games of luck

Dorian didn't bother to stifle the quiet sound of appreciation as he eased out of his trousers. The fabric hung for a moment in the air before settling over the chair with a whisper. His gaze remained ahead, surveying the room with a calculated nonchalance. Every movement, from the peeling off of socks to the careful folding of his clothes, seemed executed with the sort of suggestive ease of a burlesque display.

Once fully undressed and without any hint of embarrassment, he stepped into the warmth of the bath with a sigh. His body, while not outwardly youthful, carried an ageless grace that resonated with the sophistication one might expect from the well-tailored garments he had shed and the way in which he spoke. The play of his muscles suggested a surprising strength beneath the refined exterior, and each movement was executed with a dexterity that hinted at both confidence and capability.

Leaning back against the tub and letting his arms reach out over the sides, Dorian cast a casual look toward one of the tables and chuckled under his breath. "I seem to have forgotten my wine." He said, before looking back towards Danta and the girl. "Be a dear and fetch it for me?" The request was directed to the room at large, before he added, "-and I rather think I would like to have you make her moan my name. Once we've all had a bit more wine, of course."

The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

I used to hold your haunted neck; I know I'll miss you if I close my eyes

That's the thing with predators - it's almost a carnal thing, knowing how to make the measure of another individual. Often it's a way to play a hypothetical game of who's winning with a potential rival, but every now and then, along comes a creature for far in a league of their own that the game look petty in the scale of their power. Danta hasn't felt that sort of way even with the demigods of Caido, for all their strength.

With Dorian, though? He watches the man sink into the hot water without really seeing him; his eyes, rather, are on the long, long shadow he feels he must cast. Lifting his chin at the blonde, she retrieves the glass of wine and saunters it over to the bath; Danta, meanwhile, chooses self-preservation, and so he gestures for the lady of the occasion to bring him a refill as well.

"I'm sure that can be arranged," he murmurs, drawing the sweater over his head and casting it aside carelessly. Taking a long sip of wine, his arm curls around the blonde's middle, drawing her back against him. "Did you travel far, to get to the Grounds?" he wonders softly, the question aimed at Dorian even if it's all but whispered into a tumble of fair tresses.

Dantalion

Upon receiving the wine, Dorian ensured his fingertips brushed against the blonde's hand as she held it out to him, adding an extra layer of tactile appreciation for her efforts. Lounging in the bath with a demeanour that suggested he considered the place his personal retreat, he cast a lazy gaze toward Danta and the blonde. Although his interest seemed detached, an unmistakable intensity lingered in the way he observed their interaction—a studiousness that was both judgmental and wholly inviting.

"Far? Yes and no," Dorian murmured, shrugging his shoulders as he leaned his head against the back of the tub, finding a comfortable spot to both relax and observe. "This world is not so terribly big when you get right down to it." With a knowing but predatory smile, he tilted his head ever so slightly. "It took me less time to come here than it will take you to make her cum, put it that way." The words, delivered with a blend of casualness and confidence, hung in the steamy air.

The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

I used to hold your haunted neck; I know I'll miss you if I close my eyes

Hissing in a breath through his teeth, Danta's smile is crooked with feigned hurt. "Let's not bruise my pride until you have good reason," he murmurs; the blonde, at least, is thoroughly enjoying her role as treat in this pantomime they're playing at. And it's lucky, perhaps, that the Maverick is so driven by physicality and gratification, because while his instincts want to whisper danger into his thoughts, his hindbrain is occupied by curves and soft flesh.

Already stripped to the waist, Danta paints a pathway of kisses down the pale column of the blonde's neck, his hands running slowly over her body until his fingers can tease at the hem of her dress. Her breathy moan fills the air, her body lithe and moulding into his every touch. It doesn't take long to peel the garment over her head, tossing it aside like a wrapper to let him enjoy the sweetness beneath,

He'd ask how Dorian likes the show so far, but to be frank his attention is elsewhere for the time being.

Dantalion

Dorian offered a low, appreciative chuckle in response to Danta's crooked smile, his eyes glinting darkly. The blonde, seemingly enjoying her role in this seductive pantomime, felt ancillary to the proceedings no matter how vital her role. As the Maverick painted a pathway of kisses down the pale column of the girl's neck, Dorian watched with detached fascination, his gaze a mix of privileged amusement and intensity.

