henchweasel | duplicity: inbox

[ After everything that happened, he shouldn't enjoy this kind of talk. It may not be Caliban's intention, but all he can hear is a sweeter version of what was said to him on that stage. But still, there's something comforting in that. Pathetic as is it, he'd rather be desired and owned than the alternative.

He wonders if Caliban knows that. He must know. That's why he said what he said during Tumenalia. He can see the truth of Fabian better than most. ]

Good. I am yours. [ He reaches between Caliban's legs to stroke at the bulge in his briefs, before giving an affectionate squeeze. ] Play with whoever you want, my king. As long as you come back to me.

[ Tumenalia had simply enhanced his more negative traits, but it didn't mean that Caliban's possessive streak was dead and buried. Hell, it was those same words that had enchanted him so much at the king's table. It never crossed Caliban's mind not to utter them.

There's a soft gasp as that hand finds that bugle, and he feels himself twitch against the mutant's hand. Turned on by those simple three words as much as the others hand.]

Same to you, Princess. You may wander, but as long as you know who's collar you wear-

[ his hand dips long enough to brush along the other's arm before there's a show of demonic strength as he lifts the other up, letting others hips press against his and those legs slip around his waist.]

You may have that distance when you need it...for another headache. As long as you darken my door once again.

[ He pointed out as he peered up at the mutant, his eyes meeting his.]

Edited 2025-12-16 15:58 (UTC)

[ He has to admit, he loves when Caliban picks him up so effortlessly. Being as tall as he is, Fabian never got to experience this before. He wraps his legs around the demon, arms looped around his shoulders, a warm smile spreading across his face as he hold's the other's gaze. ]

I'm proud to wear your collar, you know. [ Which is true. It's not empty flattery when he says that. He's seen other submissives, with cheap collars, or collars that look like they belong on dogs, and knows how much he'd loathe every humiliating second of wearing one of those things.

Caliban's is beautiful, well crafted, the work of a true artisan, and it speaks to the power of his Dominant. If he has to be kept and collared, he can't think of any collar he'd rather wear.

He ducks his head to purr into the demon's ear: ] You own me, after all. I belong to you, and no one else.

[ That demonic strength makes holding the other up effortlessly and for the demon, he doesn't even consider *not* treating the other like some pretty little thing to pick up and move- to carry in his arms like a *princess*. ]

Oh? [ There was a warmth that spread through Caliban at those words- at the idea that the other was happy to wear his mark on him, the rune of hell carved into that collar in the various intricate designs that might scare off so many if they knew what it was. There's a soft growl of approval at those next purred words. It sends a spark right to that possessive nature of his soul. Perhaps he should be so easy to rile up like this- but his fingers become a little more intense on the other's ass and leg as he moves him towards the large, grand bed of the Master Bedroom.]

Next, you'll tell me that no one of your other little playmates compares...

[ He teased as he lowered Fabian to the bed shockingly gently, his lips moving to brush against the small of Fabian's neck where it connected to his shoulder, his hand smoothing up the inside of his leg as if he was admiring that outfit though his touch with a little soft groan.]

Princess...Sweet hell...

[ Often, Fabian likes things rough. He wants to be manhandled and even... disrespected, at least in certain contexts, without an audience. Who knows if it's a byproduct of his self loathing, or some pathetic kink he developed when he had to (metaphorically) lick Magneto's boots, or if it's just simple preference with nothing deeper to it. In any case, right now, he craves none of that. So, when Caliban carries him like he's something precious, and lays him down gently, it's exactly what Fabian needed.

He opens his legs to encourage that exploring hand. God... When did he go from hating that nickname, to grudgingly tolerating it, to actually enjoying it? Anyone else would make it sound like an insult.

There's just one sticking point for the moment, however. ]

Every inch of me is yours. I only ask that today, ah... We don't... My...

[ Hm. Trying to find the words is more awkward than he expected. ]

I haven't fucked anyone since... that night, you know.

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