looked up from where he was sat to see Nate tap his neck. His immediate reaction was to shake his head - it felt like something too real, too raw to show the Outlander; something that might be so strange to him that he would leave. There was the pleasure, too; which had made it awkward with Remi and which would surely lead to awkwardness with Nate.
But...he felt weak, and he could smell the blood thrumming in the Accepted's veins. It was powerfully tempting.
"..You don't know what you're offering. The...the bite, it will affect the both of us emotionally." He sat up a little and sighed. "...It gives a kind of sexual pleasure. You should know before you let me bite you."
The tragic flaw of charming men
is exactly as it seems,
too much grease,
can break down a machine.
As soon as he offered himself up, Nate felt like it might be a step too far, and Samuel's face did nothing to help assuage that assumption. He wondered where the hesitation came from, whether it was something to do with him, or something specific about the kind of not vampire that the other man was.
Nates head cocked to the side as Sam began, his brow rising slightly, a silent request for more information, one that was ultimately unnecessary. His mind had conjured some alternative that was far worse than what was said. "I'm always up for sexual pleasure Sam." Nate could barely get through the words without laughing, though he did sober up after a beat, hi voice taking on a more serious tone.
"I'm happy to leave it up to you. I've already forced myself on you one too many times." Wincing a little as he recalled his first exuberant meeting with Sam, he continued. "I'm here if you want to. As long as it won't kill me, I know I owe you, but thats... a bit much." The laughter was back again, but he hoped the offer came off as sincere as he meant it.
Nate's laughing reply made Sam very embarrassed, his hand immediately coming up to cover his face as he looked anywhere but the other man. Could he really do this? He didn't remember his sexual moments with Remi (well, except for the half-happened one in the Guildhall), but from his diaries he had gotten the impression that they had all been spontaneous.
Here he was accepting it verbally if he said yes, and that felt scandalous.
Sam was silent for a while, but eventually the weakness in his body and the scent of Nate's blood won. Also...there was another temptation, that he didn't want to admit to, because it would suggest ulterior motives. A temptation that was far more to do about the way Nate smiled than the energy his blood would bring.
"...If...if you really don't mind, it would really help me." He finally said, and motioned for Nate to sit in a chair next to him. "I can take it from your wrist or neck. Do you um...which would you rather..?"
The tragic flaw of charming men
is exactly as it seems,
too much grease,
can break down a machine.
Of course Sam looked embarrassed. Honestly, it was cute, and only brought more laughter to Nate’s lips. ”I’m not the first person to offer, am I?” Nate said it like a tease, albeit a friendly one.
Closing the distance between them, Nate sat in the offered chair, smile glued to his face. ”Course I don’t mind.” It was an assurance, one that Sam seemed to need and that Nate was happy to give. Like he was going to change his mind now, after the way Sam has hyped up the effects.
After a moments thought, Nate held his wrist out, his entire body turned towards Sam. If it did go too far, in a bad way, he wanted to be able to pull away, but if it went to far in a good way he wanted enough mobility to have... options. After the last of his nerves out and taking a deep breath, Nate nodded. He was ready.
"Er--no, but...um..is that a problem..?" This whole situation was making Sam so uncomfortable he was unsure of how to take Nate's words.
At least he understood the meaning of the wrist extended out towards him. Gently he held Nate's wrist, lifted it with just his fingertips, and lowered his lips to the skin there. With one last look up at Nate, a final question, he bit into his arm.
Immediately there was relief - the taste of the blood most divine on his tongue, flooding into him and giving him strength, renewing his body. Then, with a moan he tried his best to keep quiet (and as his mouth was stifled with Nate's wrist, it mostly sounded like a sigh) he felt a rush of pleasure, warm and electric between his legs, making him tense up, his feet rising so he was on his toes.
Once he was nearing the end of how much he had to drink, he ventured a look up at Nate, his eyes half lidded with pleasure and release.
The tragic flaw of charming men
is exactly as it seems,
too much grease,
can break down a machine.
There was a delicate touch on his proffered wrist, Nate moving with the gentle pull of Sams fingers. There was one last check to make sure he was good, and he offered one last confirmation, his eyes focused on the point where the other mans mouth was going to meet his skin.
If he were more self aware, Nate might realize how similar this feeling was to other mind shattering things he’d tried. He might think about how easy it would be to get addicted to this feeling, and the man who gave it. But he wasn’t, and the only thing that crossed his mind was a sudden awareness of his pants being too tight.
