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A shaky hand and a dull razor. That's been what Aventurine had to look forward to every night after a long day with the IPC. He's sat on the bench-like sofas in his hotel room within the Reverie, his usual pants discarded which left him only in his boxers. Slowly dragging the blade along his shaking wrists.
He lets his mind wander back to the conversations he had today, all the uncomfortable interactions with the Penacony locals. He presses harder as he remembers how one of his deeper cuts had reopened during a negotiation, staining his shirt sleeve and forcing him to cut the meeting short. He watches as the skin on his wrists separates and he can see yellow fat bubbling just under the dermis layer. He sets the blade down, using two fingers to open the skin more as he stares at his self inflicted wounds. He smiles faintly as he slides a finger into the cut, smearing the blood on his fingers and along his wrist.
As he goes to pick the blade up again he hears someone unlocking his door, making him tense. He hasn't made any noise, who could it be? He scrambles to slot the blade between the cushions of the sofa as he hears Sunday walking inside, none the wiser to what Aventurine had been doing for the past hour. He tries to pull his sleeve down but is just a second too late, and is caught red handed. Literally.
Sunday stares at him, shocked to see the state of Aventurine's wrist. It's covered with old and new scars, along with fresh scabs and oozing wounds. He stares for a few seconds, watching the blood drip from Aventurine's wrist onto the sofa. The heavy silence is filled with tension as they both wait for the other to speak, but no words can convey the shock Sunday feels or the fear Aventurine feels.
"You..." Sunday starts but stops himself, tentatively walking to where Aventurine is sat. He can tell that Aventurine is scared, but pays it no mind, opting to instead gently hold his wrist. The second that Aventurine's blood touches Sunday's neat white gloves he feels himself getting hot below the belt, running a finger lightly over the bleeding cuts. He sits next to Aventurine, much to the other's dismay.
Aventurine is terrified, who wouldn't be? When the man you've been pining after for so long sees you in your most raw and vulnerable state, you'd feel the same. He doesn't speak or even move as Sunday holds his wrist, for fear of angering him. He simply watches and Sunday draws back his own sleeve, showing his own pain. Sunday's cuts are much more neat, never going deeper than to the dermis layer, and always in clean lines. It's clear that he takes much better care of himself after, more than Aventurine could ever dream of. They stare at each other for a few seconds before Aventurine reaches his other hand to touch Sunday's wrist, feeling his scars along his soft wrist. They stay like this for a while, touching each other's scars in soothing silence.
"My my...I didn't expect the esteemed head of the Oak family to use the same vices as the common man..." He smirks as he picks his blade up, sliding it along Sunday's wrist with a bit too much pressure. He lets himself drool as he watches the skin split, seeing the soft yellow bubbles of fat within Sunday's wrist. He can't help but run a finger through the cut as it begins to fill with blood, bringing his finger to his lips to taste.
"Such beautiful blood, it's a shame it has to be shed to a man like me." Aventurine smiles as he brings his own wrist up, smearing his blood along Sunday's wrist. He can feel himself getting wet from the contact, feeling like a pervert for finding pleasure in something so vile. As he attempts to adjust his position Sunday decides to take the lead, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him down onto the sofa.
"We may use the same vices but I assure you our reasons aren't anywhere close to similar." Sunday's tone is slightly lighthearted as he grinds himself against Aventurine's warmth. He smirks as he grips Aventurine's wrist tightly, rubbing his own bleeding wrist harshly against it. He lets out a quiet, shaky breath as he feels their blood mix. He feels his pants becoming tighter as he rubs his wrist harder against the gambler's, feeling the fat of their wrists squishing together and causing blood to drip down their arms and onto their clothes.
Aventurine allows Sunday to straddle him, horrified as he watches the halovian's bulge twitch as they combine their blood into one gruesome mess. It's borderline gorey, the way Sunday cuts Aventurine more and more, until his wrist is covered in blood. Aventurine can feel himself getting lightheaded and he can't tell if it's from the blood loss or from how erotic the entire scene is. His quiet whimpers every time Sunday cuts him don't fall on deaf ears, and his soaked boxers don't go unnoticed.
Sunday glances down at Aventurine's crotch, watching as the blonde squirms to cover himself. He can feel himself burning with an urge to touch Aventurine, mark him and claim him as his wife, but that's not what he'll do. He knows better, or he thinks so.
Aventurine lets out a gasp, eyes wide with a mix of horror and shock as Sunday moves the hand covering his crotch. He feels Sunday's fingers gently rubbing along his slick soaked boxers, embarrassed at the moan he lets out when two gloved fingers come into contact with his clothes clit. He stares in shock as Sunday massages his clit, trying not to whine as he pinches it.
Sunday smirks as he plays with Aventurine's pussy, his other arm bloody as it rubs against Aventurine's own bleeding wounds. He knows his boxers and most likely his pants too are soaked with precum but he doesn't care, his attention completely on the man below him.
Aventurine's eyes go blank as he feels Sunday rubbing his bulge against his dripping cunt, tilting his head back and moaning loudly as Sunday grinds into his warmth. He can't think straight as the warm weight rubs his clit, making his thighs shake and his eyes roll back in pure pleasure.
This goes on for a few minutes, but for Aventurine it feels like a lifetime. The way Sunday continues to rub their bleeding wrists together, the way Sunday borderline humps his pussy, the way Sunday quietly moans as if he'll be caught if he's even a decibel too loud. Eventually Sunday craves more, panting hard as he stares at the destroyed man below him. The way Aventurine's blonde bangs cling to his forehead, sweat making them stringy and wet.
Sunday craves more as he undoes his belt and unzips his pants, kicking them off with little regard. He'll pick them up later, no worries. He grabs Aventurine's shoulders tightly as he grinds his bulge against Aventurine's warmth. His lips quiver and threaten to release a moan, forcing Sunday to bite his lip as he continues to hump Aventurine's soaked crotch.
Aventurine on the other hand is already destroyed, pupils blown and eyes half lidded as Sunday continues the assault on his clit. He feels himself unwinding much too fast, already on the edge of his climax. He shakily reaches down into Sunday's boxers, stroking him with indescribable desire.
Sunday's mouth hangs open in shock, his lips quivering as he grinds into Aventurine's soft palm. The scene is purely erotic, lust and passion heavy in the air. Or maybe that's the smell of blood seeping into the upholstery below them, staining the plush fabric with their mixed passion.
Aventurine feels Sunday twitch in his palm and bites his lip, stroking him as fast as he can, feeling himself tipping over the edge. They moan in unison, the both of them reaching their peak at the same time. Aventurine's thighs shake and Sunday's arms tremble on either side of Aventurine's head.
Sunday collapses forward onto Aventurine's sweat soaked chest, breathing hard and unsteadily. He finds it a bit easier to regulate his breathing when Aventurine lays a gentle hand on his back, rubbing soft circles into his spine. Sunday reaches down to hold hands with Aventurine again, feeling the blood coating their palms and wrists as they squeeze their hands tightly.
A small smile is left on Aventurine's lips as Sunday falls asleep on his chest, breathing slowly and gently. He brings his hand up the halovian's spine, gently massaging his wings and preening a few feathers. A final gentle sigh escapes his lips as he too succumbs to sleep, his fingers twirled into Sunday's light blue bangs.