Lifting the wine to his lips, if there was a flush of emotions on his cheeks, it was hidden by his beard and the wall of hazy steam rising up from the bath. "Pride." He almost sneered. "How boring." Raising the stem such that the wine seemed to pour into his mouth rather than be drained by his lips, for all of Danta's skill and expertise in this area, Dorian seemed far more taken by the liquid staining his mouth than the display currently on offer. It was as if the unfolding scene before him was a mere backdrop to his own private performance, a carefully orchestrated tableau where he pulled all the strings.

The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

I used to hold your haunted neck; I know I'll miss you if I close my eyes

And such is Danta's folly, perhaps - his pride, however boring, won't let him abandon his task, especially now his body has begun to catch up with his mind. And who wouldn't be happy to be a backdrop to someone else's performance when said backdrop is so delicious? Nipping at the blonde's throat, her mewl of pleasure is cut off by the way he turns her head to seal her lips in a devouring kiss.

With the help of her swarming fingers, it isn't long before all three occupants of the room are stripped naked, though of course Dorian's state of undress is for an altogether more practical reason. (A bath? Boring). Pressing the blonde up against one of the tall bedposts, Danta worships his way down the length of her body, draping one of her thighs over his shoulder so he might turn his attention to the sweet heat of her core.

At the curl of his tongue and graze of his lips, the blonde all but serenades the room, though it's with hooded eyes that she focuses on the bathtub and its mysterious inhabitant, her fingers tangling carelessly in the Maverick's fair hair.

Dantalion

In the midst of the entangled dance between Danta and the blonde, Dorian seemed to be a passive observer, his demeanour retaining the same detached yet intense focus. The seductive tableau, a swirling symphony of pleasure, unfolded before him, but his attention was like a spotlight: selectively illuminating certain moments while leaving others in cold shadow.

As the room embraced the intimate choreography, Dorian reclined in the bath with a certain arrogance. His gaze, a study in control and calculation, followed every movement. The wine, now a constant companion, was lifted to his lips in a rhythmic dance that mirrored the undulating passion nearby.

His manipulation of the stem, the liquid cascading into his mouth, was a performance in itself—a demonstration of his control over every nuance of the scene and one perhaps even more sensual than the acts currently being performed by Danta's tongue. The allure of the spectacle was there, but for Dorian, it was a means to an end, a canvas where he painted the strokes of his dominance.

Still, he met the blonde's gaze with a cold intensity, a deliberate move meant to temper the flames kindling between her legs, forcing Danta to work harder for the desired heat.  Did he, Dorian, remind the girl of her father? Was it her father's touch she wanted, and if so, would she imagine Dorian's hands now between her thighs, or would she manifest his paternal presence instead as a warm and loving hand upon her back?

The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

I used to hold your haunted neck; I know I'll miss you if I close my eyes

Thus begins Dorian's next lesson in humanity - where one sews the seeds of untempered lust, kinks are likely to grow. Perhaps if this were not a brothel and the blonde not a practiced prostitute, the burrowing intensity of his gaze might have been offputting at best and absolutely devastating in the right moment. But what whore doesn't have her share of daddy issues?

Regardless, her gaze slips away from the observer in the water, her back arching and a soft cry leaving her lips as Danta's tongue finds a relentless rhythm. With her fingers flinching in his hair and her head tipping back against the bedpost, it's almost too much for the Maverick to let her finish like this. Hissing something against her inner thigh and visiting his attentions all over her body as he rises back to his feet, it's with a heated glance over his shoulder to the bathtub that he regards Dorian.

"Are you sure I can't tempt you?" he rumbles, nipping at the blonde's earlobe.

Dantalion

Dorian's gaze, a piercing and almost punishing stare held the girl's eyes as long as he was able until they closed with the movements of Danta's tongue. There was a hint of annoyance, a subtle acknowledgment that his calculated moves hadn't produced the desired effect of unsettling the girl. But that was why he was here after all; to learn and adapt.

After a moment, he let a slow, predatory smile grace his lips, a controlled response to Danta's question. "Tempt me?" Dorian repeats. "I suppose you're accustomed to saying that. Of needing to give your various clientele every opportunity to get up the nerve, so to speak." His thumb sensually traced the rim of the wine glass, a gesture both suggestive and deliberate. "I hope I don't strike you as the sort of man who needs such invitations." He adds, his tone carrying the air of someone accustomed to getting precisely what they wanted without having to reach for it.

