I want some more
What are you waiting for
Take a bite of my heart tonight
- Animal by Neon Trees
Mr Veils wears a lot, possibly the most overdressed Master. Shawls and headwraps and layers upon layers of robes. And of course, veils. To be expected of the Master of cloth and fur. However, people were always surprised it always took great passion in making clothes.
Mr Veils would scoff at bad outfits it saw in the streets, snark out an insult and then try and sell a bolt of lace. It would even try to convince the other Masters that they could do with a new set of robes. Mr Wines would usually buy velvet and years later, request custom made corsets.
Sales were especially good after the Second City fell. They couldn't deal with the cool of the Neath. And that fit Mr Veils just fine. Being able to work on new projects kept him busy. Which in turn allowed it to forget about the ache in its stiff wings.
It did mean Mr Veils would return to the Bazaar Spires late and exhausted. Its room is filled with fabric, overflowing with sketched designs and thread. Looms of various types covered the floor. Its bed is long since buried. It's a well known fact that Mr Veils doesn't return to its own chambers at night.
It can smell a new fragrance even before it opens the door. Mr Candles is pulling a set of candles out of the wax and it turns with a wide smile when it hears Mr Veils enter.
"Did you know how good of perfumes these people can make?" It chirps, "Like nothing I've ever smelled."
"It's giving me a headache," Mr Veils growls. It won't admit that yes, it smells intoxicating. Cinnamon and a hint of lilies. The twitch of its nose gives Mr Veils away, though, barely visible past a thick veil to hide its face. Mr Candles huffs, rolling its eyes as it hangs up the new rack of candles to dry and putting out the fire heating the wax.
"How was your day, then?" Mr Candles wipes its talons off on its apron before taking it off. Its robes are thin for working in the warm room, simple gauze wrapped around it. It's not wearing a headwrap but a thick necklace of polished blue stones and some sort of amulet is nestled at its collarbone.
"Exhausting," Mr Veils replies, "A woman insisted I make matching outfits for her cats. Help me undress. It's hot in here."
Mr Candles ears press back in embarrassment and it feels its face burn. Mr Veils moves stiffly to the bed, stretching with a sigh. Mr Candles meets it there, almost eager to shyly push up its veil.
"You wear so much," Mr Candles scolds, claws petting the fur under Mr Veils' eyes.
"And you wear so little it should be considered a scandal," Mr Veils hums, leaning down to kiss the other. "Where's the robes I made you?" It runs a claw over the thin fabric. It leaves nothing to the imagination and although Mr Candles would never leave the Bazaar's spires in it, Mr Veils can't help but feel envious of even another Master seeing it like this.
"Hanging up. I'll wear one tomorrow for the meeting. You spoil me with so many different ones, though." Its claws work on unwrapping the fabric drawn tightly around Mr Veils head, tugging lose a red ribbon that holds it tight around its neck. The silk pools down around its shoulders, catching on Mr Veils' long horns until Mr Candles unwinds it and let's the headdress fall to the floor. Its ears flick once free, perking up after a long day of being hidden.
One of Mr Veils' claws touch the amulet at Mr Candles neck, "What's this?" There's a hint of resentment in its tone.
"They told me it's for protection. Got in a trade for some fragrances. It's one of their deities." Mr Candles moves down to push off the outer layer of fabric, working the ties that hold the thick robes closed. When it finally falls off, Mr Veils stretches its wings with a small sound of relief. Under are yet more layers, however they are more sheer, with room to breathe and stretch. Black lace and tulle, almost like petticoats under the heavy outer robe. Ahead of time in its fashion.
"You're using it to hide my mark," Mr Veils says, lifting the thick band around its neck. Underneath, a still healing bite wound. An obvious mating mark. While the others may occasionally fuck around (– especially Mr Wines and Mr Spices), none ever came out with bite marks in that very specific location. Other wounds were common after intimacy between Curators, bite marks most of all, but a bite to the scent gland right at the base of the neck meant something.
"The others would know it's from you."
"Let them know you're mine ." Mr Veils isn't usually so brash . It's the one who usually attempts to hide their relationship and is always the first to deny allegations (even if Mr Candles is currently curled up in its lap or the two are eating off the same plate).
Mr Candles glances up, head tilted to the side. "Are you jealous , love?" A quirk of its lips, a smirk.
Mr Veils blinks, a growl leaving it. "Ever since we started… mating, you've been releasing pheromones. The others look at you." It's dodging the question.
"Ever since you seduced me, you mean," Mr Candles hums, claws catching gently on the sheer fabrics as it works them off Mr Veils' body, exposing its muscles, an expanse of star filled fur. A hunter. A killer. A small purr leaves Mr Candles throat as it finally starts getting all the layers off.
"Am I seducing you right now?" Mr Veils teases.
It huffs, ears pressing back, "Do you have to be so difficult ?" A tug on one of the ribbons allows the last bunch of tulle to fall to the ground. Mr Candles blinks. "Oh."
It had been so busy attempting to remove all the intricate clothing, it hadn't noticed the bright fabric nestled closest to Mr Veils body. A sheer gown of white silk, even tied at the waist with a sash of leopard fur. A sign of high class, usually only seen on pharaohs. Mr Veils had been paying attention to Mr Candles when it talked about the culture of this Second City.
And the drastic contrast between the white and its black fur makes a fire burn in Mr Candles gut. It draws attention to all its curves and taunt muscles.
"You're staring," Mr Veils grabs its hips, pulling it close. "Do you want me to leave it on?" It whispers right into Mr Candles ear, giving it a nip. The smaller Master shudders.
