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!
It was decidedly weird, time after a tragedy. Sam had noticed this before, when the Hollowed Grounds had thrown it's many challenges at him; you wanted badly to fix it, to do something, but often there was nothing to do. All Sam could do was go for walks, read books and wait for something to happen. At least his evenings spent staring at the wall in Zeph's spare bedroom felt suitably sad.
There was one thing he couldn't leave forever though: the need to drink. This morning he had woken up feeling decidedly weak; getting out of bed had been an effort and he'd known he couldn't put off asking any more.
After their rather intense conversation the night of his loss, he'd left Zeph mostly alone except for pleasantries, sleeping through a lot of the day (or at least laying in bed) and going out for walks at night. As he headed up the stairs he was unsure of the time, only that it was dark and that Zeph's bedroom door was shut...but he couldn't wait: he'd been critically low on fluid before and he knew eventually he'd get weak enough he couldn't make it up here to ask.
Taking a breath to prepare himself and bracing his hand against the doorframe to stop his swaying, he knocked. "Zeph...? Ar..are you awake? I ne..eed something."
You're scribbling when you hear the knock on the door, accompanied by the quiet voice. Red had been strangely distant ever since that night, giving you space and leaving you feel strangely anxious and on edge. Probably realized what a fuckup you are, and decided to give you space until he could go home- which you tell yourself is good, because it's what you wanted, and you definitely aren't disappointed by his insistence at staying in his room. And if you've been leaving teas and other random shit on the counter in an attempt at... peace offerings? bribery? apology? who can blame you for being a good host? Nothing more than that.
And if you've been out more often and later than usual... well, that, too, definitely has nothing to do with him.
Point being: you're taking a nap when he knocks on the door, and barely have time to register what's happening or that it's Red's voice or that this is strange. "C'min!" you call out , turning around in your chair, the book of little drawings and your other craft supplies scattered over the driftwood desk. The bed is unmade; shoes sit beside it in a messy pile, and your clothes are crumpled at the foot of it. There's some art on the walls and a large collection of half-finished woodworking in a myriad of almost-shapes lying around on the floor.
You, for your part, are barefoot with your shirt unbuttoned, the top floor being rather warm even in the dead of winter. Pushing your chair back you begin to pad toward the door, expecting that Red is unlikely to open it himself, timid thing that he is. Your hair's a mess from rubbing your hands through it, but at least your beard is trimmed; as you walk across the floor you kick some of the mess beneath the bed, bothered it and unsure why. Fuckin' slovenly, that's what you are. With a sigh of resignation (old dogs don't learn new tricks) you grab the knob of the door.
The sound of footsteps approaching and Zeph's voice inside filled Sam with some relief, even if the hard part wasn't over with yet: at least there was someone else here to deal through it with him, someone else to help with the problem. As the door opened he gave a weak smile, though he was sure he didn't look great.
"Um...I ne..need something, from you, please. A fff-favour." With no idea how to lead into 'I need to suck your blood and it's going to make you feel weirdly aroused', Sam looked past Zeph into the messy room; had he been more in his right mind he would have smiled at how dishevelled it all was. "C..could I come in? I'm...no..not feeling great.." If Zeph was paying attention he'd note the way Sam was rocking back and forth unsteadily, the slightly glazed look in his eyes. "...I need to sit."
You wouldn't have believed it possible for Sam to look pale, but here you are, staring at a man who might as well be made of sand for all the color in his cheeks. Glassy eyed and unsteady, the Ascended looks like a stiff wind would send him keeling over. Can Ascended get sick? You have no earthly idea- and silently you curse yourself for leaving him alone so long, not making more of an effort to make sure he was okay, because-
"Safrin's tits, Red, y'look like death."
You don't hesitate for more than a heartbeat. Grabbing Sam by the shoulders you gently yet firmly steer him toward the bed, determined to get him sitting down before he keels over on your floor. "Are y'sick? How long y'been like this? Why didn't y'say somethin'? Fuck, I can go for a medic or somethin', or get someone, or..."
You're squatting down in front of him, staring up through worried eyes, his hands in yours as though you fear he might collapse right then and there if you don't hold onto him. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you're not about to lose someone else. Your old heart can't handle that.
There was a breathy, quiet laugh at Zephs exclamation: Sam was worried he'd been overreacting to his own state, but it seemed like it was beginning to show on the outside too. Easily he let himself be taken inside and to the bed, relieved to sit down: Zeph's hands in his felt nice and he felt he could close his eyes and just rest like this, but he knew he had to do something, especially with the man before him panicking like he was.
"N-no. Um..I'm l..low on fluid. We get it from The Voice." He watched Zeph's face carefully for understanding. "..There is something you c-c-can do, but.." Sighing, Sam supposed it was probably easier to just say it and get it over with rather than prolong it: at least if Zeph refused he'd know sooner just how screwed he was.
"I need t-to drink bl...blood. I was...hoping you might..." Sam tilted his head and looked at Zeph, hoping he didn't need to say it. "B-but you sh..should know, it h..has...side effects."
