THIRST GIFS OF HARALD SIGURDSSON: 2 / -

THIRST GIFS OF HARALD SIGURDSSON: 2 / -

a visible wave of relief washed over the were as the door opened. it was still chained shut so he couldn't see casey fully but he was answering him and that was enough. all those undermining voices in the back of his head telling him the man wasn't going to see him were rightfully silenced. taking a deep breath, his posture softening and loosening to show that he was already comfortable around the other, the features of his face betrayed him and tightened as alston realized this was the first time he'd ever come around without a wounded animal in his arms; without needing help of some kind.

"everything's fine," he blurted out quickly, the words feeling rushed and uncertain as his lips pulled into a forced and uncomfortable smile. "well, i didn't bring anyone with me at least." things were hardly fine. his home had burned, so many had been lost, and he was on the run... but that was hardly a conversation to have on someone's doorstep after not seeing them for-- what had it been now, months? a year? why was it so hard for him to keep track of time.

"beer." alston stated plainly as he held up the six pack in his hand, followed by lifting the bottle of whiskey to show them to casey as if the man couldn't clearly see him holding them. "i came to offer you some beer, or some whiskey? i wasn't sure what you liked..."

"oh, and to let you know that i've relocated to live here in alexandria and say hello... so... hello?"

yeah. you're killing it alston. definitely not awkward at all.

As a chronic misanthrope, Casey lives on his own on the edge of town, away from the bustle and hustle. Some peace and quiet, that is all he wants in life, really. Though compared to other nigh-immortal creatures his kind doesn't live that long but still, Casey feels like he has lived long enough to act like a grumpy old man. And he doesn't need parties or going out so this place suits him.

Naturally, it's quite unusual someone knocks on his door. It is clearly stated on his 'no soliciting' sign at the gate... But Casey is unfortunately not callous and impolite enough to simply not answer the door. What if someone's car broke down or has medical emergency? Grumbling, he drags himself to the door. Instead of fully opening the door, he cracks it open with the chain on and checks outside. "...Alston?"

He hasn't seen the werebear in... how many years, or months? He can't even remember (his sense of time is all over the place, sort of). He closes the door to unchain, and greets his old... client? Acquaintance? Friend? He is not sure. "Hey, it's been a while. So where's the patient?" Out of habit his eyes turn to Alston's hands. Usually, Alston brings injured animals. Not seeing any blood, fur or feathers, he looks back up at the other's face. "Everything okay?"

tight? "yeah," he answered with a lazy chuckle. "i don't do mornings well, clearly." was that a compliment or an insult? or was the other genuinely just trying to be playful and tease him. keagan really struggled with mornings and unfortunately the coffee(s) had yet to clear the fog in his head.

"i might have some sugar, and milk in the fridge, but honestly? i don't normally add anything to my coffee so i might not have anything on hand. worst case scenario i can try and charm it for you to make it taste sweeter, or whatever flavor you want... if you need." keagan mumbled as he pushed himself up from his seat. despite being relatively young, and in good shape, he hobbled over to the coffee pot on his counter as if he were an ancient old man with decrepit bones and aching joints.

fucking mornings.

"no, yeah, last night was incredible and i'm not just saying that. you're a lot of fun." gods did he really just say that. looking over his shoulder back at rory, he scrunched his face into a knot of embarrassment for his lack of eloquence in the moment. "clearly i'm a bit shit at this part but basically i'm trying to say i'd really like to do this again sometime... or just hang out in general because we don't have to, well, you know..." fuck. just say it. fuck. "-- and you don't have to return the favor, don't feel obligated. that was just a heat of the moment thing... i got a bit carried away last night but, yeah, it was a lot of fun and you more than returned the favor already."

˙ ˖ ✶ Keagan

"No you're absolutely fine," Rory spoke up, stretching out with a yawn that seemed longer than necessary. He'd actually been dreading waking up, not fully knowing how to handle doing something he'd thought about for years but had never actually gone through until last night. "Looks pretty tight on you, all things considered," he teased slightly as he craned his neck, noting the difference in their frames.

"Coffee sounds great, and last night was definitely fun..." and there it was, the realization of whether or not he should admit he truly enjoyed it and would wish to keep doing this sort of thing. Or fully say it was a one time thing. "Um...hope you liked it as much as I did, cause I was fully hoping to return the favor you did for me in the bathroom."

"mhmm," caidence nodded along, his tongue pushing against his bottom lip, as he looked at the other without a hint of belief behind the playfulness in his eyes. "right, you were just going to come find me and return it after you finished taking care of yourself. a modern hero and a saint."

holding onto the balled up fabric of his shirt, the harpie didn't steal it from the other's hands. no. he simply stood there, holding onto it, watching as the other continued to touch themself. this wasn't the first time he's come across a man using an article of his clothing as a means to an end but normally they had, at least, met him first.

"should i be flattered you were getting off to my shirt without even knowing it's mine or insulted?" he questioned with a teasing grin. "better yet-- would it ruin the mood for you, hero, if i offered you a hand?"

˙ ˖ ✶ Cadence

Izzy had been extremely pent up recently, finding it hard to keep his mind focused on anything other than the straying thoughts of another's body. The way he craved warmth, that feeling that could only be sated with another's touch. Nothing he did was enough, and it had been affecting his training, something his adoptive father had noted and teased him about.

So as he found himself in the bowels of red death, Izzy grabbed the nearest piece of discarded fabric, sensing the sexual energy that radiated off of it, his hands finding his own core as he kept himself busy visualizing the owner of said shirt.

"Sorry..." he gulped, slightly embarrassed, not fully stopping touching himself as the man spoke up. "Wasn't planning on taking it but you look much better without a shirt anyway, so I'd probably be doing the town a huge favor. Call me something of a modern hero."