Dorian took a languid sip from his wine, a subtle furrow creasing his brow as he eyed Danta. "Do take your time," he quipped dryly, though his voice retained its smooth and controlled cadence. "No need to rush on my account." His gaze lingered on the proceedings, calculating and perhaps a touch more impatient than before.

The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

I used to hold your haunted neck; I know I'll miss you if I close my eyes

"On the contrary. I very rarely get the opportunity to do this dance with my various clientele," Danta purrs, and already the other man's pretty words feel like a long-winded no, so his lips make themselves busy against the blonde's collarbones instead. It's true that he thoroughly enjoys spending time with his workers, but clients are different.

Then again, Dorian is even more different.

"Consider yourself invited regardless." Danta's words are muffled against his partner's flesh, and he draws back for no other reason than to settle them on the bed. When he takes the blonde - because he was always going to - it's with her clasped back against his chest, her body bared to Dorian, every muscle quivering with each thrust of the Maverick's hips.

With one hand cupping one of her ample breasts and the other plunging sensually between her legs, there really isn't any rush. Not yet, anyway.

Dantalion

Dorian's blue eyes darkened, caught in a dance between detached anthropological interest and an unsettling, primal fascination. He had known about this, about all of this, though the current way his body was ripening to it was not entirely pleasant, least of all because it seemed to rise quite without his permission.

His beard and the dense oils and milks in the bath water hid whatever outward signs there might have been, but still his lips tightened slightly as the girl bounced and articulated against Danta. An uncomfortable tension pressed against Dorian's chest, and his fingers tightened on the edge of the bath. The involuntary reaction prompted a slow inhale, and Dorian drained the rest of his wine.

In the midst of the passionate tableau, Dorian interrupted, his gaze now focused on the girl. Waggling the empty glass back and forth, he cleared his throat softly. "Apologies. I seem to be dry."

The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

I used to hold your haunted neck; I know I'll miss you if I close my eyes

When Danta said there was no rush, that wasn't to imply the start of a game of sexual red-light green-light, but here the fuck they are. Both the blonde and Danta are dragged from their mounting pleasure by the resonance of Dorian's voice, and one (guess which) seems a lot more frustrated with the proceedings than the other.

The blonde's lips part, only for the words to fall short given the press of a mouth against her ear. Danta's instructions are soft and absolute, as if relishing the small amount of control he has in a situation suddenly spiralling through his fingers. Then, and only then, does he let her go, allowing her to bring the bottle to Dorian's side, pouring him a fresh measure of deep red liquid.

Dantalion

Dorian watches the brief flash of Danta's will upon the girl with unfettered interest. A subtle narrowing of his eyes accompanies the emergence of a smile that transforms into a radiant expression as the girl dutifully moves to refill his glass. "Thank you so much." Dorian titters, his words oddly appreciative in the context, yet he seems all the more pleased for it.

Tilting his head slightly to gaze up at her, another man in his position might reach out for her with his hand if not a word, draw her down and against him. The bath was plenty large enough for two, especially given the positions they'd no doubt occupy, but Dorian, with a casual and cursory smile, signals for her departure.

Indulgently, Dorian takes a sip of the wine, allowing a deliberate moan of appreciation for the vintage to escape his lips. The sound subtly emphasizes his disinterest in the ongoing coupling of bodies. With a nonchalant gesture, he lets his head loll against one shoulder, signalling to the pair, "Alright. As you were then."

The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

I used to hold your haunted neck; I know I'll miss you if I close my eyes

With a sunny smile for his trouble, the blonde saunters back over to the bed where Danta waits, the Maverick made suddenly and acutely aware, not for the first time tonight, that they're playing cat and mouse, and he isn't the feline in the situation. Nonetheless, humming a note of approval to see his prize returned to him, he indulges himself in a few heated kisses to stoke the fires of arousal back up.

And this time the pleasure is all his; rolling to pin the blonde beneath him, Dorian will be treated to the muscles of Danta's shoulders and back, the lithe stretch of his body, the roll of his hips. If the other man makes any further demands, too, perhaps they might fall on deaf ears. Hard to concentrate in such a compromising position, you know?

Dantalion