bakerstreet | Florence Nightingale Effect Meme

[M/F preference]

[[Hello, bb. May I have this dance?]]

[Always]

[[So I feel like she's the one more likely to be hurt here. Any thoughts on how and where they're meeting up?]]

The Slayer. The legends say there's always one. A woman imbued with the power of a demon's essence and charged with the duty to fight off the creatures of darkness. As a creature of darkness himself, it seemed like a pretty important thing for Joel to take heed of. Ain't it a bitch that he got born into a time where there were two of them running around?

Anyway, that brings us to Faith. She's the sexy and striking version of exactly what you'd expect from a woman who hunts supernatural creatures. She doesn't take any shit and she's definitely a badass with a captial B. They were meant to be enemies - an Incubus and the Slayer - except that they aren't. Mostly because this soul sucker isn't the cruel son of a b*tch that he should be and something about him, whatever it was ... Faith saw something in him she didn't have the heart to stake.

The jury is out on whether that was a favor or not.

In any case, the two of them have a good thing going the way Joel sees it. There's a slayer around to pick off the more cruel of human predators around here, so, his competition gets weaned down; if he ever becomes a woman slaying lunatic, there's someone around to take him out of his misery. She, in turn, gets someone she can talk to about literally anything and yeah ... sometimes they partake in each other's company.

The Incubus still hasn't figured out if his touch is slowly killing her too and she just doesn't give a shit or if she's somehow immune to the effects of him. He does know that he doesn't get seem to get any sustenance from her, which is a blessing and a curse. It would be nice to be able to just hang around his slayer acquaintance and never have to worry about how many minutes he might be shaving off someone else's' life to keep himself going. On the other hand, she's the only woman he's ever been around because he just wants to be.

He knows where her spare key is hidden and he lets himself into her place. She's not back yet, which is fine by him. He's content to turn the spotify app in his phone on and fall asleep listening to music on her sofa. It's not as if there's a set time that a slayer's shift is over.

She gets here when she gets here.

Edited 2016-05-05 23:38 (UTC)

There were certain things Faith could count on in life-- death, taxes, and slaying cutting into her social life. Not that she really had much of one anymore. Not like it used to be. She'd grown and matured as a person.

Or something.

All seriousness, she'd come a long way but there was still miles to go, etc etc. So instead of hanging back and letting the girls go out and patrol while she got ready to paint the town red in a less literal sense with Joel, she'd gone with. She'd taken off on her own. And then she'd gotten her ass kicked. It had happened before. It would likely happen again since she'd won, beat to hell or not. At least this time she'd safely managed to avoid any comas, mystical or otherwise.

Lack of coma aside, that didn't change the fact that she likely had a fractured rib with a side of dislocated shoulder, and that it hurt like hell to breathe, or that she'd be all kinds of colors in the morning. You didn't do the job as long as she had without getting familiar with what injuries were what and she knew she was currently in for a couple of weeks of recovery. Easily. Slayers healed faster than humans but broken bones still took time.

The pain was enough that by the time she finally made it back to her place and through the front door, the body on her couch and the music playing barely registered. Faith didn't startle when she flicked on the light but she did wince at the sudden brightness. It was enough movement to open one of the deeper cuts on her cheek and she could feel the warm trickle of blood as she peeled off her jacket. The denim was stiff with dried blood, some of which was hers, some of which wasn't. The telltale crunch of death signified the end of that particular piece of her wardrobe as she tossed it in the trash with her good arm to join the rest of her closet casualties in whatever final resting place they wound up.

Slowly she moved over to the couch, body screaming at her with every step, to place her hand on Joel's arm. "Hey, handsome," her voice was gravel rough, "Rise and shine time."

[[Oops. Messed that up didn't I? There's not just two slayers, but lots of them. Imagine I said that instead. >.>]]

The playist is just a shuffle of randomly liked songs and it's not as if it's especially loud coming through the speaker of his phone. When you let yourself into a place that belongs to a demon hunter, though, Joel always figured ... it's better to let your presence be known somehow than have them find you when they aren't expecting you.

It's the little things that he thinks of like that which make him different.

'Burning for You' by Blue Oyster Cult are what he's hearing dimly while he rests somewhere between awake and sleep, until those sounds are broken up by Faith's voice. It makes him jerk upright suddenly. He can smell the blood, some of it hers, before he can blink the sleep away from his eyes and he knows something wrong.

"Shit." He murmurs as he looks her over with concern. She's walking and talking so he knows on some level she's going to be okay - slayers can take an unbelievable amount of punishment - but damn ... it's been a long time since he's seen Faith this beat up. He starts picking himself up from the couch.

"Did you put the son of a bitch down who did that to you or do we need to find them?"

[[I saw nothing <.<]]

"Dead and burned." The body had caught fire easy enough when all was said and done, the corpse little more than a leathery husk once the spark of 'other' had been extinguished. His reaction is appreciated all the same though. She knows Joel isn't exactly a cold blooded hunter, more of a lover than a fighter at any rate... life force sucking habits aside.

