middaeg | I find a window in the kitchen, and I let myself in [closed]

[ The knock on the door doesn't entirely come as a surprise, rather it comes as an annoyance -- just a minor one, though. Trevor really had the most impeccable timing...He mutters an apology to Diarmuid as he pulls away from him, something about making it quick. Couldn't he have waited just a little bit longer...? Surely he felt that through their bond...

Whatever. The sooner he deals with this, the sooner he can get back to it. Berserker opens the door, his general appearance quite disheveled. ]

...What do you want, Belmont?

[ His outright surliness fades as an idea strikes him. His tail betrays his still neutral expression, the tip of it flicking with interest. He'll keep that to himself for now. ]

[ Does it help that Trevor happens to be wearing something SLEEVELESS for once where those Belmont Muscles of his are being shown off despite the cloak he wears? No?? Maybe?? Whatever. Either way, he wrinkles his face up when he's greeted like that. ]

The hell kind of greeting is that you asshole?

[ Hi to you too, Ciaran. ]

I forgot to give you one of these last month because... I don't know. I just did. [ Smooth. ] But, here you go. It's to protect you and Diarmuid.

[ And in his hands is a jack o lantern that is carved in such a shitty way, it's ALMOST unbelievable that he carved it himself. Almost. ]

It wards off bad things when you leave it in your window or on your doorstep or whatever. So. Here. Asshole.

[Just as they were- typical, really. Diarmuid drops back onto the couch with a little huff of frustration. Ah, well, he can wait a little longer. He's confident that Berserker will keep it short- shorter than he would be able to with his misplaced sense of courtesy, at least.

The sound of their visitor's voice, however, makes him sit up again. Trevor? Curious, he fastens a few buttons of his shirt- incorrectly- and heads over to the door, where he settles behind Berserker with a little tilt of the head.]

Sir Belmont. [... no, wait, he can't talk to him sounding like that. Quickly, Diarmuid clears his throat to try and get rid of some of that "I'm about to get laid" huskiness.] A pleasure to see you.

[Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Berserker's tail twitching, a little like a cat watching a mouse. Or maybe that's just his imagination getting the better of him. Regardless, he flashes Trevor a small smile.]

Is that so? I already feel safer.

Yes...It's lovely.

[ His eyes flick over to Diarmuid briefly -- seems he may already be keen on his little game. He doesn't have the poker face he used to with his helpful new appendage. Berserker focuses his attentions back on Trevor, flashing his teeth in a brief, predatory smile. ]

Set it down on the porch, then, and come inside for a bit... [ He reaches out to stroke Trevor's arm beneath his cloak. ] It'd be cruel to send you back out into the cold right away.

[ SIR BELMONT will never not be weird to him but he just... lets Diarmuid say it. Though he might grunt a bit before he looks down to the pumpkin again. ]

You know I'm as cold as one of the seven rings of Hell, right?

[ In other words: he doesn't get cold. He does, however, set the carved pumpkin down onto the porch and straightens up. Staring to them. You'd think he clue into this situation right here but, unless it's dealing with monster hunting it seems, he's a bit... daft. To put it kindly. At least when it concerns him. However ]

Do you have something to drink? [ A beat as he looks to Diarmuid then back to Berseker. ] Not... blood. I mean. I drink that but alcohol. That's also good.

[ He doesn't know if he COULD drink from his bonded in front of... his bonded's partner. Just seems, you know, rude. ]

[For just a moment, exasperation flickers across Diarmuid's face in a silent "Cú, please". If he's going to flirt the least he can do is be- be smooth about it! Admittedly, expecting subtlety from a man whose designation was literally once "Berserker" was probably unwise in the first place.

... and it's not as though Trevor seems to have noticed anyway. Well.]

Of course, come in. [As he steps back, he attempts to make himself more presentable. Shirt buttons are fixed, his hair is brushed back out of his face and he makes a Herculean effort not to look as flustered as he feels.] What can I get you? Whatever it is, we probably have some somewhere.

[you're in celt country trevor drinking is a national sport]

[ He's about as subtle as a freight train most of the time...Even though it seems like an even more direct approach will be necessary to get what he wants. That's fine -- while he may no longer be afflicted by Madness Enhancement, he still has a single-minded focus on achieving his immediate goals. Tonight's plans have gone sideways...Now all he can think about is having both of his bonded at once. ]

You ask stupid questions sometimes... [ Only Berserker could make those words sound fond. He does nothing to make himself look more presentable, his shirt still hanging completely open, his belt unfastened. ] Come on, let's have a drink, then...Even if it's not going to be me you're drinking from.

