tessera 2nd, 81381. Requiem knew how to forget. Sure, apart from the unfortunate freaks of nature born to suffer eventual death through information overload, most people were equipped with the innate ability to let things fade. Queries regarding the ingredients of breakfast three weeks ago would with 98% certainty draw a blank. Nobody gave a damn about the exact phrasing of casual conversation. Less still would remember or indeed give a fuck as to whether Mr. White was reading a passage out of Shakespeare or taking a crap. Insignificant, every-day happenings tended to hog the limelight for a fraction of a moment before the permanent inhabitants of memory lane would AK-47 them into oblivion for even daring to take up biological RAM. Left would be the clouds with a silver lining. And the thunderstorms. ThatÂ’s where Requiem was special. He knew how to ignore the cold touch of rain abusing his skin and pretend not to hear the harsh rumble of distant thunder. But to forget one extreme had had to forget the other. And so his memory lane was bleak and uninhabited, neither happy nor particularly sad. Permanent winter frosted what little was still visible of otherwise barricaded windows, occasionally giving a glimpse of sealed ghosts. Sometimes, if they were lucky, the wind would carry their mournful screams across the deserted road. But up till now it had always fallen on deaf ears, leaving nothing but silence to accompany their retreat into darkness. Like skeletons in a closet. It was funny, then, that having had over a week to forget it, one particular memory still burned fresh in his mind. It was beginning to drive him up the wall. HeÂ’d never really been a big fan of being pressed against walls as it was, so the added pressure of dealing with a metaphoric one was less than welcome. For longer than he was now prepared to bear, Requiem had fought desperately to uphold his denial against giving a flying fuck about the thought that plagued him. Not just one, either. Since that day, things had began to linger, loitering about for a few hours after entry into his mind. Just for fun, you know. And that one memory, nameless, stabbing at his heart, was him and Cayson together. With a cardboard box under his arm and a lovesick grin on his face, he made his way towards CayÂ’s house through the rain.
Cayson was laying flat out on his stomach, his left arm dangling off of the couch. He was simply hanging out. Doing absolutely nothing. He'd spent the entire day in a stiff office, pushing sketches out of his hands, writing papers and doing mathematical calculations. While he was only an intern, Cay had his fair share of work. He felt exhausted. Architecture was still something he was having mixed feelings about. He wanted to design buildings. He had a good aesthetic taste. “Structurally sound" could have been his middle name. He had all the key elements lined up in order to be a highly successful architect. That is to say, all the elements save for one: his heart. He just couldn't get into it. Despite his exhaustion and muddled thoughts, Cayson was actually quite content. He had the best boy in the world. And – he glanced at the clock on the mantle – he was expecting him to show up at any moment now. For the most part, Case was glad to be away from Janardan and living on his own. His flat wasn't too shabby either, and was a heck of a lot larger than Janardan's average dormitories. It was still modest though. One bathroom, two bedrooms one of which was a loft, a living room with a fireplace, a kitchen, and of course a balcony. His flat also had two entrances. One, Cayson left permanently locked. It led out into the rest of the building. The other door was beside the balcony. Case used this one as his main enter and exit point. It was a lot more practical that way since his vehicle was parked in the garage nearby. A crash of lightning sounded. The rain was already pelting down heavily. Case could hear it roaring down in bullets. He rolled off of the couch and onto the floor. His gaze was now fixated upon the ceiling and the loft up above. It was when he heard a particularly loud crash of lightning that Cayson promptly sat up. His doorbell rang. Cayson scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over the coffee table in the process. Requiem. He half ran and half hobbled to the door. His shin was stinging. When he opened it he was greeted with quite the sight – a sopping wet and cold 'dragon, holding some sort of package. Immediately Cayson pulled Requiem inside and kissed him hotly on the lips. “I missed you. But... look at you. Did'ja drown on your way here? You're drenched right down to the bone," Case chuckled as he closed the door behind them and blocked out the elements.
