mental link // S72

[servitor]

DIASPEIREIN To scatter, spread about.	MELIORISM The belief that the world gets better.
ORIFLAMME A symbol or standard that inspires confidence, devotion, or courage.	VANGUARD The troops moving at the head of an army.

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

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[sistershoggoth]

[ Annie tilts her head slightly, almost listening to the way their minds interact. In this moment she's more than just hyper-focused on him, she can't hear anyone else. That's new and interesting. She and Shep had gotten together to quickly wind off some of the adrenaline from their escape but-- Hadn't been like that. She knows, the way you know things in a dream, that it's because Nyx is already hers. A part of her constellation, her gravity.

In a way, she only wishes she were half as sure as he is, about what he's fighting for, about where he's going. Maybe she wouldn't hurt so much, if she'd ever had a clear idea of it. If she and all her -- mostly dead -- schoolmates hadn't been manipulated into a life of violence and arrogance predicated on the pleasure of one alien bitch who hadn't actually given a shit about them. She tries to be past that, but every responsibility she's given herself has come with the guilty knowledge that she wasn't doing it for the right reasons. That there was something selfish in her desperate bid to be a fucking person, even though she knows how little of her really meets that mark.

Curious, roughened fingertips press on the web of his scar. She recognizes the shape of it. There'd been a girl with electricity at the Academy, more than a few classmates had worn that kind of mark. A faint smirk. She reaches for him, doesn't bother to tell him he's too fucking big, that doesn't match her easy facade of confidence. Everyone she wants is just the right size for her. Her hand is cool on the back of his neck, her mouth inevitably tastes like cigarettes and coffee.

She can feel the reactions to her own touch. Not just the shift of muscle under her hand but the roil of hormone and blood on the other end, turning thoughts warm and liquid. She definitely wants more of that. Starts thinking about how to get it, heat and filth and want washing over him vividly. They need to be a lot sweatier already, in her opinion.

Maybe she should be more careful. Maybe it will be hard to untangle if she goes too far. That's not what she's concerned with. ]

( That's fun. )

[servitor]

[It's not quiet.

Hardly.

There's a riot somewhere in the background, he's sure of it. It's faraway. Bizarre and incommunicable, that's the connection between him and Annie. He wouldn't pin it as romantic, it's nothing close to that. It's just as intoxicating. A damn drug as he gets caught up in the weave of her desperation and her guilt and her insatiability. He knew the feelings all too well. He ran headfirst into Insomnia, into the Kingsglaive, just a day after the attacks on Galahd. He'd been desperate, then, to do so much better and to not fail so horribly. Maybe he was still desperate now to cling to his Galahdian roots, though those roots had burned long ago. The desperation shone brightly in gleams like faraway, dying stars, in his braids, in the myriad of linear tattoos on his back, his arm, his legs, his fingers, his ears.

The emotions aren't new to him. They're reflected and refracted in the focus and the thread between them. Is it really an out of body experience when you're still solidly in place?

Nyx moves. Nyx reacts. Nyx responds in kind. They needed to be out of their clothes already. The instincts leading him on mix with the heartbeats and racing waves of lust.

He didn't smoke, but he drank coffee black as the blood of the daemons and then some. The taste is familiar to him. Her callused fingers aren't unlike his own, either. He needed those hands raking down his back and pinning him down. What's the worst she could do?

What's the worst he could take?

His hands grip her thighs and he lifts her with ease. Nyx isn't the type to really shy away. It's a short life he's got now, confirmed twice over. No family. No home. What else is there to lose anymore? He's reckless and when he's in deep, he's suspended and breathing the chaos as if it were his own. Moving with the storm, stalwart and surviving by stepping in time with the pace of the wind and the lightning.

If they go too far? It's something he can cross later. It's her she's concerned with and how her legs are wrapped around him.

He doesn't answer her. Her just presses his lips to hers as his reply.]

[sistershoggoth]

[ He surges up to meet her, fearlessly ravenous. Unwilling to back down, unwilling to give up. She twines around that fiercely, takes it for herself, inhaling the heady reality that neither of them are dead. Not now. They're both here, despite all the hopes and failures that have worn down their bodies and minds over time.

She keeps reaching beyond the boundaries of herself, into the firestorm that encroaches upon her own inner world. It illuminates all the ugly crevices of the vast darkened cavern where the reality of her nature lurks. Inhuman and sprawling, languid before the heat of him, willing and able to weather the storm of him in easy, ancient confidence. That firestorm could raze the entire surface of her strange alien landscape, there would always linger the dark hulking world deep, deep beneath the waters... A secret fetid strength always kept, despite the tornado of energy through her very center; mind alight with it.

