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!
Or honey hope even on this side
of the grave again?
Though his face didn’t lose its smile, there was an apology in Nate’s eyes, a wince that was felt in the way his hand tightened around Sams wrist when he screamed. He hated this. But it was for the best. ”I’m sorry.” Nate said softly, pulling the other man in close. He gave him a moment, then pulled Sams hand close again, this time simply wrapping it with clean bandages. Even if they didn’t help with the pain, they did help keep the wound out of sight.
”You’re okay.” Nate promised, his hand stroking along Sams back now that he was taken care of. The words felt like a lie, but sometimes all someone needed was reassurance. Not That Nate thought that was all Sam needed, but maybe it would help? _say]”What were you saying? You’re worried?” His voice was gentle, encouraging. Trying to draw words back out from the ginger man, in the hopes that it would help something. Nate didn’t know what.
And who could ask it to be sound
or to feel saved again?
But stick around until you hear
that music play again
Sam pressed his face into Nate, letting his limp hand be taken for the bandaging - after the searing pain of the knife, the bandages were just small irritating pin pricks, drawing at most a small grunt from him.
Though he was far from emotionally healed, especially when Nate asked what it was he was worried about. "The monster...as we were running, it said we were marked. Then...downstairs a glass smashed by me, then the bed made that noise...what if something followed me inside?" Sam whispered the last part, scared to say it out loud as if that made it somehow more likely to be true. He curled even further towards Nate, trying to pretend in his mind that being closer somehow made him safe.
"...Nathaniel...I...know it isn't a good time for what usually comes with it, but...could I drink from you? I lost a lot of fluid and it might be useful for me to be able to call The Voice, if we need her." Sam asked, quietly, speaking away from Nate. He was slightly embarrassed - after all, they both knew where drinking usually led, but he was hardly in the mood for any of that.
Or honey hope even on this side
of the grave again?
Nate listened to Sams fears with a worried twist in his mouth, a far cry from his usual jovial mask. Something had said he was marked? That was far more worrying than anything else, especially when it wasn’t something Nate could try to explain away. ”Someone would have noticed if anything got in by now, wouldn’t they?” It was all he could offer at the moment.
Sam knew more about this world, this event than he did, but Nate was hoping that his words might be a balm of some kind, something to help settle their collective anxieties. His arms wrapped around Sam tighter, Nate holding him close like he could somehow take away the pain, emotional and physical. It was a nice thought, at least.
Sams drinking, and the pleasure that came with it, might actually do them some good. At least a moment of calm, of not worrying about what the darkness outside might bring. ”I think that might be a good idea.” Nate said softly, shifting to give Sam access to his wrist and neck both, offering the other a choice. It made him laugh a little, like he was a menu off of blood and feeling.
And who could ask it to be sound
or to feel saved again?
But stick around until you hear
that music play again
"These monsters are sneaky, Nathaniel." Sam muttered, voice low as if giving a horrible warning: in a way he was. He could feel something bigger, worse, coming to get them. He was often convinced of a big doom coming, the paranoia in his brain always liking to feed into that idea, but this time felt different, more real.
Maybe because the building seemed determined to help him with that thought at every second.
Nate held him closely and Sam took in a deep, shaking breath, trying to calm himself against the tidal wave of panic pushing against his walls at every moment. He knew some of the tiredness was from not drinking, though, so he gently reached up to cup Nate's jaw and move it to the side, reaching his teeth towards his neck. With how close they were, it felt somehow wrong, cold, to go through Nate's wrist.
"I will be brief." He whispered against his skin, then bit, beginning to take in Nate's blood.
Or honey hope even on this side
of the grave again?
Nate’s hand moved up and down Sams spine, soothing, gentle, hopefully reassuring. He had nothing to say in response to the news that the monsters were tricky, and he knew better than to question it, and bring the subject back to light again. If they could just be focused on something nice, or at least... something calm, he could help Sams nerves.
It was easy to move along with Sams guiding hand, to tip his head back and try to focus on what was coming. His own hand came up to cup the back of Sams head, and give him some support. ”Take as long as you need.” Nate murmured up, closing his eyes. He was glad Sam had chosen throat and not wrist, glad for the closeness it brought between them.
A low groan sounded in his throat as Sams teeth hit into him, Nate’s arms tightening around the ginger. He wanted to lose himself in this feeling, wanted to focus on the bodily good, but he couldn’t quite shake off the mood around them. All he could do was hold Sam, pull him closer, and pant.