"Need you to do me a favor." She casts her eyes down to her shoulder where it hangs loose in its socket and tilts her head to further acknowledge it. "A wall will get the job done but it's a huge pain in the ass. Lend a girl a hand?"

The last thing she wants to do is put it back in place herself. It's not even about the pain, a dislocation is nothing compared to what she's been through, but she's on the wrong side of beat up that leaves her feeling a little vulnerable. Of course admitting that isn't her style. Instead she'll ask for a favor and take comfort from the fact that there's someone else with her.

No, he's not much of a fighter at all. He has a few supernatural advantages that he was born with that make him tough to kill and alright person to have watching your back, but he doesn't really excel in combat. He just ... can't look at her like this and not have his mind go to right to wanting who-or-whatever get some payback with interest.

Ultimately, it's not much of a surprise that Faith finished the thing off before heading back, when he stops to think about it. She's got the kind of personality that she'd rather let some monster kill her outright than retreat or let it escape. Or that's what he expects of her, anyway. He supposes he could be wrong about that. Faith can be tough to read sometimes.

He turns off the music and slips the phone into the back pocket of his jeans. "Yeah." He says with a nod. "Absolutely. I can help. Just um, ... stay right there and try to relax, okay?'

To relocate a shoulder, the way he knows how to, he has to stand behind her. Standing behind her all close like is usually a much more pleasant experience than it is right now; this is one of the time where it would really be nice not to be a sensual creature of the night. Because yeah.

As long as she doesn't lean up on him it will probably be fine.

"Were gonna bend your elbow, okay." And since she's Faith and this is sure to have happened to her before; she probably can adopt the pose she needs to be in without his instructions, but, it would be weird to have someone moving you around without explaining what you plan to do. "Now I'm gonna move your arm out and back."

Then he starts to abduct her arm away from her body, while rotating it backward to hopefully pop the joint back into place.

Being unstable and unpredictable is part of her feminine mystique. Or something. Except Joel tends to get a pretty good read on her nine times out of ten. Retreat is not something she objects to outright but she's got this inflated sense of self when she goes into a fight. She's going to win and whatever she's fighting is going to lose. There's no room for the alternative- not in her mind, not in her fights.

It's cute how careful he is with her, how he breaks down every bit of what he's doing and what's about to happen. It's enough to bring the smallest of smiles to her face and she doesn't say a word about it. Having someone care enough to be as gentle as possible is nice compared to how it normally goes with her and the others. Dislocate, pop back, business as usual.

The snap when everything is where it's supposed to be again is painful but the relief is quick on its heels and she exhales when she rotates it, still careful, still watching her ribs, but thankful for that small favor at least.

"You're good at that. Should keep you around to patch up all the girls. Better at it than I am at any rate." Faith had learned to sew a neat stitch but there were some areas where she just didn't have the mother's touch. Aftercare certainly wasn't her thing.

Lover not a fighter, that's what Joel is.

Telling her what he's going to do helps both of them, because it's considerate for her and for him, it keeps him focused on the task at hand. He should just be able to help his friend get patched up and have that be enough to keep his mind off of other things but ... it's a part of who he is.

Birds gotta fly. Fish gotta swim. Incubi need to fuck.

If he lets his mind go on auto-pilot while he's got his hands on a woman? He's just going to do what he's meant to do. But hey, he successfully managed to put her shoulder back in and not get distracted in doing so. Sounds like a win for everybody.

"Well, I never wanted to get this good at it, but hanging around you has gotten be skilled at all kinds of things I wouldn't have thought of otherwise." He says with a little smile and a shrug. "Maybe you ought to treat yourself to a bath or hot shower. I can help you bandage up after ..."

Whenever Joel is around Faith can't help but let her mind wander. The sex is good. There's an understanding there. He's reliable in more ways than just the one.

He's a friend. An actual friend. To say she's got an attachment going wouldn't be wrong, just foreign. The only people she really had any attachment to these days tended to all be part of the life or death club. So maybe it wasn't all that surprising then.

"A shower sounds like just what the doctor ordered but I'm dead on my feet. Not sure I'd be able to stay upright long enough to wash my damn hair." She won't mention that the thought of having to do it makes the bruises on her bruises ache. It's killing her though. She hates feeling dirty. Hates that sticky feeling that creeps into the crack of her skin and make her feel like she'll never be clean again. Her fingers tighten into a fist before they relax and she takes a breath.

"Think you'd mind giving me a hand? Not going anywhere near my sheets like this. I'll never get the smell out."

Slaying is a dirty business. Even when you're good at it.

And it's nice that Joel is an intuitive sort of being. One that doesn't need to hear every intimate personal detail to get the sense of a person. He knows that Faith has seen some shit, she was bound to doing this as long as she has, but also that she's been a part of it too.