Somewhere in the physical world, her hands get into everything, twined into hair, prying at the joint of his jaw to control his kiss, gripping tight around the architecture of his shoulder, scratching, pulling, pressing down to feel blood beat underneath. Her hands are also not just her hands, they're hers in the catch of her knee, the taut curve of her ass, the pulse under her chin, the narrow set of her ribs. Her hands are also not just their hands now, she's not confined to this moment, to the specificity of having her position dictated by the way he holds her. She imagines what she'd do if she had him on his back, what she'd do if she had him alone again to spar with.

The lines between the sensations real, imagined, and disembodied, are so muddied and her pulse is a million different colors. Captivating, but she has the feeling they can't keep this up indefinitely. There's always a limit before something strains, before something pops. She'd prefer to get fucked like she came here for before then. Her hands get into everything, stroking with a rough palm, staccato with the eager pant of her breathing. The shift and alignment of hips is always this briefly desperate moment to find where softness will make allowance, resistance at the wrong angle, and then a huff of relief to find the way two bodies settle.

Every flex of every body is now a central sensation, radiating in frothing shivering tides up spines, through teeth. ]

this is terrible and i'm sorry

[servitor]

[He'd always been the sort to live in reality, in the now, physically and only somewhat concerning himself with the untouchable. Those moments were saved for the days he wasn't trying to burst through enemy lines and get three hours of sleep to avoid being ambushed.

To say that he's overwhelmed with both his own and her sensations would be an understatement. Her hands pull at his hair, his hands claw at his own shoulder. Her strength is much more than he could've imagined, beyond the physical confines of their bodies. In the shift of his hips, the breathy press of his lips and teeth against her throat, he feels that ancient strength ready to take him. He's nothing to her, that much he knows. But he keeps going. Crystalline light, multicolored, hazy, and blinding, swirls in and around him.

Like her, Nyx knows he can't hold this, as much as he wants to, as much as he feels that need to let it linger so it can last. What would she like to do to him? He'd damn well let her do it all. He's still not used to this connection, yet here he is, making it plain that she could do whatever she wants. The only thing he can do is slow their frenzied pace. He can't tell anymore if the lust is his own or hers or both of them together. It's too much to think on when it's the same thing that spurning him on to move the way she wants him to move.]

i accept u qurl

[sistershoggoth]

[ She hasn't tripped out like this in years, and the relief in her to just let her stupid fucking mind go is liquid. For all the talk about the hivemind, the symbiotes actually had a measure of personal space, not really meant to get this close together, but Annie's broken that boundary as easy as cracking a pair of eggs against each other, letting them mix; viscous and wet. Touch is slippery, breathing is humid, sticky down the insides of her thighs. They can toe the line for a little while, trying to play unhurried to the break in their reluctance, but that break is there. When the straining rut to hit that-- that there-- there-- will be enough to be enough.

She hasn't seen spots from a good fuck since she was a horny teenager, she cackles, giddy with it, clinging on the Nyx for absolutely dear life because she has no idea which way is up. For a second she isn't even entirely sure which one of them she is until she's laughing, ]

Don't-- ah-- Don't drop me, shit. Fucking-- mother-- ahaha.

[servitor]

[Nyx wasn't aware there was supposed to be a boundary.

And at best he'd take it as a suggestion, anyway.

When all the sensations finally break and give, when the tension finally snaps and loosen, Nyx can't be sure of what the hell is happening. He just knows they're both trying to get their breaths even, despite the rushing heartbeats of effort and movement. It takes him leaning his head into her shoulder with a laugh and zoning back into his grip on her thighs that he disentangles himself from... himself? Who knows, who cares. It's a hell of a rush that he's sure no drug nor any insane stunt could ever come close to.]

What, like this?

[His grip slacks for half a moment, letting her weight barely drop from his hips and his hands. Sure as hell he's an ass, not enough to actually let her drop.]

[sistershoggoth]

[ Her kiss at the corner of his mouth, across chin and cheek, are breathless, laughing, giddy as she keeps her arms wrapped loosely around the breadth of his shoulders. She just hangs there limp for a few minutes, reorganizing herself into Annie again. Even as she withdraws from the unprotected hub of his mind, it lingers with her -- All his fire and determination in her bloodstream, like an antibiotic against her own depression and despondency. Feels alright, like maybe if she was careless she could get used to such a thing. ]

You're an okay screw, Sunset.

[ One of a million mockeries of his name she has prepared. ]

[servitor]

[His lips roam her neck, her throat, back up to the nape of neck, just below her ear.]

I'm out of practice.

[He moves, pinning her back against a wall, bearing her weight against himself to hold her in place. It was... thrilling, honestly, being so out of his depth. In a way, wild and reckless to lose himself so freely in her. He had precious time to himself, let alone for this kind of distraction. It felt good to be out of breath like this, having her arms draped around his shoulders.

His forehead gently presses against him, lips pulling back into that grin of his.]

You're going to have to give me something better than Sunset one of these days.

[And as she did with him, so he kisses her cheek and the curve of her jaw.]