[ He manages a somewhat apologetic look in Diarmuid's direction -- he shouldn't have to play the host right now (or put up with his awful attempts to get through Trevor's thick skull). ]

At least I don't look stupid.

[ ~~if only~~ Said just as fondly as he makes his way on in, cloak trailing behind him.

He's not sure when it was he was last here but it's definitely been some time since it takes him a moment to really familiarize himself with the place, coming to stop and stare here and there. ]

As for what I'll have, whatever you've got. I'm not really picky so long as it doesn't taste like piss.

[ A beat, he looks back on over to Berserker and notices his current state in dress before he glances back on over to Diarmuid. It takes him a bit... really, it does... but then he blinks those blue eyes of his before he glances off to the side. Is this... is he... did he just fuck something up with coming in? ]

Uh... I can take it to go... if you want.

Nonsense. Please, have a seat.

[Looks as though he's only partly figured out what Berserker has in mind because rather than doing anything to aid or hinder him, he busies himself with drinks. Crystal chimes and clinks as he pours a finger of whiskey in each of two glasses and he delivers both promptly.

Naturally, he's the perfect host. He even stops to pull a chair out for Trevor in case he decides to take him up on the offer. You wouldn't even think he was tangled up with Berserker just five minutes beforehand- or that he'd really rather get back to doing just that. The only hint is the way he subtly brushes past the dragon, hip grazing up against his, as he moves to set his drink down.]

[ Berserker can't help himself, copping a feel of Diarmuid's ass as he passes by. Delayed gratification isn't his strong suit -- the potential payoff is worth biding his time for. ]

Stay...Unless you have plans. [ He takes his glass with a slight nod, pausing to drink. ] There's more I'd like to do with you tonight...Both of you.

[ Being so direct with a matter like this feels needlessly crude, but he wants to make his intentions clear...And to hopefully not have to spell it out more directly with Trevor. ]

[ Slow as he is at times when it comes to these sorts of matters, he's had a threesome before THANKS and so he knows all about that sort of... fun. It's just... this isn't Alucard and Sypha. This is Berserker and Diarmuid and while he and the dragon have clearly fucked every now and then ~~and even have feelings for each other who would have thought~~ Diarmuid is not anyone that has ever been on his radar before. Not because he's unattractive just because... he's Berserker's??? Dude is a possessive fuck about his things, ok?

But with his own drink in hand, he takes that seat and stares to his glass. Then to Diarmuid. Then Berserker. Back to his glass.

Hmm. Yeah, he... definitely gets what he's saying there. ]

I... don't know if I'm Diarmuid's type? Contrary to what you might say, I'm not a stubborn pain in the ass like you.

[It isn't quite so surprising a revelation for Diarmuid but he still does a double take, gaze flickering between the two of them in a mirror of what Trevor's doing. It lingers on the hunter-turned-vampire a little longer than he intends. In much the same way as him, he's never really considered him a potential partner, although in his case it's more a matter of single-mindedness.

Now, though... well, he's certainly handsome in his own roguish way, and he doesn't dislike his company. On the contrary, Diarmuid rather enjoys his quick tongue and casual cynicism but-]

I never said that. You have a great many charms. [That came out a little too quickly, didn't it? Diarmuid tries again, this time carefully hiding any interest he has beneath a veil of self-effacing concern.] What I mean to say is that I... wouldn't be opposed to the idea. Assuming that I'm not too far from your type, Trevor.

[Even he can't keep that upward note of curiosity from his voice, though.]

[ His expression remains unreadable as they both look to him. He should probably feel bad, or at least extremely selfish, for putting them in this position, but he doesn't -- at least not really. There's a small pang of potential guilt somewhere in him, drowned out by the idea he laid out. They got along well enough in most other contexts, didn't they? It'd be good for all of them -- at least that's how he justifies his selfish want.

Berserker takes another slow drink. ]

Ultimately...It's up to both of you. Don't take me into account here.

[ He's a little CONFUSED at being told he has "a great many charms" but he's also not going to fight that?? Yeah, definitely not. As far as his type is concerned... does he even know what the hell his type is?? So far he's had sex with a moody blond dhampir, a possessive dragon, a horny little faun, and a speaker magician who originally drove him up the wall. What exactly do all of these "types" have in common???

He has no clue.