We get it from the Voice. Your hackles rise at that notion, anger tensing your body as disgust flashes over your face. "So, like... yer starvin'?" you question, trying to put the whole thing into a perspective your ignorant brain can better comprehend. If he needs fluid and he hasn't gotten it yet he must have had nothing in all this time.
Except, wait, can't he drink--?
"Ah." Yeah, there it is. You would like to say that there isn't a sickened flip-flop in your stomach at the idea of someone drinking your blood, but that would be a damned dirty lie. It's a bizarre idea: usually you want very much to keep your blood inside your body, not outside, and certainly not inside someone else's. How easy would it be for him to kill you just by bleeding you dry, you wonder, trying not to cringe at the idea.
But then... this is Red you're talking about. And regardless of your reservations, we all knew what you were going to do before he even asked.
"I see... so now that yer desperate, my blood's finally good enough for ya." It's a joke, of course, and your voice conveys it, your eyes crinkling as you peer up at his face. Settling on your heels, you tilt your head, expression growing earnest again. "Doubt you're gonna kill me, an' whatever other effects it has, I'm sure I've had worse."
Sam nodded to the question; he supposed he basically was, but he hadn't thought of it that way. If he did it made the Voice's actions seem even more cruel, that she had left him out here to dry up, probably assuming he would come crawling back when he needed more fluid...he'd already decided though, that he would not.
He could see the initial hesitance in Zeph and looked away, pressing his lips together. He couldn't, he wouldn't force the man to let him drink after all he'd done for him, but it really was the end of the road if that was the case and a great darkness threatened to take him in if that was the way for things to go.
Cracking the tiniest of hopeful smiles at the joke, Sam pressed a hand to his chest and struggled not to cry when it was clear Zeph was accepting. Th-Thank you." He whispered, painfully earnest, then moved to try and pull Zeph up onto the bed. As much as he wanted to gently lead into it, he needed to drink soon. "..You mi..might feel um...ex..excited, or...overwhelmed." He tried to prepare Zeph, but was too embarrassed to really name what it was.
Holding out a hand for Zeph's wrist, if he got it he would lift it to his mouth and bite, teeth in in a moment and his eyes slipping closed as he drank the blood he so desperately needed.
Way to bury the goddamn lead, Sam. With this rather underwhelming warning of what's about to happen you are blissfully unsuspecting of the upcoming danger. Settling onto the bed beside him (is he gonna fuckin' bite you?) you squeeze his hand reassuringly before turning it over, exposing your wrist (yup he's gonna fuckin' bite you). "Don' worry, Red. I can take a little pain."
And then the fuckin' bite.
You expect it to hurt. You expect it to hurt! You do not expect to immediately feel butterflies in your stomach, and your cheeks get hot and your hands get your clammy and your cock begin to stiffen. For a minute you stare blankly at Sam- and then you look away abruptly, staring hard at the wall and desperately shifting to keep your dick from bursting through your pants.
Tits and balls, what the actual fuck is happening? Your left hand curls on your knee, clenching tight into your skin as you try very hard to keep from reacting outwardly to the insane amount of horniness coursing through your veins. A moan presses up into your throat; you swallow it down with all the self restraint you can muster, blinking aggressively at the wall.
Excited and overwhelmed your assand fuck do you want his ass.
While Sam was aware his warning had been inadequate to say the least and he felt the appropriate amount of guilt for that, it couldn't fight with the rush of relief as the blood began to restore him. Not quite as well as fluid, something off about the edge of the energy that he received, but enough that he knew he wouldn't struggle to walk out of the room anymore.
Of course, he felt a certain way as well, legs pressing together tightly as he firmly ignored it; he was very used to how a bite could overwhelm with desire by now and was thankful, however briefly, that the Voice had taken away his ability to show arousal quite so obviously. He let his eyes drift over to Zeph after a moment and well. His host was doing surprisingly well, but it was clear he was affected in the way Sam suspected he would be.
At the thought of that, Sam felt something akin to a little bit of delighted happiness, but immediately tried to stamp that highly inappropriate thought away. He knew that parched as he was he would need to drink for a little longer, that he couldn't just end Zeph's torture right away. Tapping him on the arm, Sam widened his eyes and held up a hand, a silent: Are you okay?
You would blame the way your heart is racing and the fluttering in your stomach on the loss of blood, but you've been through this dance often enough to know the truth of the matter. He's still got your wrist pressed against his lips, and even if your physical reactions were all due to loss of blood, that wouldn't account for the images swirling unbidden around your mind. Images of things you want to do, images of those lips on other places, images of you turning and pushing him back, your hands on his cheeks as you pull his face toward yours, kissing him deeply and greedily enough that you can taste your own blood---
A tap on your arm drags your attention back to reality, and though you know it's a terrible idea to turn away from the wall you've been studiously observing you find your head moving against your will. Was he always sitting that fucking close? He's small enough you could pick him up and move him into your lap, tuck yourself between those legs and see if he's just as pale and smooth as you suspect he may be underneath his shirt---
Fucking son of a siren's ugly uncle, focus, Zeph! You are saving a life, not fantasizing like a horny teenager. Does it feel like this for Sam? Does he know what he's fucking doing to you right now?! Trying not to stare at his lips and imagine how they'd look on your oh fuck no not even going there, you nod before really comprehending what it is he's asking, a weak smile on your face. Cheeks flushed, you nod silently and stupidly, raising your left hand in a very stupid thumbs-up, acutely aware of the fact that your shirt is unbuttoned and your chest is bare. Your voice is a helluva lot huskier than you think it ought to be, and much more composed than it should be, all things considered. "Just lemme know when you're satisf- uh, done."