And who could ask it to be sound
or to feel saved again?
But stick around until you hear
that music play again
As Sam drank from Nate, he quickly became aware of the way his lover's arms tightened around him and the way Nate groaned and panted, unable to hold in the obvious signs of pleasure that the bite gave. His own body responded too, almost involuntarily, his hips rolling as his hand stroked softly up and down Nate's neck.
He had always thought of sex, of intimacy, as something celebratory, to be had only when the people involved were happy with all in their lives. But as he pressed himself closer into Nate, Sam began to wonder if it could be a comfort, a reminder that despite everything someone still loved liked him. Still wanted to be close.
His hand stroked up to Nate's jaw as he rubbed his thumb tenderly over his cheek, then he pulled his teeth away, licking the last remnants of blood from them. His other hand coming up to wipe the blood that came from the wounds on Nate's neck, he found his face close to Nate's , his tongue coming out to lick at his lips and catch the remaining blood.
"...Thank you." He said softly, then leaned in to kiss Nate with gentle and sweet passion. It was a silent question, in many ways: Do you still want me now, like this?
Or honey hope even on this side
of the grave again?
Nate’s breath catches in his throat as Sam pulls away, a sound of loss clicking from his dry mouth. His eyes were closed, but he leaned in, where he knew Sam was, even without breath, and pressed their foreheads together, his eyes opening just in time to see a pink tongue move over sharp white teeth. There was a haze behind his eyes, pleasure, and desperation, and the want, the need for something better than what they were getting, better than what Longnight could give, better than what he could admit.
”Don’t thank me.” He whispered hoarsely, against Sams lips as they came together, magnetism and need pulling him in to meet the kiss that was offered. Nate’s arms, wrapped around the smaller man, his lover, moved then, one going up, to tangle in ginger hair, and the other, down, to pull at Sams shirt, a question, not a request. Is this what we’re going to do?
His lips grow more insistent, his tongue pressing into Sam’s mouth, his grip growing more insistent. Nate’s eyes closed again, and he pulled the other man further down onto the bed, leaning over him, acting on more instinct than thought. Thought would have him recoiling away, shame and embarrassment coursing through him.
And who could ask it to be sound
or to feel saved again?
But stick around until you hear
that music play again
Nate moved in to kiss him and Sam let himself go into the sensation, so tired of worry and pain. His hand still hurt, his mind still raced, but just for a while he wanted to be normal again, perhaps even loved. The hand on his shirt got a small nod from him and a hum of acceptance, Sam beginning to undo his buttons with his good hand.
He went down onto the bed easily, craving the comfort of Nate over him. Instinctively he opened his mouth wider, let Nate's tongue enter as he moaned a soft sound of need. Legs slowly spreading to create a space, Sam pulled back for just a second, as much as his body whined at the loss of contact.
"...Slowly...and..." Struggling to communicate what it was he wanted with words, Sam reached up to cup Nate's jaw then kissed him, soft and sweet, thumb stroking across his cheek. When he moved back again, wounded hand tracing one fingertip slowly down Nate's chest, he whispered: "Like that."
Or honey hope even on this side
of the grave again?
It was so easy to do this, to lose himself and pretend that everything was fine, that this was just another night, in a normal week. Nate’s hand moves up, fingers tracing along Sams spine, winding a slow path up, until he can just pull off the other mans shirt entirely. It’s slow, teasing, and easy, kneeling over the bookbinder, feeling more than seeing his legs slip open. It feels so normal.
Nate’s eyes open slowly as Sam pulls away, his gaze intense behind the facade of calm. Of gentle. There is a part of Nate that wants to use this as an excuse to be rough, to make something better out of all the turmoil inside him, between them. If it’s soft, it’s more difficult to keep the soft thoughts away, the feelings, growing like a weed, a flower, in his chest. Sam does not make it easy, the softness of the kiss, the request, melting away the urge for roughness, and for what might be the first time Nate thinks that this isn’t just about him. He thinks he might do close to anything, if Sam asked him too.
”I can do that.” He promises, equally as soft. Taking a moment to take a breath, and look over the man beneath him, Nate wonders how exactly he came to this point. It was... unexpected. But, it was also not something he wanted to spend anymore thought on. He leans in, brushing their lips together again, the prelude to a breathless kiss, and smoothed his hands down his partners bare sides, fingers moving to tickle gently along ribs and hips.
And who could ask it to be sound
or to feel saved again?