It makes her a better at fighting the things that go bump in the night, he would say, but it comes with a price. No doubt she feels burdened by decisions she wishes she could take back. He doesn't pry and he doesn't judge, he's made plenty of bad choices in his lifetime. He's isn't in any kind of position to judge someone else.

But that's just their history. They have one and though it's a weird one, it works for them.

In the present is her asking him to help her clean up. It seems like a waste of breath to try and warn her what was likely to happen. She knows what he is. Faith has gotta be comfortable enough with the obvious possible outcome to bring it up, right?

"Yeah, I can make sure you don't miss anything."

[ooc: Either / or.]

(M/F and skips bloodlust for mental/emotional fallout, DCTV cast and crossovers welcome!)

[Most likely the healed]

"Who told you?"

It's difficult to sound affronted and accusatory when lying in bed, propped up with satin pillows and a cup of soothing tea wafting hot steam from between his hands. But he tried.

Most everyone knew Iroha had fractured an ankle and was banned from working Kikuya's floor. He was too precious a commodity to risk, and the boss of the red-light district had put his foot down on Iroha's neck. Get better, or else. No foolishly making the injury worse by getting his job done and managing the silly courtesans below, especially the younger ones who insisted on either fretting over him or peeking around the corner to giggle, teasing him with their dedication to the idiom when the cat's away the mice will play.

Marluxia looked down upon the man, standing near the end of his bed as Iroha himself stewed while on bed rest. His handsome face was completely devoid of emotion at first as he observed him, looking from his stern expression down to the foot in question that had been propped up on one of those extravagant satin pillows. Anyone who even remotely knew Iroha knew that the man hated things being out of his control most of all, so it was likely that this order from the doctor was near to driving him crazy.

The poor attendants. Marluxia thought, a smirk finally coming to grace his lips. Arms crossed in a graceful motion as deep blue eyes stayed on the man before him. "Who wouldn't tell me, Iroha?" He said, his tone carrying a hint of defiance. It was true enough. Marluxia had become somewhat well known around Kikuya. And even if he hadn't been well known for visiting the demon manager, he had charms to spare when it came to getting what he wanted. His head tilted just a bit to the side before he spoke again. "Trying to keep this a secret from me?"

An attendant who had the unfortunate task of helping to change Iroha's dressings tip toed his way into the room. Without shifting his gaze from the lovely man in the bed, Marluxia waved them off. "I'll see to Iroha's bandages tonight." He said, the smirk only growing.

"You're enjoying this too much."

Could anyone blame him for trying to hide the embarrassment of what had happened? The way Marluxia had smirked at him in his imagination was bad enough; seeing it in person made him sigh, but with a sort of warmth in his guts that reflected his true feelings. He watched the youth's eyes dart from Marluxia upon hearing his command to Iroha for confirmation. A slight nod allowed him to leave as instructed, although Iroha had the impression that the boys were as infatuated with Marluxia as Iroha himself. Still, he had to admire the attempt to recognize his authority despite clear indications that he had been usurped by his lover.

The door slid shut in well-practiced silence and Iroha found the steadiness of Marluxia's gaze pinned him as it always did, injured or not. He sipped at his tea, avoiding returning it not because he didn't want to share that gaze but because he knew what would happen if he did, and he had been ordered away from strenuous activity.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Medically, he means. He couldn't imagine the Nobody tending someone like this before, come to think of it. Which made it all the sweeter that he was doing it now, except for the look on his face.

That comment brought a soft chuckle from his chest, the tone deep and warm. Surprisingly so for someone with no heart. "Well, it isn't very often that I see the great Iroha ordered to bed rest for any length of time." He spoke, finally tearing his eyes away from the man in bed to the youth who lingered with indecision. Of course he hadn't listened to Marluxia. Not completely. The Nobody had no authority there and yet, it seemed to come to him naturally, acting as if he had all of the authority in the land. Naturally, he knew his place in those lands and would bow his head when needed, but...

With Iroha in bed? He felt more confident giving orders. At least where his lover was concerned.

Still, Marluxia flashed the youth a smile before he finally exited the room, then turned his attention back to Iroha. Marluxia took a moment to remove his coat and gloves, leaving him in a rather simple outfit consisting of a white shirt and black pants. Likely too plain for someone with his looks, but likely more functional than something flashy. He crossed the distance between them and gathered up the gauze from the nightstand. "Am I a doctor? No." He said, turning to take a seat with the materials in hand at the foot of the bed. "But rewrapping it with clean bandages is something that even I can manage."

His hands moved out to push the fabric of Iroha's robe away from his leg, eyes moving back to Iroha's face to give a bewitching smirk. "Or are you telling me that I'm not that competent?"

The creeping influence of Western culture could hardly exclude its fashions. Iroha too had come to admire the smartness of a shirt with buttons down the front, and he had a certain love for accentuating one's throat. Marluxia could turn heads without trying and Iroha was too biased in favour of his looks to say whether they were too plain in the monochrome outfit.