Either way, he takes a rather generous gulp of his drink before he sets the mug down and brushes his mouth with the back of his cloaked arm. ]

You know. Technically you could fuck the both of us at the same time since you've got a tail and a fucking huge cock.

[ He's not even drunk and he's tossing out suggestions. ]

I don't think your bonded could handle me otherwise.

[ Mostly because, more often than not, Trevor likes to drink when it comes to fucking. ]

Edited 2020-11-05 23:45 (UTC)

[Honestly, Diarmuid had been ready to feign reproach at his suggestion, a click of the tongue and a sigh at his vulgarity. It would have been quite the convincing act too; though Berserker might feel the flicker of excitement through their bond or notice the telltale catch of his breathing, Trevor likely wouldn't have. But it doesn't get that far.

Instead, when his chin lifts and he fixes his stare on the vampire across the table, it's with a look of deep defiance. Diarmuid gets to his feet.]

I couldn't handle you?

[There's something hidden beneath Trevor's claim that he can't quite get at- Berserker likely understands it- but it doesn't really matter. That he would question it aloud is ample reason to defend his pride- although it's equally motivated by the stirring of something less honourable in him too.

Calmly, Diarmuid steps forward, puts one foot up on the side of his chair and leans forward. They're alarmingly close now, his sleepy, gold eyes locked with Trevor's pale blue ones.]

I beg to differ, Belmont.

[ Ah. Berserker had been momentarily distracted by the suggestion Trevor threw out, giving it a moment's contemplation -- he was right, that possibility is something he hadn't even considered. The distraction leaves quickly, though, if only because of Trevor's last declaration. Red eyes narrow just briefly as he regards the vampire. ]

He has taken me at my most feral with no hesitation and no fear. I could have easily torn him to pieces, yet he still took the challenge head on.

[ His sharp teeth flash in an equally sharp smile. ]

Don't underestimate him...but don't take my word for it. He can show you better than I can tell you.

[ Yeah yeah, sorry to have insulted your boyfriend, Ciaran. HOWEVER, with his attention mostly on Diarmuid so very close in front of him now and ugh he smells so fucking good you fucking witches and your witch blood that's like candy to a vampire, he calmly takes another gulp of his beer before he licks over his lips and cants his head. Staring right back at him. ]

You smell really fucking good.

[ Fucking irresistible witch blood. ]

Has Ciaran ever watched you get fucked by someone else?

[ Much as he wants to ask be fed on by someone else drinking Diarmuid's blood would probably be a bad idea... given how addictive witch blood is to a vampire and how very little of witch blood he's consumed since being a vampire. ]

I'm grateful for the vote of confidence, Cú.

[It earns him not only another smile but a wink playful enough to hopefully ease any of his lingering doubts as he brushes his hair back from his eyes. And as for Trevor... he turns back to him with an equally arch expression.]

Is that an idle question or a proposal? [Gently, he takes hold of Trevor's chin and tilts it upwards- only to pause before moving in any closer. His thumb brushes across his lips as he speaks.] Answer carefully.

[ It's becoming harder and harder for him to just sit back and watch this. As calm as he seems to be, the little show has his heart pounding already. His poker face means nothing when the other two involved are bonded to him -- there's little he can do to hide his interest, in that respect.

That speaks loud enough for him; no matter how this turns out, he'll be satisfied with it. As much as he'd like to pounce on them both, Berserker remains silent while he watches this play out. ]

[ Despite the slight shiver that runs along his spine at how close the pad of that thumb is to being pierced on a fang, Trevor's expression remains rather neutral as those blue eyes meet Diarmuid's stare.

Unable to help himself, he finds himself grinning just a bit. ]

Or what? Pretty sure I'm the blood drinker out of the three of us here.

[ Not that he would drink Diarmuid's blood... even though it smells fucking intoxicating to him thanks to the other being a goddamn witch. ]

Part of me feels like you're off limits but another part... [ As he throws his gaze over to the dragon for a moment. ] ...thinks a certain dragon shouldn't be so greedy.

[Diarmuid lingers for a few moments more- but that's all. As suddenly as he had settled by Trevor, he alights and drifts back over to Berserker. Even as he sits back in the dragon's lap, though, his gaze is challenging.]

I'd say that you've been given permission.

[It's subtle but the glance he throws Berserker's way is gently questioning, almost uncertain. Is this what you want? Easy as it is to play along, beneath the flirtation and coquettish smiles he's still a little tentative. Maybe it's approval he wants more than anything right now.]