Nate sucked in a shuddering breath, his eyes lidded, nearly closed, but open just enough to see the same expression on Sam’s face. Enough to meet his eyes. He couldn’t move, didn’t want to disrupt the delicate connection of his wrist and Sam’s mouth, but he needed to reach out. There was a strand of hair out of place, Nate’s fingers brushing it back, then not moving away. Then he was leaning in. Sam has to be coming up soon, Nate’s vision was starting to swim and if he wasn’t so gripped by pleasure he might be worried. All he wanted to do was pin the other mans lips with his own and touch him.
Once he had drunk his fill, Sam slowly pulled his teeth out, trying to make the movement steady so it did not hurt too much. Blood gushed from the wound and he quickly reached for a rag on the table to hold to Nate's wrist to stem the flow, his other hand holding the mans arm still. He stared determinedly downwards, trying to ignore the tingling heat in his body.
"I...um...thank you. I hope you..I hope it...wasn't too bad." He mumbled, shifting his legs to hide any sign of arousal from Nate and lifting the cloth to see if the blood had clotted yet on the wound. This part, the aftermath with the blood and the scars on his friends wrists, was still taking some getting used to. It made him feel a beast, an animal among men.
He certainly felt like acting on animal instincts when he actually looked up to Nate's eyes and the first thing he thought was to throw himself at the man, knock the chair backwards, rock his hips over Nate's cock and kis--
He wiped the rag over the wound, which was beginning to bleed slower.
The tragic flaw of charming men
is exactly as it seems,
too much grease,
can break down a machine.
The sting of Sam pulling away, as well as the loss of mind numbing pleasure, helped Nate to remember where he was. In Sams messy kitchen, in some fucked up world, with nothing. There was a gentle hand holding a cloth to his wrist, and a buzz of equally soft words beating against him while Nate stares at Sam. At his lips. At the stain of red that he knew was from blood. Somehow that made it better.
Nate didn’t answer, didn’t notice Sam crossing his legs or wiping his wrist. Green eyes met his, and Nate surged forward, taking his chance to cling to something. He had been pushed away the first time, and he didn’t think this would be any different, but he needed it.
A groan pressed out of him as he swiped his tongue across Sams lips, the coppery taste of his own blood almost sweet when it came off the other man. Maybe he was delirious. Or desperate. He could think of an excuse after. But as long as he wasn’t pushed away, he was going to take more, lift his hands and cradle Sams head close.
His fantasies very suddenly became reality as Nate came towards him; Sam offguard enough that he didn't react for a moment, just sat with his hands up in a shocked pose, one of them grasping the blood-soaked rag and the other shaking somewhere around Nate's shoulder.
Then suddenly he was fluid, soft against Nate, leaning back to pull him in with his hand stroking across Nate's back and his mouth opening, eyes slipping shut with a soft, easy moan leaving his lips. Was this a good idea? Probably not. But was Nate handsome, and was Sam lonely?
The answer to those questions was in the way he let his legs open, awkwardly putting one up on the chair Nate was sat on. For a while this did as he was kissed over and over, his tongue pushing into Nate's mouth and his hand reaching up to tangle in his hair..but then it just wasn't enough. He put a hand on Nate's chest (and oh, it felt so good to be able to touch someone like that) and moved him back just enough to speak.
"Should...I um.." When it actually came to speaking, he realised he lost all his confidence in a second. "..This isn't very comfortable. If you want to...d-do this...I have a bed upstairs." Of course, Nate knew that, but he tried to not think too much about how stupid he sounded and think more about the way Nate looked at him.
The tragic flaw of charming men
is exactly as it seems,
too much grease,
can break down a machine.
Sam didn't push him away, which was a good sign. A hand rose up to grasp a his shoulder, an even better sign, and then legs. Nate needed no more invitation than that to lean over Sam, a strong arm moving to snake around the other mans hips. As pleased as he was with this arrangement, it was not meant to be long lasting.
It seemed Sam came to the same conclusion as he had. At least, that was why Nate hoped he was being pushed away to a speaking distance. There was a hesitance in Sam's voice Nate didn't understand. Not that he took much time to dwell on it. Before Sam even finished his suggestion, Nate was on his feet, Sam's body lifted easily as he went. It was almost like a fairytale, though Nate couldn't bring himself to compare it to that. Not when he knew what his plans were.
Nate took the stairs two at a time, and dropped Sam soundly on the bed when he reached their destination. "Is this more comfortable darling?" There was a tease in his voice as he climbed onto the bed over Sam, leaning down to start kissing him again.