A wave of apprehension passed while he watched Marluxia remove his gloves. He'd always liked the intimacy behind bare-handed touch from this man. The injury was not limited to his ankle, that was merely the most notable. He'd been bruised and his shoulder wasn't quite right, either. There was little anyone could do about that except for encouraging him to relax. He couldn't say Marluxia's company was relaxing but having him in the room, with his effortless sense of belonging there, did make Iroha feel good in a way that made him think he was a fool for denying him an invitation in the first place.

But he was indeed a proud man. In the end, he relented to feeling grateful that Marluxia was the type to butt in where he wasn't wanted, especially when he actually was wanted, deep where the truth lay in wait. The feeling didn't last long. That damn smirk again...

"I've yet to see a shred of incompetence from you in any arena." Pause. "However, there is a first time for everything, as I have recently learned."

A glimpse of the future tickled his thought: how thoroughly, and through what device, would Marluxia extract the story of how he had ended up this way.

Marluxia certainly would have argued against it. To him, there was nothing more attractive than seeing someone like Iroha in a kimono, even a simple one. Subtle movements caused the fabric to shift gracefully and, every so often give him the hint of pale skin that lingered beneath. Sometimes it was enough to drive him to madness, which would end up with Iroha on his back and that kimono that he loved so much thrown open.

His eyes fell to the injured ankle, even as Iroha spoke. He moved his hand out and gingerly ran his fingers over the bandaging, trailing up along his ankle to caress the pale skin along his calf. His touch was light and he took his time appreciating the sensation of his soft skin against his fingers. Yes, this was the impossibly sexy body belonging to his lover. Emphasis on 'his'. He brushed his fingers up to his knee, hovering there just for a moment before he trailed them back down to begin work on his ankle.

Marluxia chuckled quietly and began unwrapping his fractured ankle, paying close attention to how it was wrapped in the first place, including the placements of splints. "Well. I wonder how I should feel about that?" He said, seeming amused. "Care to tell me how exactly this happened to you, Iroha?" Iroha was right. It was the first thing that sprung to mind when he saw the injury. And should he find out that someone else was responsible for this, well...

It wouldn't end well for them.

With the old bandage unwrapped, it was tossed to the side carelessly in favor of him rewrapping it as quickly as possible. Marluxia quieted, his attention shifting completely to that fractured ankle so that he might wrap it exactly right. Iroha wouldn't suffer from incompetence in his presence.

The possessiveness behind Marluxia's touch did nothing to ease the nagging feeling that he would not follow Doctor's orders to the letter in the end. He was doing well to ignore the bustling world of Kikuya below and the substitute taking on his duties for the week. Surely he deserved a treat to reward good behaviour. He could pull Marluxia to him now and taste the fury on his lips when he thought the blame lay with a stranger who had hurt him, but Iroha couldn't deny the appeal of Marluxia of all people concerned for his well being, treating him with gentle nursing from the heart he didn't have.

He snorted at the request but remained silenced while the tender skin of his wound was exposed. The inflammation and swelling was terrible, ugly and corpse-like in its severity. Even a half-blood oni had limits and while Iroha's bones were dense enough to give his slender frame an ill-fitting weight, they were not unbreakable.

There was no reason to be nervous. He watched - tea forgotten - while the new bandages replaced the old, which had taken upon some discoloration from the dried blood. His body did what it could to replace the surface layer of skin but it had more important things to do with its healing powers.

"No, I don't care to tell you a thing."

A soft refusal; he played games more than harbored any wish to keep it a secret. There was no doubt the physical act of fixing up what kept dirt and friction from touching the injury would help, but more than that was the spirit which flowed from Marluxia's hands.

It was an odd thing for Marluxia to show this kind of tenderness when handling others. While it was true that he could be gentle when he wanted, the simple fact of the matter was that he rarely wanted to be gentle. Iroha was the only person who ever received any genuine care from the man. There were times when he used it to manipulate others, but this was different. He didn't want to hurt Iroha. No, it was quite the opposite. He actually wanted to hurt whoever had brought this on.

The wrappings were securely back in place and tied off neatly, performed with a near photographic precision when compared to the wrappings that had previously been on it. His eyes lifted back to Iroha, carefully settling that ankle back onto the pillow. "You don't, do you?" Marluxia said, a mild annoyance in his voice. He didn't like being denied things when it mattered, but if his lover wanted to play this game, well...They could certainly play.

A mischievous glimmer came to the man's eyes as he reached over and picked up the uninjured leg, lifting it a bit so that he could lean in and press his lips along the white skin on the inside of his ankle. "Are you sure that's your answer, Iroha? There are ways of getting you to talk." He pressed another kiss further down his leg, slowly and sensually making his way toward his calf. Marluxia was confident that he wouldn't be able to resist him all that long. Or, if he did, he would simply have to bat his eyelashes at the attendants until he found the answer he was looking for.