From the second Cayson’s lips touched his, Requiem was gone. A short base sequence on one of his standard 46 chromosomes asserted itself, claiming authority over all organic components involved in losing contact with reality. He developed some sort of instantaneous amnesia, robbed of recent memory and reduced to the barren foundations of a personality. One which was scratched and worn at the corners with age, full of etched meaning that would forever remain lost to interpretation and sense through words. Like a life story of the very last person; written in clear detail but done so in a lost language. The kind of thing you would call your ‘values’; underlying programs that run a comprehensible interface, but that on their own have no real purpose. And without the bright green shirt and painted nails, without the strut, sharp tongue and mystifying stare, Requiem became the dark center of an elaborate chocolate. Something very basic, with a thousand nuances of taste that you’d never be able to describe without letting someone taste. But nobody wants to share chocolate. So it remains a personal fascination, locked away in memories. Just something sweet. Something bitter. Pulling away was far beyond him. He didn’t want to. Instead he tilted his head ever so slightly, returning the kiss with a feather light lips and a gently caressing tongue. One hand crept back down against Cay’s thigh, relishing in heat from something that lived. The other rose towards the other boy’s face, allowing steady fingertips to hover with a ghost’s touch whilst he conducted his tender reply to his advances. Never once did his eyes open up again. He finally pulled away, cupping Cayson’s face with his hand. "Yeah," he chuckled. "I could use a change of clothes. I think we’re both about the same size. And – “ he added, holding the cardboard box with holes poked in it a little higher. "I got you a present."
“A present?" Cay asked as he suspiciously eyed the box Requiem was holding. “You really didn't need to go and do that... I, ah. Just hold on, I'll grab you some dry clothes first." Cayson left Requiem's side and practically bolted up the short length of stairs to the loft. Once upstairs he could be heard rummaging around, opening and closing various drawers. After a moment or two, Cayson returned downstairs, carrying a small bundle of clothing. “Hopefully these will work for you," he said with a grin as he held them out to Requiem. The shirt he had chosen was one of his favourite Menlo ones. It was powder blue in colour with black “racing stripes" on it, to make it go faster of course. The pants he had pulled out of the fray were just a simple pair of dark grey cargo pants. By no means were they anything fancy, but they would be comfortable – and dry – to say the least. “You could change in the washroom, if you like, or ah." A blush had taken up residence on Cayson's cheeks. He placed his right hand on Requiem's chest and stroked the wet fabric that clung to him. He giggled – a short, breathless sort of laugh.
Requiem knew when he set his eyes on Case again why he loved him so. Eyes like seawater, a body like a willow tree, and a smile that, he knew, had burnt Rome to the ground. Setting the box down, he noted the blush surfacing under Cay's tangerine-orange pelt, and gave a sweet, cat-like purr as his lover placed a hand on his chest. "Mmm..." Rolling his shoulders in a shrug and thrusting off a few weighty pounds of stress, 'Quiem said, "Ah, I'll just change in here." Playfully nudging Cay with the heel of his hand, he added, "I'm too cold to really move, anyway." The singer stripped, leaving his clothes in a sopping puddle at his feet. He was carved in clean, strong lines, with a slender yet softly muscular frame and a toned, slightly concave stomach. Softly, he began singing, words and melodies forming in his head. "You get me out of the rain, you get me out of my clothes - hope I don't make a sound, hope that nobody knows..." His words trailed off, and he wrung his hair out. "You have a dryer?" he asked, smirking and slipping into the provided clothes. They fit him nicely. "Now," he began - drumroll time! - "here's your present!" He unfolded the box to take out an orange, over-fluffy cessi with large, alert ears and blue eyes and a pink ribbon around its neck. Between Requiem's hands, it squeaked and mewed. "Isn't it adorable?!" he squealed.
Cayson hung close to Requiem as the latter slipped out of his wet clothes. He felt frigid to the touch and Cay idly wondered how much of that Requiem himself felt, if anything at all. He was part Yki after all... and they were known to be able to brave the cold. Still he found himself longing to warm the other arden up. “Yeah, I got a dryer. In the washroom though, of course." Requiem looked quite nice wearing his clothes. It was a little strange seeing someone else wearing his articles of clothing, but it was something that Cayson got over quite quickly. This was probably because Requiem had turned his attention to that box. That taunting box. Now that Cayson was looking at it, he realized that it had holes in it. Holes. That meant that...? He blinked as Requiem unfolded the box. What he took out was a minute creature. A tiny ball of orange fluff. As it looked at Cayson with it's big blue evil destroying eyes, Cayson squeaked – a sound not too unlike what the cessi had just made. His heart turned into a puddle of mushy goo. “OhmygodsRequiemit'ssocute!" Cayson's words came out in an almost unintelligible rush. He held a white-tipped finger out to the cessi and touched it gently on the nose. In response it began to mew some more and then grab at his finger with it's paws. “I think... if it were to get any cuter, it would explode. Seriously. What's its name?"