"I thought you didn't care about their culture."
"I don't. But you do."
"Let's make a deal," Mr Candles slips a strap from the other's shoulder almost coyly, and Mr Veils can smell its arousal. Its claws traces down Mr Veils' chest. "You wear less to tomorrow's meeting and I won't hide any marks you give me tonight."
Mr Veils licks its lips, eyes blown dark with lust, "Any? I have permission to give you more?"
"Yes," Mr Candles breathes, eyes finally raising to meet the other's. Claws settle onto Mr Veils' thighs, pushing up the dress until it's bunched up at its waist. The dark red of its cock is starting to emerge from its sheath. Mr Candles passes a thumb over the head, watching as it grows harder.
"You're the one overdressed now," Mr Veils growls, curling a claw around its necklace and tugging it into a kiss. Rough and sloppy enough that Mr Candles gives a whine, trying to tug off its own robes as Mr Veils shoves it's tongue into its mouth. With the skill of hands accustomed to dealing with fabrics and outfits, Mr Veils unties Mr Candles robes so that they fall into a pool around its feet. Then Mr Veils picks it up and all but throws it onto the bed.
Mr Candles chuckles, "And you were too tired to undress yourself moments ago."
"On your hands and knees," Mr Veils hisses in response and Mr Candles scrambles to obey. The sight draws a groan from Mr Veils, seeing it with its ass up, presented like an offering. "Such a good Runt," it purrs, leaning over to kiss its shoulder as a claw slips between its legs.
"Veils, please," Mr Candles presses itself back, seeking friction. Mr Veils presses a claw between its folds, finding it already dripping. Mr Candles moans, grinding its hips.
"So wet for me," Mr Veils loves the way Mr Candles' whole body shakes when it's praised. The words are fire and Mr Candles is sure Correspondence isn't meant to be used as dirty talk but that doesn't stop Mr Veils from letting them fall from its tongue and burn a trail down Mr Candles' back.
A mix of words and touching leaves Mr Candles shaking and whining long before Mr Veils finally gives in and enters it. They both relish it, Mr Veils leaning over and leaving nips across Mr Candles' shoulders as it starts to move. And it's not enough to break skin. Not enough to draw blood. Not. Enough.
"I thought you wanted to leave more marks," Mr Candles manages between panting gasps. It rocks its hips back in time, savoring the fullness. It will never get used to how big Mr Veils is in comparison. The stretch hot and close to pain, the slight bump at its abdomen. Being a Runt isn't all bad.
"So needy ," Mr Veils growls, "Can't I just enjoy your cunt for a moment?"
"You'll enjoy it more with my blood on your tongue," it snaps back weakly, cunt clenching. It's so close. Just a little push…
Mr Candles is right, though. Mr Veils is addicted to the taste of blood, Mr Candles' blood above all else. Liquid sunlight, so close it can pretend to be home. Maybe it isn't the blood at all. Maybe it's just Mr Candles, glowing bright, voice a song. Familiar in a way that's so much more than just a memory of its own kind.
Mr Veils is too drunk off the sensations and the taste and the smells that it can't quite remember when it started biting. Flesh gives, blood spills and Mr Candles cums with a keening cry. The resulting pleasure makes Mr Veils' vision blur, thrusting sharper, angled just right to keep Mr Candles convulsing and singing. The bite wound at its scent gland is reopened, resealing them to each other, and then more. Claw marks down back and at its hips. Sensitive wing membrane marked with raised lines, careful not to tear. More bite marks across neck and shoulders and wings.
It feels instant and like forever all at once, tongue tingling with the flavor. Words of Correspondence leave both of them, unable to reach the current language of the city with their nerves on fire. Mr Veils cums too soon, barely comprehending it. It doesn't, can't, stop.
(– basking in the starlight after a successful hunt, like a snake lying in the heat to help digest. Wings stretching out lazily, arm thrown over its mate. It could teach the pups to hunt too.)
" Veils ," Mr Candles whimpers, voice tinged with pain, "I'm too sensitive."
It blinks the fog from its vision, looking down at the bloodstained mess Mr Candles is. Fluid drips between them, Mr Veils knotted deep. It licks one of deepest wounds, letting its saliva ease the pain.
"How many times did you cum?" Mr Veils asks sluggishly, wings dropping down to wrap around the two of them protectively. It lowers them both down, rolling over onto a side to hold Mr Candles to its chest. (Curators keep their closest treasures tucked close to their body, Mr Candles remembers.)
"Too many," it replies, still catching its breath, "And it didn't help that you came three times. Look at me! I look like I'm carrying a whole litter!"
And Mr Veils is definitely looking. It licks its lips, claws splayed out over the swollen abdomen. Oh, it loves how Mr Candles looks like this. It opens its mouth and then promptly closes it.
Runts can't have children. Missing the Dual Natural also means lack of fertility.
As if knowing its thoughts, Mr Candles says, "Apples gets around. I'm sure we can borrow a little one from it if you want."
"Not here," Mr Veils voice is hoarse. "I'll produce. When we are finally free."
There's a pause. Then, "I would like that, Veils."
The next day, the Masters have their weekly meeting. Candles is wrapped up in velvet and silk of deep blacks and reds. It couldn't hide all the marks even if it wanted too. A thin red ribbon is around its neck, drawing attention to the mark at the base of its neck. Mr Veils, on the other hand, is dressed in a simple gown for once, a matching ribbon around its neck.
Mr Wines pulls out a special bottle of wine, scooting closer to ask if Mr Veils would like to help it make a new vintage. "We would love it if you would share that stamina," Mr Wines says. Mr Veils shoves it away.