Still. He did well to mask the anger that lingered beneath the surface. Someone would have to pay for this. It was just a matter of who.

Many women had been fooled into believing Kikuya's perfect presentation came naturally, that there was no greasy-haired cook with tired bags under his eyes preparing the thinly-sliced greens shaped into a chrysanthemum to impress them. In contrast to how well Iroha knew the reality behind the curtain he had doubt that Marluxia's perfection was the real deal. He mimicked the professional's work with hawkeye accuracy. The implications were more intimidating than the man's deep voice, his cold eyes, but Iroha saw it side-by-side with the gentleness used to lay down his foot back on the embroidered pillow.

He sighed airily. It was so brief, this honest expression of affection. He almost wished he could afford to fracture the other ankle next year just so Marluxia would treat him like this again.

The heat of that kiss was as driving as the pain had been when he'd felt something inside crack. Putty in his lover's hands he may well be but he would pretend otherwise if only to save face. Iroha gulped down the rest of the green tea; he would need the fluids, probably. All he had to do was look at Marluxia at his feet, the bow of his head and the fall of his pink hair to know. Iroha set the lacquered cup down with a clink and leaned forward to pet that wild mane. Touching him was electric, like the absolute power of a god. Iroha's attitude was like unyielding stone with others, but here... In the bedroom, the sting of his shoulder when he reached forward was worth the reward of fluffing that hair with his fingers.

"You may force the events from my lips but what then? What will become of you when you confront an opponent whose heft outweighs even my own?"

Be reasonable, his tone asked. Fruitlessly. He couldn't expect him to do any less than he would do himself if their roles were reversed. But given the circumstance he couldn't resist stoking the flame of Marluxia's anger, knowing that no irredeemable cost would come of releasing it.

The perfection that came from his actions was imitation. He could imitate the way the doctor had wrapped the fractured ankle only due to his attention to detail. If he had put much thought into it, he might have been amused by how close the situation was to the truth. He wasn't a person, but a pale imitation of one. Most times, he was fine with it. He couldn't deny his nature. However, when in the presence of the beautiful, fierce man on the bed, he felt as though he could be close to the real thing. His feelings for him were real, even if the rest was questionable.

His tongue parted his lips and flicked teasingly along the skin of his calf, eyes falling closed for a moment as he felt that hand touch his hair. A wave of pleasure from such a simple action caused goosebumps to raise on the backs of his arms. It immediately awakened Marluxia's body, causing an ache for more of Iroha's touch to run through him. That is, until Iroha spoke again.

The comment caused a scowl to form on those lips of his, his grip tightening on Iroha's calf. Was he doubting him? It seemed so. Even if the tone was gentle enough, Marluxia didn't care one bit for what it implied. He was being perfectly reasonable so far. Until he found out what happened, that is. "The last time I checked, I am capable of handling myself." He said, irritation clear as day in his words. "So you're really going to refuse to tell me then? Perhaps I should go ask someone else, then."

A pause came before a comment that might return the favor of stoking his anger on purpose. "Perhaps one of the attendants would he happy to have a long chat with me about it."

"Oh, I am sure they would," he laughed. "If only for the chance to look upon your gorgeous face."

Annoying the manager was a dangerous game, though. Some would reply with youthful honesty but the shrewd boys would ask for gifts in exchange. Ultimately it didn't matter since Iroha could keep no secrets. Marluxia's irritation spilled over to make him clench his hand on his calf but the tension within him made him real, in a world of artifice and love that lasted only as long as the client's purse was full.

"Come here," he murmured. "Lie beside me and allow me to beg forgiveness." For doubting him, although once everything was made plain even Marluxia ought to agree chasing the culprit was a waste of time. Even if his guilt was gossamer-thin he was willing to 'beg' until his mouth was sore. "I'll tell you what happened."

There seemed to be an ever present danger lingering between them. Some days, Marluxia was pleased with making his lover happy. Others? He savored getting the man riled up, going out of his way to make Iroha either angry or jealous. Perhaps it was a touch masochistic, but he found something incredibly beautiful about him when he was experiencing such strong emotions. This time had been an attempt to make his lover jealous, which failed spectacularly. Marluxia knew that he might have to bribe the others for information and, while he certainly wasn't above it, he would have much rather heard the words from Iroha's mouth.

He lowered his leg to rest against the bed and simply sat there, staring at him for a moment, as if he were undecided on if he should comply with the request. Finally, with a quiet sigh, he set into motion and crawled his way up the bed. Marluxia found his spot beside Iroha, settling into the lavish pillows and soft bed. This time it was fine. He would give in to Iroha. He was injured, after all.

"If you want my forgiveness, let's hear the story first." He said, eyeing Iroha beside him.