Requiem actually glimpsed his mother in the cessi – an extremely rare peaceful moment of hers – when she actually approved of his playing with his little sister in the way she herself had always laughed and played when she was younger, surrendering to its ease. And especially when 'Quiem read. Great updrafts of light from books, burning off distant plateaus of bistre and sage, throwing him up like an angel, high above the red earth, deep into the sprawling blank of the sky. He hadn't known anything but the whiteness and silence back then. He smirked as Cay looked into the cessi's big blue evil destroying eyes [yes, it was stupidly cute; cute enough to cause stupidity] and squealed, unable to control the fact that his heart was too, melting into a mushy puddle of goo. Scattered lines of poetry darted elusively across the rockstar's mind the moment the sunlight fell across his eyes. "Eyes I dare not meet in dreams in death's dream kingdom..."" he giggled, ironically quoting from a poem titled "The Hollow Men". "I knoooooow," he squealed giddily. "He doesn't have a name," he said, "but we can name it... and then go cuddle with it."
Cayson's eyes were bright. Before Requiem had showed up, he hadn't been feeling so hot. He'd been exhausted and sluggish. Worn out by the day and his conflicting thoughts. It was almost as if Requiem had breathed the life right back into him. The gift of the cessi certainly had come as a surprise. He had the attention span of a gnat when it came to looking after creatures. When he was younger Koani hadn't allowed pets in the house. Later on with Jaceen, things weren't much different. Still this hadn't stopped Cayson entirely from capturing small, wild things and keeping them as temporary pets. His favourite place to hide them had been under his bed. Which unfortunately wasn't the best of places. There were several occasions when he had forgotten about said creatures... then had looked only to find rotten, rock solid, and generally stinky carcasses. Hopefully the cessi wouldn't share a similar fate. “Hum... what about ah, Destroyer of Worlds? Then we could call him Desi for short. Only... Desi the cessi?" He giggled. “Kinda cheesy if you ask me."
<blockquote>"Destroyer of Worlds. What about... mmm," he responded by tilting his head, warm tongue dragging greedily over Cay’s bottom lip. As if hooked by inverted gravity, his hand gravitated up, fingers catching the folds in his boyfriend's shirt. "Monster of the Great Below…" The end to the sentence caught on a little late, arriving midway between a gentle nip of Cayson’s lower lip and Requiem beginning to back him – slowly – towards the couch. It felt natural, and it really shouldn’t have. But this was like heroin – one shot and a needle in your vein seems everyday. Case’s body pressed against his own was – and it was obvious – becoming his needle. It’d be sweet. Genuinely precious: no strings attached, everything patched from good intentions. But it only takes an extra minute for cake to burn. The cessi mewed, licking its sandpapery tongue over the inside of 'Quiem's wrist. "Ahh..." he mumured, pulling a bit away from Cay. "Iyo qots fums sy koppla og em het gumst syy, pym's iyo lessla doi?" Requiem giggled.</blockquote>
“I like that," Cay purred, both in response to Requiem's actions as well as the name suggestion. With just a few subtle movements Requiem had turned up the heat. Cayson's heart was thundering in his chest. The hand clenching his shirt, 'Quiem slowly backing him into the couch... Case felt so moldable. He'd do anything for Requiem. Anything his heart desired. Requiem could wear him like jewellery and Cayson wouldn't mind. Not in the slightest. “Syy? Fhi ni lessla Crow, iyo'ja uljaupi em ni gumst." Cayson giggled. He felt the back of his knees hit the couch and let himself fall gracefully backwards.
"Mmmm..." Requiem purred, hooking his fingers inside of Cay's pants. "Rura, E ras iyo lyyc abam rassaj fesh iyoj gumst yvv... ull sha rassaj vyj kopplemd, ni pauj." Running one forefinger down Cay's chest, he straddled his hips, licking his cheek. The boy held him so pleasantly captive against his addiction. One that worked in the same way as any. The holes in his heart would grow wider, leak more, and tolerance for the drug would build like weight on whoever it was that carried the world until their spine snapped under the pressure and all hell broke lose. But hey. CÂ’est la vie, right? A little Dawn of the Dead, but somebody had to do the job. At least heÂ’d spend his final hours in the arms of a lover who knew jack shit about him and the great bulk of history attached. "You're so pretty, both you and Monster," he giggled.
