The Noah of Pleasure
RSS@Tyki-Joyd: your ask request for CrossTyki
Tyki Mikk rarely, if ever, calls his lover by his first name. When he’s serious, his utterances are straightforward, to the point. You. Exorcist. Marian. Cross Marian. But never just Cross. When he’s in a good mood, to play, to tease, to taunt and aggravate, the Noah slips back to his native tongue and showers the ginger with affectionate slangs and endearments accompanied by his usual smirk. The mix of his usual good natured joke manner and barely perceivable sadism leads one to question if he had spoken for real or in pure jest of a normal loving relationship.
In return, Cross adheres to the same formality, carefully sounding out his words. You. Noah. Mikk. Because somehow, during the course of their brief interactions, and constant struggle for dominance, something so simple has evolved into a weakness. But nothing was simple when it came to the Noah of pleasure, Cross had decided. Occasionally he slips up. The forbidden term is as rebellious and unpredictable as its owner, and escapes from the confinement of his mind and out his mouth. And he enjoys too much how the name Tyki bounce off the tongue before passing his lips. It is, in a sense, his form of endearment. As much as he is willing to give anyways.
(Source: love-cook)
I was writing some of this in my head but then I forgot. Fuck.
My hands slipped easily though layered clothes and warm flesh like winged birds darting through the infinite atmosphere as I reached out and struck the activated Innocence from your hand. Judgment slid with a clatter across the floor and out of reach. Eyes flashing in triumph, I opened my mouth to crow- but my victory was cut short by two fingers. I choked, startled. For a brief moment a prickle ignited from where your digits brushed against the roof of my mouth and spread; then it was gone. I didn’t wait long to figure out what happened when I found myself slammed shoulder first into the nearest wall, hard enough to rock the nearby picture frame to the floor. I swore. Of course you’d have a spell to hold down even a Noah. Magician. Sorcerer.
fjdsghfjdsjfno. I can’t. This is too hard. How do people write anything in first person and second person and make it sound good? It’s so fucking awkward. I can’t. -flee-
(Source: love-cook)
I smiled and bent down to cradle the back of your head with my right hand, making sure to smear slick red blood, your blood, across your delicate jaw and neck and into that thick black mane. I always thought you look enthralling in crimson, like a peony blooming in the harsh bleak winter. And I wanted to reach out and rip you apart petal by petal, snap you segment by branching segments. I thirst to know what made you so different, so intriguing. Yet, in the end, as you lay bare against me, you were nothing but frail. A disappointment. Physically. Mentally. Spiritually. You were only human.
“Tease~”
“Dinner.”
(Source: love-cook)
Then your fingers entangled in my short dark locks, thumbs tracing down the outer shells of my ears with light caresses I couldn’t help but shiver to in response. Tilting back to insistent tugging, I unconsciously bared my neck and you took to that like a beast at first sight of a prey, nipping and sucking down the column, leaving numerous marks behind. I returned the affection, sliding a knee between your thighs and rubbing teasingly against the underside of your groin.
(Source: love-cook)
Inevitably, you coax a raging hard-on out of me. Though the reason really has nothing with your looks, not that I don’t appreciate that gorgeous red mane or your tantalizing form. Nor does it have anything to do with you technique; anyone can jerk cock. But the way you move… The smothering gaze, radiant and sharp, the self-confident upturn of the lips, and the unhesitating, firm strokes that speak to me about how good you think you can make me feel. How good you know I feel.
And I begin to feel it. Breath coming in ragged, I unraveled to the delicious sensations and begin to undulate my hips in time with your movement.
(Source: love-cook)
Serpentine
He’s not the craftiest Noah, valuing brute strength over serpentine words. Perhaps that was why he was closest to the sweet tooth Skin Bolic. Despite outward appearances, they were two of a kind.
Illustrious
His actual mannerism did not precede his illustrious reputation. Any one can be cleaned up nicely after a shower and fancy clothes, but even under the well brushed mane, the handsomely shaven face and the smooth smile, something feral shone through. Maybe it was in his self confident stride across the hall, or his loose fuck all posture. He was barely contained.
Preclude
Reaching out a swift hand, he precluded his brother’s enthusiastic welcome kiss and slipped past the open door, leaving behind the rancorous greetings of the rest of his family. Today was the type of day for an early respite.
Smug
What he loved and hated about a man like Cross Marian was not his overabundance of ego and smug countenance -after all, pride and arrogance were a completely unavoidable part of human nature. What he loved and hated about the Exorcist was that Cross Marian actually had the capabilities to back up what usually would be considered a foolishly narcissistic claim.
About The Noah of Pleasure