Drawing on a deep well of patience, Iroha watched the man turn over his options in his mind. Obedience was a fine trait but it could be boring. This time, he was glad for the choice he made and instantly turned over onto his side, reaching out for Marluxia and making the most of his proximity. That scent from his clothes, from his hair, which was unique to him... Iroha's sigh was amused - he could practically hear Marluxia's grumbling and eventual tolerance towards the right of the wounded to be demanding.

So cruel, though, to make him tell the tale before he could plant his lips on those pink and perfect now so much closer, so much more tempting. Embarrassing as the story was, he'd promised.

"Well," he bit his bottom lip and pieced events together in his mind. "The shipping trade is a vigorous one, as I've mentioned. Women can scarcely make up their minds on which commodity to trade before racing to outmatch their competitors."

He had no right to complain about that, though. The quickness of business kept Kikuya's coffers full. Women who worked day and night had time for a lay at the brothel and rarely became too attached to be a bother. He'd been at the docks to scout for potential clients but that went without saying.

"The sailors are usually reliable caretakers of their tools. It just so happened I uncovered one who was not so educated on the use of ropes as myself."

He didn't wait to let that implication sink in; it wasn't unknown and in this case there was no hint of invoking jealousy.

"A coil was left unattended, and I happened to be unwise enough to be caught in it. The crate to which it was tied moved, and so I was whisked off my feet with it."

His ankle had taken the worst of it because the weight of the cargo was almost fully against it. If he'd been human he was certainty it could have torn his foot off entirely.

If it had been anyone other than Iroha, Marluxia simply would have left the room to find the information himself. It was much more efficient to do things himself than to wait for the good graces of another. However, Iroha was a special case in every way. It sometimes bothered him why he would go to lengths for this man when, by all rights, he should have felt nothing. However, he did feel something for him. It was beyond him why or how, but it was there. Really, Vexen would have a field day if he knew about this strange occurrence.

His scent was certainly unique. Those who had been around him would certainly describe it as the scent of flowers mingled with darkness. All of the Nobodies smelled of darkness, but each was unique in a way. Either way, he scooted himself a little closer to Iroha to indulge him, reaching out to brush his dark locks away from his face temporarily.

When the story finally came, Marluxia listened in silence. Though, as it continued on, he couldn't help but feel a sense of exasperation. It seemed the person to blame was an inexperienced ship hand who had left rope improperly put away. That did explain what had happened, even if it was a bit less dramatic than he had been expecting. Marluxia sighed out softly, letting those blue eyes fall closed for a moment.

"I see." He said, without looking up. "Perhaps I should find the hand who is responsible for this and...educate them." The sound of his voice told that the brand of education Marluxia had in mind would likely cost the ship hand dearly. Finally, he opened his eyes again and looked to Iroha, trailing his fingers down the exposed portion of his chest from the opening in the kimono. "I'm quite attached to all of your parts, so that could have been a disaster..."

Disfigurement was uniquely tragic to those men who made their living off their looks. Iroha's retirement marked a new chapter, wherein charm and a good head for business kept his name on the books. Nonetheless, he agreed losing any natural gifts would be disastrous.

"As attached as I am to yours," he purred. Undeterred by the threatening tone - it was a high compliment that he cared so much as to bare his teeth like that - Iroha let himself appreciate the gentle caress down his chest. He'd noticed Marluxia liked playing with subtly sensual clothing; nothing garish. He sometimes wondered what he would think of the younger version of the courtesan and his brighter, flashier wardrobe.

"You had better be a good swimmer if you insist on exacting sweet revenge." Happy as he was with what Marluxia was doing, Iroha took his hand away, but only so as to lift it to his lips and press a kiss on the other's knuckles. Pretty, deadly hands. "Your quarry has long since sailed away."

A little suck to the tip of Marluxia's fingers. Poor thing, his dark heart denied. Iroha would feel bad about it if Marluxia's anger did manifest as anything more than the frustration behind his lidded eyes.

It was perhaps a most tragic fate for others on the island, but Marluxia was certain that even without a limb, Iroha would be just fine. The man was shrewd and incredibly good at business, as well as bringing others to bend to his will. He had caught the sight of the man wielding a cane on an uncooperative courtesan once, when he had been lurking in the shadows, and was quite impressed with his skill. However, whether Iroha could manage such a horror was a completely different manner.

Iroha belonged to Marluxia. The sailor had brought harm to him. The next course of action should have been simple enough to see.

However, at that moment, Iroha was doing a fine job of distracting him from his desire to give out punishment. The way his impossibly soft skin felt against his fingers was more intoxicating than the finest wine the world had to offer. His gaze wandered down the small bit of revealed flesh, imagining the things he could do. It was lucky for him that he was a Nobody. Marluxia couldn't imagine how he would have handled such a radiant man as a human.