“Heh." Cayson ran his hands through Requiem's hair and kissed him on the cheek. Monster in the meanwhile had taken up residence on Cayson's chest and was parading the area. Cay could feel the tiny prodding footfalls as the cessi investigated every little nook and cranny. With Requiem straddling him and the cessi sniffing and poking about, Cayson felt quite restrained and pleasantly smothered. “Iyo shemc ty? Iyo naum... sha guej E'n faujemd, yj sha guej shus iyo'ja faujemd?" His smile was teasing as he watched Requiem's eyes. “Mm, and you're the prettiest one of us all."
<blockquote>Most people tended to balance on a knife’s edge regarding whether or not they should take Requiem's hand or make like program.exe and run. Rightly so – 'Quiem was nothing if not highly unpredictable, prone to bouts of pain and the guardian of so many twisted secrets that half would’ve guaranteed life-time satisfaction for any hard-core emo fan. His hair had by this time returned to its pre-mother, vaguely unkempt state with the majority slipping to cover one eye. A leopard can’t change it spots – in much the same way Requiem was prevented by the higher powers from ever improving his hairstyle. He furrowed his brow, trying to remember what he'd een thinking about before. Because bit by bit, need for whatever blanked his mind built up like water behind a dam about to burst. Worryingly enough, it had a lot to do with sex. Now there was a reason to tread with caution. "Ah... shumc iyo. Ros es'p ra rats sy huba rysh yv ot yos yv yoj gumst ump kopplemd sydashaj, puij." His eyes scanned the cessi that was tiptoeing over Cayson's chest.</blockquote>
Gently, with the sort of care that only a mother should have, Cayson picked Monster up. The cessi mewed in response to the touch and all at once was giving Cayson's hand an enthusiastic tongue bath. Laughing, Cay set Monster down on the couch beside them. He watched for a moment as the cessi began to investigate the various pillows, but then turned his gaze back to Requiem. With Monster out of harm's way, Cayson wrapped his arms about Requiem. For a moment his hands rested upon his shoulder blades, but then they dropped down to cup his ass. He loved Requiem. There was no doubt in his mind about that. He also loved what he saw in the rock star's eyes. His eyes were playful, fiery... and all Cayson wanted really was to be lost forever in them. “E lyba iyo, Crow'ni." Cayson's words were strong, forceful even, and full of conviction.
<blockquote>Requiem giggled as Monster toddled across the pillows and finally came to curl up on a rather fluffy one. Trepidation filled him, and was banished as Cayson gazed into his eyes, his tongue threading whispery seductions through his prone form. The rockstar understood and respected the need for quietude, and a slight arch of his neck indicated a quick nod of gratitude. And then all was forgotten as the voice of his prince rang with hot, sweet nuances upon his ear. "...Crow'ni." "Cayson'ni." Not a mockery. A plea. A prayer. He tasted the syllables as they filled his mouth, spilled them unto the zephyrs, reverently. Fervently. His muzzle curved up at the corner in a roguish half-grin, tongue flickering out and swiping at his muzzle. Swallowing almost painfully, heart thudding in his chest, he pressed closer and deliberately closed the remaining distance between them even as he moved slowly towards him, fur meshing with fur in an easy, longed-for oneness. He kissed Cay on the nose before sliding one hand into his pants and cupping his groin. "E huba temmap uduemts iyo." A wicked smile flashed across his face. It was the ending to a confessional prayer, and here he was, butchering it. Mercy for us. Mercy for them.</blockquote>
Cayson swallowed a gasp, resulting in an awkward hiccup of air. A horde of butterflies had all at once taken up residence in his stomach. He could feel their anxious fluttering wings. Tickling. Requiem had chosen to draw himself even nearer. Now they were lodged together comfortably. Case could feel 'Quiem's hand snaking downward and then into is pants. The Lapices arden jerked slightly as his blue-lidded eyes closed. Cayson's grip on Requiem's ass tightened momentarily before he slid his hands around to hold his boyfriend's skinny thighs. He opened his eyes once more, a smirk drawing itself across his face in response to Requiem's words. “Crow'ni, iyo vejts temmap uduemts na woesa tyna sena udy." Cayson gently traced the side of Requiem's face with his nose, that silly smirk still playing upon his face. “Iyo tsyla ni haujs. Lokceli E pym's fums es rukc. Um azkhumda fut dyyp amyodh vyj na."