[ He takes the opportunity to hug Diarmuid close to him and nuzzle against his neck. Less overtly sexual, more gently reassuring. As much as he wants this, the comfort of the other two takes precedence.

His gaze settles on Trevor as he speaks. ]

Diarmuid is free to do as he pleases. It'd be unfair not to give him the same freedom he allows me. [ His hand settles on Diarmuid's inner thigh, caressing higher in a sensual touch. ] I've never seen him get fucked by anyone else, no, but the same is true for you, as well.

[ His hand settles over Diarmuid's crotch, gently fondling him through the cloth of his trousers. A bit of a show, a bit of trying to satisfy his own desire right now. ]

So...If that's what you'd both like, do as you will. I'm satisfied no matter what happens.

[ Well, just making sure and all. Far be it from him to be a homewrecker or what have you. Not that he could wreck this happy little home here. Still. The permission and everything is appreciated and good to know. The blood drinking, on the other hand... as fucking delicious as Diarmuid smells (seriously does Berserker even KNOW how good he smells and would probably taste???), he doesn't want to risk becoming infatuated with the witch and his blood because... witch blood, while an amazing sort of high for any vampire to experience, is also deadly addictive and fighting Berserker for another taste of it is SO ot the reason he's here. Or wanting this. Or... yeah.

At Berserker's words, however, he snorts a bit as he glances to the witch before looking back to the dragon. ]

Well as long as we're all on the same page.

[ Just putting that out there. ]

Didn't think I'd be walking into this when I woke up tonight.

[ But, he's not complaining. You know, if his stretching a leg out and reaching up to pull the witch a little closer is anything to go by. ]

[ Despite the pub being tucked next door to Inkchanted where Soren works, he only drops into the Sly Seadog every now and then for a convenient bite to eat. The handful of times he has visited only served to remind him how boorish the seafaring clientele could be, and he did not relish running into the spotty turnskin who had tried to pick him or Waver up the first time they drank here a second time. Nothing came of that encounter, as he was able to brusquely brush him aside, but he did not enjoy the idea of him being so much in his periphery even though the chemical signals he was producing at the time have diminished since. More than that, he's simply not one to enjoy surrounding himself with any brand of buffoonery in general.

It's not always that bad, though, just as Waver insisted. Some hours, it just feels like a regular watering hole with fare that can fill a hungry stomach up. That is exactly what Soren is doing: stopping by to grab something to eat before he heads home.

He settles on a stool at the bar isolated from other occupants as he waits for his meal to be prepared. That others in the establishment are staring at his folded crimson wings and long reptilian tail tucked close to the legs barely registers as out-of-the-ordinary anymore; it's bound to happen almost everywhere a dragon goes. It's not that they haven't seen a dragon before, but some of the regulars simply haven't seen this particular one before.

And Soren hasn't been here enough times to have had the pleasure of meeting the one he keeps being compared to. ]

[ The other one tends to work the last shift and keep to himself. A dragon makes for an intimidating bouncer, to be sure. Today, though, Berserker is working an earlier shift. The usual crowd is less rowdy, fewer faces recognize him, and fewer still dare to stare at him. The staff are friendly enough with him and he at least acknowledges their existence.

Due to the lack of the usual rough customers, he's floating jobs right now. Unfortunately for him and most of the clientele, he's running food to tables. Soren's is next...An equally unfamiliar face to Berserker. He sets his order down on the table with an indifferent glance. Not common to see another dragon here... ]

Here. If you need anything else, don't come to me for it.

[ There's a reason they usually don't have him do this. ]

[ Soren raises his head to meet the server's eyes, but what greets him completely shakes his world. He jolts, his cool expression crumbling to pop open in blinking alarm. ]

Wait—! Cú?

[ He licks his lips and his eyes dart from spines to tail to horn to the shape of a face that belongs to his Bondmate, no question. The only thing they share are the base features, but everything else down to his darker demeanor might as well be flipped. He's almost unrecognizable like this. Now he can detect it: yes; buried beneath the scales and the foreignness of him, this dragon is Cú. But the familiar tinge of his magic has faded, his attitude cold and brusque. Yona said it best: he lights up an entire room. This presence is like an eclipse blocking out that light.

It's harrowing. He doesn't understand what he's perceiving. It's no enchantment, no illusion, no transmutation... and he can still feel 'his' Cú on the other end of his Bond. But what do you begin to ask without sounding like an idiot? 'Why are you a dragon?' Soren's pupils have constricted, his tail raised and arched down against this suspicious, disorienting dragon-Cú.