Unawares of all the thoughts in Zeph's head, Sam was beginning to find his own mind racing now that he was feeling better; the restoration of his strength let him drift a little as he drank the reminder of what he needed. He'd always found Zeph attractive anyway, had seen him naked literally immediately and had known he liked what he saw; the glimpse of his chest was enough for Sam to imagine running his fingers down it, small smile on his face as he leaned in to kiss...
No, this was completely inappropriate, and he wasn't about to ruin another good thing by a regrettable post-bite hook up.
Legs pressed together so hard he felt they might break in a moment, he forced himself to detatch from Zeph's wrist, both to end the rush of arousal and to make sure he didn't take too much. For Sam who could not feel much sensation outside of the time of the bite the heat in him would quickly fade, but he was well aware it could take longer with Zeph. Gently letting go of his wrist, Sam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and licked off the last last streaks of blood before turning to speak to Zeph, trying his best to keep his eyes on the man's face and not the rather obvious situation occurring further down.
"...Th..Thank you. I ff--feel much better. Y..you're alright?" He asked; indeed he would look considerably healthier and sturdier now, more colour in his face (as much as Sam's face ever gained colour) and no weakness in his movements.
There's a slow motion moment where time seems to still as Sam leans toward you and you lean towards him and every heartbeat takes an age. He's still got your wrist in his mouth, which would be comical under other circumstances, but right now all you can think about is how much you want to capture those lips, take his face into your hands and show him just how worth it you think he is--
Thank the gods he moves away, breaking the spell of bewitchment. Abruptly you turn away, staring pointedly at the wall and trying to steady your breathing. It's not that you don't think kissing him would be a bad idea, or something you wouldn't like, but it feels like taking advantage of a vulnerable situation.
Plus, you know that in your current state it wouldn't end at that.
When he drops your hand after forever (not fucking long enough!) you're quick to bring it back to your lap, rubbing your left hand over the bite marks while attempting to surreptitiously adjust your pants and hide your obvious reaction. Does he even know what happened to you? What it feels like to be on the receiving end? How badly you want to grab his hands and press him down and--
Ok, Zeph. Focus. "Right as rain," you reply with a strained smile, still staring at the wall. "You feelin' better? Don'... Don't need any more?" What do you want him to say to that, idiot? No would be a fucking relief, but you aren't gonna lie and say you'd hate chasing that high again. Hot damn.
While Sam was eternally one to self doubt, he knew from the way Zeph couldn't quite meet his eyes and the very subtle hand shifting his pants about that the man was likely thinking of all kinds of things to do with them and the bed they sat on. That thought was more exciting that it ought to be but with his returned strength and the beginnings of a crush, Sam knew he'd be coming back to it.
"Mhm. ..Well..um.." It occurred to Sam at Zeph's question that he might not have realised that this would be a regular occurrence if he would allow it. "...I n..need fluid ab-about once every week. ...Two weeks, if I c-conserve my energy. So um..." While blood and fluid were not quite the same, Sam reckoned he could likely survive on similar amounts for the time being: he certainly didn't feel comfortable asking Zeph for anything more frequent.
"Um..b-but if you don't want to..I c...could try ask someone else." He offered, though he had no idea who. The only person he could immediately think of who wasn't directly related to him but had a chance of letting him do it out of a sense of decency was Deimos and..well. He didn't want to ask.
How on earth were you to know this would become a recurring theme? Maybe you could've figured it out under normal circumstances, but you aren't exactly thinking with your brain at the moment - your blood is decidedly somewhere else. And while Sam seems to be doing surprisingly fine with everything (seriously, is this like a one-way arousal street? Because if so, uh, rude?) you have some, um, business to take care of. Urgently, as it is.
"Week. That's, uh, that's cool. We can do that." Internally, you're screaming: you mean I have to pretend I don't want to jump you every godsdamned week?
Outwardly, though, you're totally chill. Cool as a cucumber. Cool cool cool cool cool.
Fuck, you gotta jerk off.
"Uh... hey, Red? Y'wanna maybe, uh," let me pound you into my mattress "Make us some tea'r somethin'? An' I'll throw on s'more clothes an' we can go out an' talk?" You're fishing for ways to get him out of your room without seeming like a dick who wants him gone, because actually your dick would very much like him very much not gone, and it's getting to the point where if you don't do something you're going to slip and do something, very soon.