But stick around until you hear
that music play again
"Good." Sam said quietly, sighing contentedly as Nate ran rough hands down his sides. He was surprised how soft, how gentle the man could be. He knew that there had been hard times for the both of them, things that should have made them tough and cold, but that this was important. The chance to just be with each other, to take comfort in being vulnerable.
They kissed and the intensity of it brought Sam's body to arch up against his lovers, one leg hooking around Nates in an effort to somehow bring him even closer. He needed so badly to feel that there was a reason to stay in his life, a reason to continue on. He needed to feel loved.
His good hand reached down to cup Nate's cock through his pants, stroking slowly with just the faintest touch of his fingers. Despite everything about the moment, feeling how big it was still give him a little smile of excitement, which fell into their kiss as a content hum.
Or honey hope even on this side
of the grave again?
Kissing Sam brought with it an electric buzz that seemed to thrum through Nate’s body. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. It was... different, from other times they’d done this, coming apart with passion and romance and warm tingly feelings in his chest. This was deliberate, at least it felt that way to Nate. He moves his hands, and notes how Sam moves in response, files away the information so he can use it later, in more insistent sweeps of his hands, in the occasional deepening of his kisses. Nate didn’t know he could ever be so focused on another person.
The touch against his cock, as gentle as it was, drew a growl from him, and for a single dizzying moment that rush of instinct, of pure reaction threatened to overtake him. Somehow, he isn’t sure how, Nate swallows it down, along with the him that escapes his lover, and slowly rolls his hips down, against Sams palm. He breaks the kiss, just so he can whisper Do you know what you’re doing to me?” against Sams cheek.
Hands that have been patient up until now sweep down to cup Sams hips, fingers slipping just into the edge of his pants before pulling them down, then off completely, Nate shifting to accommodate the action. His hands returned to where they’d been cupping the gingers hips, stubbornly refusing to move past that point as Nate lowers himself back between the smaller mans legs and kissed him again, hungrier than before.
And who could ask it to be sound
or to feel saved again?
But stick around until you hear
that music play again
Nate's growl as he was touched made thrilled little butterflies rush up Sam's chest. To know that he could so easily affect him; he also knew that Nate had to be holding back, had to be purposefully going slow and gentle and it made him fall all the more deeper for him. He could only smile at Nate's question, not quite sure what it meant.
His pants were taken off and Sam found that he didn't feel vulnerable at all. Not even as hurt and confused as he was, not even naked; instead he felt a great comfort from being so close to Nate, so open and accepted. In a desperate hurry to feel as connected as they could he tried to work with his good hand to open Nate's pants as he was kissed, pressing little whines into Nate's lips.
It was a struggle, with only one good hand and at the angle he was, to get them down; after a moment he gave up and instead pushed his hand inside, reaching to grab Nate's cock and stroke it, slowly and in time with the rocking of the hips above him. "Darling, I need you." He mumbled somewhere around Nate's jaw, his lips tracing against skin.
Or honey hope even on this side
of the grave again?
Nate couldn’t hold in the rough laugh that came when Sam tried, and failed, to open his pants, the end of the sound catching on a moan when his lover changed tactics. It took him a moment before he decided what he wanted to do, a hand pushing Sams out of the way as he popped the button on his pants, and pushed them down. His cock sprang into his waiting hand, the slow, easy smile on Nate’s face turning to something more serious, more genuine.
”As long as you’re sure.” The words were an offer of escape, probably the last one, barring the worst. As long as Sam stayed under him, happil, Nate would rock his hips down, the first drag of skin on skin making him groan, his eyes fluttering
And who could ask it to be sound
or to feel saved again?
But stick around until you hear
that music play again
Sam could have been offended by Nate's laugh if he were not already so comforted by the man's presence and instead just laughed himself, a small huff coming from his mouth. At least Nate helped him out and he nodded eagerly at the question, desiring more than anything physical sensation so intense it might take him out of his mind.
As Nate's hips came down, their cocks touching in one long, languid stroke, Sam gasped and arched up, arms going up around Nate's neck to keep him close. "Stay with me." He breathed into the kiss he pressed against his jaw, unclear about whether he meant in that moment or something more.
Sam began to rock his own hips up, increasing the friction between them; he would not last very long in his current state, seeking this out much more for relief than pleasure. His good hand coming to cup Nate's cheek he guided him so their eyes met and he looked straight up into Nate's as he moaned and panted in his oncoming ecstasy.