This can't be the dragon everyone keeps talking about around here, can it? That would mean he's no abrupt apparition. Of course he isn't. He's real. How? The mirrors? Were doubles possible? Is it even appropriate to blurt out his "true" name like this? Questions keep flitting by in this singular moment. ]

[ Only one person calls him Cú and that was Diarmuid. His immediate reaction is to bare his teeth in a snarl -- he no longer goes by that name and hasn't for over a year now. The name he goes by now was given to him by Caster, the other Cú in question...It's been a very long time since people have confused the two of them, not since his features became significantly more prominent.

And then it dawns on him. As quickly as the rage came, it fades away just as fast. Berserker levels an indifferent gaze on him now. ]

Don't call me that ever again... [ Soren hadn't earned that right. Then, almost as an afterthought: ] You're bonded to him, aren't you?

[ Soren's head lowers, his wings fan, and his shoulders rise and tense when those teeth flash at him, but he remains on the defense. Once Berserker cools, the smaller black-red Dragon's face hardens over his shock like turbulent waters freezing in unnatural haste, and just as transparent. He's on guard, but below the surface signs of his misgivings glint through. ]

Yes. My mistake. I just... had no idea what to make of you. You're completely different.

[ The pub has crawled to whispers and expectant gazes. Could a battle be brewing between the bouncer and this anchovy of a newcomer? The entire space must be sparing its breath for some action to top off their day. ]

[ Lucky for Soren, it takes a lot more than that to drive him to a fight. Berserker still looks annoyed, though. ]

No one is more aware of that than me. [ He looks around, not really interested in explaining the situation with him and Caster to a bar full of people. ] If you want an explanation, you'll have to wait...Don't press the issue.

[ A beat. ]

And my name is Ciarán.

...Ciarán?

[Soren squints at him with a slight cant of his head for lack of understanding why his name would also be different. Are they identical twins? Why not just come out and say so, then? It feels as though he's drifting even further away from an understanding he thought he might be marginally closer to grasping. But he gets it: this isn't the time nor place. The environment tenses around them like an audience serried about a stage; Ciarán is in the middle of his shift and has better things to do than satisfy Soren's curiosity. He gathers up his order and rises from the stool. ]

I'm Soren. I work next door.

[ It would be easy enough for him to slip away right now -- not like he's even supposed to be here right now. He looks Soren over with a more critical eye than he probably should, as if appraising a threat, ice in his gaze. ]

...I have a feeling I'll be seeing more of you. [ Berserker pauses for a moment. ] Cú never mentioned me at all, did he?

[ Not that he ever expects him to -- it's not something either of them really like talking about nor trying to explain. It always comes down to mutual acquaintances running into the other and trying to figure out what the connection is. At least the resemblance is less immediately obvious now, leading to less of this annoyance. ]

No.

[ Which seems strange. Why leave him in the dark about this? There has got to be a reason, even if it's as simple a matter as the topic never having the chance to be brought up naturally between them. A bit of resentment crops up: if he would have remembered to inform him of this, he'd be more prepared not to be so rattled by this inevitability. It's a wonder he's gone so long without encountering him even once. Had he before? Or was he just mistaking the two of them so long ago, before the draconic changes had spread? Soren's scarlet glare in turn is set to the same temperature. Cold, steely, and suspicious. ]

I can contact you over the watch, if that suits you better. Otherwise, I'm going to get the information I seek from Caster.

[ Either way, he's bound to ask Cú for more details. ]

You can ask him about Ciarán or Berserker. He'll know who you're talking about.

[ His own gaze is quite indifferent -- this is just an annoyance. He doesn't owe anything to Soren, much less an explanation. ]

I'm curious to know what he tells you...Do keep in touch.

[ Soren says nothing after that, just gathers his order and slips off the stool, eyeing the other dragon pupils tight for a few beats like a wary trespasser that has found himself crossing foreign territory that doesn't belong to him, like he still can't decide where his Bond with Cú places him in this, whether Ciarán is a foe or not. Then he slips away without ceremony to disappear into the streets.

Berserker... Just what kind of role is that? ]

I find a window in the kitchen, and I let myself in [closed]

For Trevor and Diarmuid, nsfw

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wowwwwww the notif for this never came through i am so sorry

Mid-Noveuer

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