His gaze lifted immediately as his hand was taken, watching him with keen interest as he brushed those lips over it. As much as they had seen each other up until that point, it seemed Iroha always knew exactly what to do to divert his attention elsewhere. Blue eyes darkened with desire as he watched him suck on the tip of his fingers, staying silent for a few long moments before speaking once again. "I have my ways." He murmured, his fingers moving to brush over Iroha's tempting lips slowly. "An ocean couldn't keep me from him. But...I am finding it incredibly difficult to leave just at this second."

"How fortunate that you have no knowledge of the tofu-seller who shortchanged me," he teased. "Would you take a drop of blood for every yen I am owed?"

There was no accompanying fever to his injury but since Marluxia's arrival Iroha felt his temperature rise. Relief was elusive despite pressing the soft mounds of his lips to Marluxia's fingers but he continued as if the balm to his aches could be siphoned from his lover's hand. Finally, when he had had enough, Iroha rested his cheek in the curve of Marluxia's palm with a contented sigh.

The sprained ankle was nearly forgotten but not its remedy: he could indulge in laziness for as long as he liked, and now he had a reason to want to close the curtain on the outside world for a while. You'll stay for a bath, won't you?

Eyelids lowered, not sleepily but in reverence of his company, Iroha delayed sharing his thoughts. Marluxia needed no encouragement to take what he wanted, and Iroha's heart only beat faster at the thought of acting as the vessel for the other man's cravings.

"I'm sure that would keep me busy as well as a thousand missions." Marluxia chuckled. He had no doubt that there were many people who owed the man something in one way or another, even if he was simply poking fun at him. Avenging them all would have proved a job, even for a Nobody in the Organization. "Still. If the tofu-seller had come so close to severing one of your body parts? Then yes. I would certainly hunt him down, too."

His eyes wandered over Iroha's face, brushing his fingers against the man's cheek before he rested his cheek against his palm. He had looked upon him like this countless times, and yet he still found himself trying to memorize every minute detail of his lover. The sharpness to his eyes. The smug way his lips curled up when he found something or someone else amusing. The way his pale skin seemed to flush under just the right circumstances. And now? The way he seemed so content to simply touch him, to be in his company. He wanted to memorize everything about their time together. Everything.

Without a bit of restraint, Marluxia leaned in closer to him and pressed a light, lingering kiss to his lips, hinting of a promise that more might be waiting for him. But just as quickly as he had leaned in did he lean away, instead deciding to press parted lips to the skin of Iroha's throat, sucking at the skin in a way that would most certainly leave a telling bruise. Perhaps that was what he wanted to begin with...for people to see the mark he left on him. Seeming sooner rather than later, as he ignored the sound of shuffling feet outside of Iroha's door all together.

...Well. If someone entered, it would give Kikuya something to talk about, anyway. That thought alone was pretty amusing.

Some equate beauty with doll-like obedience and docility. Iroha couldn't imagine a sight more stunning than Marluxia in the throes of revenge. That vicious darkness alight in his eyes, the noble poise, the bone-deep righteous pleasure inherent in taking from those whom he believed had wronged him.

As breathtaking as the fair-haired man's feature might become, Iroha could not accept another's pain caused in his name. He did take Marluxia's too-brief kiss, and if it was a poor consolation prize in exchange for the right to sink his teeth in an unfortunate sailor's hide, Iroha would make up for it for as long as it took. All night, and into the morning.

A short gasp met the sting of Marluxia's mark. Undoubtedly intentional, and he loved it for what it was: mine written in flesh and blood, by his lover's teeth. Iroha's fingers clenched, seeking to grab hold of him in return. He exhaled once more, finding the room hot suddenly. Overdressed, both of them.

A shadow under the door, if not the sound, eventually filtered in to Iroha's awareness. If someone was out there they would have to wait. They could survive without him. Even as part of him wanted to go and see what was the matter, Marluxia was here, that weight, that way of his hair falling around his face, and nothing else mattered. He pulled the collar of his kimono open, widening the canvas for Marluxia's mouth to claim.

Matters were difficult as a Nobody with no heart. There were times when Marluxia preached to others that he had no heart and whatever was left was simply learned behavior from observing others. He had believed such a thing, too, for the longest time. Even now, he could murder someone without a second thought. However, there were times when he felt desire on more than a base level. And that tale of how Iroha had become injured had truly made him feel anger. Real, hot, all consuming anger. Had the man responsible been near, he would have taken delight in inflicting pain upon him, as well. Yet, there he was, anger quelled and desire taking over, warm emotions swirling around namelessly inside of him.

Well. Best not to think too deeply on what it meant to be a Nobody. Certainly not with such a handsome man so close to him. His warm tongue brushed against the pale skin as he made his way downwards, taking moments here and there to sink his teeth into the skin and suck, leaving a pattern of redness on his chest that might have resembled the arrangements of a flower's petals. His hand found its way to his skin, graceful fingers trailing their way around until they eventually found one of his nipples. There, they simply brushed lightly, the ghost of a touch.

