Grand Highblood (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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sortinghat_logs2012-04-04 09:58 pm
grandhighwizard) wrote in sortinghat_logs2012-04-04 09:58 pm
Entry tags:
There is no pain, you are receding
WHO: Rhys Rhydderch and Peter Banks
TONE: Psychedelic
RATING: NC-17
WHEN: Wednesday night
WHERE: Rhys's chambers.
WHAT: Trippin' balls.
WARNINGS: Violence and sex.
STATUS: Ongoing.
Rhys thought both new flying instructors were quite interesting, amusing in their own ways. One of them obviously thought he was clever, and he was, in that way that young people could be, quick witted, but with no real understanding of the real humor behind anything, too impressed with himself to see properly. And the other was even younger, almost a boy, really, in his attitude and priorities. It made him much easier to play with, and Rhys was bored. He wasn't going to back to Wales until tomorrow, and everyone else interesting had left, including his lovely little Runes professor, off to spend the hols with the couple keeping him like a pet.
Banks should be just the thing to while away the hours. And he hadn't had an excuse to brew up one of his old favorites in months, really. So he put the cauldron on the boil, got what he needed, and started working his magic. It was a wonderful little potion, this one, something he'd modified for his own use in '74, a wicked head trip with just a hint of suggestion in it. By the time Peter arrived, it would be philtered and stoppered and sitting on the table in his front room.
TONE: Psychedelic
RATING: NC-17
WHEN: Wednesday night
WHERE: Rhys's chambers.
WHAT: Trippin' balls.
WARNINGS: Violence and sex.
STATUS: Ongoing.
Rhys thought both new flying instructors were quite interesting, amusing in their own ways. One of them obviously thought he was clever, and he was, in that way that young people could be, quick witted, but with no real understanding of the real humor behind anything, too impressed with himself to see properly. And the other was even younger, almost a boy, really, in his attitude and priorities. It made him much easier to play with, and Rhys was bored. He wasn't going to back to Wales until tomorrow, and everyone else interesting had left, including his lovely little Runes professor, off to spend the hols with the couple keeping him like a pet.
Banks should be just the thing to while away the hours. And he hadn't had an excuse to brew up one of his old favorites in months, really. So he put the cauldron on the boil, got what he needed, and started working his magic. It was a wonderful little potion, this one, something he'd modified for his own use in '74, a wicked head trip with just a hint of suggestion in it. By the time Peter arrived, it would be philtered and stoppered and sitting on the table in his front room.
no subject
Not that he would stop fighting or wouldn't try again to come out the victor. The drive to compete was unshakable and letting something as little as a single loss deter him was so far beyond his knowing that it didn't exist in his world.
Peter grunted into Rhys's skin as he worried at that broad shoulder with his teeth. The rough pressure and smooth cloth fanned the delicious fire up into a blaze, and he was loving every moment of being consumed. He writhed and twisted, even bringing his feet to bear for extra bruising leverage.
But it was the bite that got the strongest reaction out of him yet. The sound that burst out of his bloody mouth was far from human, high and at the same time begging for more and promising retribution. One of his hands came up in that moment, snagging into Rhys's hair and pulling hard, while the sound subsided into harsh panting and Peter raked the nails of his other hand down Rhys's back again. Encouragement? Warning? Probably both.