<blockquote>Requiem struggled with a breath that simply would not come, dragged some semblance of air from the choked and empty place where his lungs should have been. They had always been there, he reflected, until he'd met Cayson. The rockstar's long, lean musculature was clenched tight, set afire with his gaze, with his touch, his presence. A low growl drawled from his parted muzzle, seemed to trail into the silence in a rumbling preamble of the symphony that was to come. 'Quiem slithered his hand past Cayson's boxers, his thumb stroking the tip of his penis. He drew another breath and, lifting his head, opened his intensely acid-green eyes and focused them upon Cay's beautiful, beautiful face. And what he found within those bi-tinctured depths answered every prayer he'd ever prayed. He swallowed hard, reached for and caught another elusive breath. Somehow he understood. Somehow he sensed Case's understanding in the face of his inexperience with love. How he'd given his heart freely to him and taken Cayson's in return. And somehow... he was ashamed by this admittance, as if perhaps by lacking in experience in love, he was lacking in his eyes. No. Not Cay's eyes, but his own. "Iyo huba temmap uduemts na ut fall, ump sucam ni haujs, vuej gjemka," he murmured, licking Cayson on the cheek. "Ty las ot dy sy hall sydashaj." Mother, the name of the gods. Burn in Kytlekh.</blockquote>
Again Cayson gasped at Requiem's touch. It was almost as if he were sending pulsing jolts of electricity throughout his body with each not-so-innocent movement. It wasn't really like Cayson to play with electricity. Of course, this was much more like lightning. Each touch produced a rush unlike any other. Simply being on the receiving end made Cay feel antsy. He wanted Requiem to feel more of this. He wanted this to be their moment and not just his. Case pulled Requiem's mouth close to his. He held him there for a moment, staring quite transfixed into those acidic eyes. “Qots ut lymd ut lymd ut fa'ja sydashaj." Then, wantonly, Case fervidly kissed Requiem, attempting to convey as much of the passion that he was currently swimming in as possible. He didn't want to know anyone else's touch. No one else's words of praise or endearment. All he wanted was Requiem, here, now, and this moment. To Kytlekh with everyone else.
<blockquote>Requiem's breath hissed pleasurably from his jaws as Cay kissed him feverishly, and he buried his face into his lover's neck. His tongue slipped from powerful jowls, wandered along his fur, and he offered a low groan, his growl undulating, wavering, lingering along Cayson's throat. And the need to answer the orange arden's words disappeared, replaced immediately with the need to explore him, to know him in a way that he had never even remotely considered before. Clumsily, he pressed nearer, his chest lightly flushed against his, heartbeat racing in response to his nearness. 'Quiem fumbled with the other boy's pants, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper, tooth by tooth. He pushed his boxers down to his ankles and scooted over to the spot on the couch besides him. Slowly, oh-so-tenderly, Requiem trailed soft kisses from his collarbone down the middle of his chest, and with a brief hesitation (letting his breath fan the sensitive skin), continued the kisses down his groin and inner thighs. He nibbled, licked, reveled in his scent, his taste, his warmth. And he wondered. Is this allowed? Should I be doing this? Am I doing it right? But the heat, the growing fire, answered for him. Yes and yes and yes.</blockquote>
“Ah, ah..." Requiem had stolen away Cayson's voice. All of the sudden he felt as if he had so much to say. The words were bubbling in the back of his throat. However, nothing, save for small groans and purrs were being allowed passage. Cayson's pants and boxers were down around his ankles. All he could feel were Requiem's fiery kisses, touches, and teasing licks. With a sudden surge or willpower, Cayson gently caught hold of Requiem's lower jaw and briefly stopped the teasing so that he could catch his breath and speak. “Crow.. my little Crow. My own; my love. I need you to know this: We can go at whatever pace you wish. There's no need to rush 'cause my time is now yours. I don't... want you to feel pressured."