Blue eyes opened a bit wider to peer up at Iroha, watching the features of his face in silence for a moment. The hushed murmurs were just outside of the door, seeming to speak back and forth to one another. No doubt they were debating the perils of opening the door to potentially bother Iroha with his guest. "I think your workers are concerned for you. Should I answer the door in your place? Allow them in?" He whispered huskily to Iroha, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Yes, he found this all incredibly amusing.

The real question was...would Iroha's dedication to work take over and have him leave to answer the door? Or would he simply go on ignoring them, knowing that they were lingering just outside of the door?

[ healer. ]

[ M/F or M/M. Would love to be the hurt party, but open to either role.]

Edited 2016-05-05 17:13 (UTC)

[ooc: Would you be interested in a Bucky? And if so, are civil war spoilers okay?]

[ ooc: Definitely okay in both respects! ]

[At some point, Bucky figures he'll stop being surprised that Steve keeps showing up, though he knows that'll be a long time coming.

He's always there for him no matter what, the kind of person that's loyal to the people he calls friend. Steve Rogers is too damn good and it's taken him too long to realize just how much he needs that. He doesn't deserve him, this guy who's his best friend, only friend, and every time he's got his back to a wall, there's Steve. They were two kids from Brooklyn, grew up together, but that was a lifetime ago and Bucky wasn't that person anymore.

As much as he wanted it, he'd never be that guy again, but Steve still showed up. Had stuck around when Bucky didn't even know who he was. It meant a lot to him, but he didn't tell Steve that, hoped he'd know without the words.

They didn't talk much anymore, not since the war really when they'd had to grow up too fast, and even less after everything that's happened since, hardly at all after Stark. There was a lot he wanted to say, that he needed to say, but the words didn't come and at first he could blame it on exhaustion. At first, he could tell himself it was because he was simply too tired to get much out, but weeks had faded into months and he still wasn't talking. Steve had freed the others from their cells, was settling them into a new base outside of the control of anyone but themselves.

His arm was better, his body healed, and Steve was always right across the hall, always right there. It's that closeness that allows Bucky to know something's wrong, the sounds of a fitful sleep or something worse have him through the door and at Steve's side in less than a minute.]

Wake up.

[It's dim in the room, his voice rougher than he'd intended, a hand on Steve's shoulder to ground him.]

You're going to hurt yourself, Steve. Stop moving.

[ He doesn't have these nightmares often, but every once in a while they hit him out of the blue, leaving him in a mess of sheets on the floor, fighting for air and soaked in sweat. He hasn't told anyone because he doesn't want to bother them. That and the moment he finds himself awake he can begin to convince himself that it's not real, even if it takes the rest of the night. So far, it's been a private matter. One that leaves his chest tight and his hands shaking and he's grateful for that.

But up until now he hasn't had Bucky next door. He feels the weight of the touch on his shoulder and his instinct in the panic of the dream is to strike out. His elbow connects with something solid, sending a jolt of pain through his arm and it's enough to draw him out.

His eyes snap open and the blinks trying to take in his surroundings. He realizes Bucky's there and a second later realizes what it was he hit. ]

Buck... Bucky, I'm sorry.

[He pushes himself up into a sitting position, his hand reaching out for his best friend.]

[He makes a small noise in the back of his throat. Part sigh, part dismissal. Bucky knows not to get too close when someone's having a nightmare, has experience with it personally, but seeing Steve like that had clouded his better judgement.]

It's fine. Don't worry about it.

[Bucky's voice is low, tone forgiving even if he doesn't think Steve's got anything to be sorry for. He shifts closer on the bed, stretching his normal hand out to meet Steve's. There's a moment where he hesitates, brief as it is, then curls his fingers around the other man's.]

Are you okay?

[ It's not fine. The last thing Steve wants to do is hurt Bucky in more ways than he already has, directly or indirectly. Guilt is still plainly written on his face as he reaches over and turns on the bedside lamp.

In the low lamplight he can see Bucky's hand hesitate and he feels something tighten in his chest at it. He was merely reaching out to Bucky to see if he was okay, but he takes the offered hand and uses it to pull Bucky closer to the light so he can see if he's inflicted any damage for himself. ]

I got you pretty good. [ It's apologetic. ] You should probably put some ice on that.

[ He heard the question, he just can't answer it just yet. At least not the way he wants to.]

[OOC- Open to either role!]

Florence Nightingale Effect Meme

Faith Lehane ⚔ BtVS, AtS, and comics

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ah ha ha ha ha ha life is an asshole

Yay! You again!

And yet still full of fail. Thank you for putting up with me <3

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Rey | SW:TFA | OTA

Thea Queen l Arrow

Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier | MCU | OTA

Marluxia . Kingdom Hearts . ota

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claire beauchamp randall fraser | outlander

Steve Rogers | MCU

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I'm sorry this is so late!

no worries!

If this is too late, no worries!

Wanda Maximoff | MCU | OTA