Not quite OOM: Post Lunar New Year All-Skate, for Katya

[27_53]

[Following this thread with Kreyu. Adult content warning in link!]

Skellig and Katya had wandered their separate ways at some point during the celebrations for the Lunar New Year, and while there are still decorations and a festive air remains in the Bar proper, Skellig is making his way back to the room upstairs that he shares with Katya while they are not in their apartment in his world.

He is not bothering to wear a shirt; dressed in only his jeans, his coat is draped over one arm. He left his boots and socks on Kreyu's floor (with the 'promise' to return for them later) and his bare feet pad quietly through the halls - he is practically floating - humming under his breath as he traverses the distance from Kreyu's room to his own.

A few patrons stare, but he doesn't care.

Once he's unlocked their door (the wards twitch against the back of his neck when he passes through the entrance, he's probably setting off alarm bells left and right) he steps inside and shuts it silently behind him. He's not sure if she's here or if she's elsewhere, and since they're both 'nocturnal', she could be asleep.

A shower is a consideration. So is food. His wings are a mess (Kreyu helped him preen a bit before he left, but they still need work) and so is his hair; there is set of claw marks on the back of his neck where blood has been drawn, and an impressive bite-shaped bruise on the side of his throat. He's radiating positive energy and Karma and power, and if Katya is nearby, she'll be able to pick up on the scent of Kreyu, of dragon magic, of sweat, blood, and sex on Skellig's skin.

For now, the couch seems like a good option. He sprawls out on it on his stomach, wings lightly tucked against his back, still very much 'drunk'. He really wants a cigarette, but they are so far away. Maybe another nap.

He is the absolute picture of 'look what the cat dragged in'.

Year of the Dragon, indeed.
His Tiger might have some thoughts about what he's been up to.

Comments

[katyafeline]

Katya, who had dove for the shadows behind the world the second every ward she's ever set on this place all went up at once, steps out to throw the packet of cigarettes at him.

Well.

At his face.

There's ice on the package where her fingers touched the cellophane.

Save her from sex-drunk idiots.

[27_53]

He makes a half-hearted attempt to block the cigarettes from hitting him in the face, but fails miserably, and has to settle for picking them up off the floor. He opens the pack and places one in his lips, glancing up at her.

"Spasiba."

At least his Russian is still passable, even if his fine motor skills are not. He grunts, trying to sit up on the couch a little better, but makes it just as far as an elbow propped up against the cushion.

"Lighter?"

[katyafeline]

Katya waves a hand, setting his cigarette alight (perhaps a little more forcefully than absolutely needed, the ward alarms rattled her).

She then stalks over to the freezer, pulls out a bottle of vodka, spins the cap off and sends it flying away with a flick, and helps herself. She was saving it for later... well, now it's 'later'.

[27_53]

Skellig ducks his head gratefully, pulling a long drag off of the cigarette before he lifts it in a faint 'salute' in her direction near the freezer. He feels...good. Very good, right now. But he knows he startled her.

"Sorry about...the sirens." He means the wards. "I did not know how...loud they would be."

By her reaction? They were blaring.

[katyafeline]

She gives him a jaundiced look.

"I see you got over your dislike of snakes." She snorts.

[27_53]

"Dragon," he corrects. "Not a snake. She is a shifter, like you."

[katyafeline]

"She is not." Katya retorts, rolling her eyes. "Rude. I'm glad the difference in terminology made the scales more comfy."

Or maybe it didn't, she doesn't know what he's into. Thankfully.

[27_53]

"She wasn't..." He shakes his head, scrubbing his free hand over his face as he struggles slightly to explain. "She is...she can change. One of her forms is human."

Skellig finishes his cigarette and then stands (easily, moving smoothly off the couch), stubbing the butt out in the ashtray on the table. He could use with a nap, or some of the vodka (he doubts she'll share at this moment), but he settles on a shower.

He pauses in the doorway to the bathroom and looks up at her.

"No scales. Human, but...with wings. Similar to mine. Feathers."

[katyafeline]

"And claws." She notes, with disapproval. She has claws too, but she doesn't use them on people she likes.

No, he can't have her vodka. She needs it.

[27_53]

"And claws.


I asked her to use them."

And with that tidbit of information, he ducks into the bathroom and pushes the door half-shut, quickly stripping off his jeans and stepping into the shower, not even waiting for the water to fully heat.

[katyafeline]

At least that gives Tiger Cub time to consider her response.

It's the blood, really, that bothers her. The rest of it... one of her squad mates was an incubus, she is very well acquainted with a vast array of sexual adventures, thank you. But he's seen what she can do with blood, under her nails, between her teeth. What havoc she can ravage with that kind of leverage.

She was inclined, at that moment, to consider it a dumb accident.

But.

But.

He asked.

Tiger Cub misses Moscow.

She takes her vodka out to the balcony to go stare out at the stars.

[27_53]

Skellig takes a moment to just let the water run over his body, wetting his feathers (he is never a fan of letting them get this wet because it leaves him vulnerable until they dry) down before he grabs for the soap and a washcloth to start scrubbing his body.

He knows should be more sore, but he isn't, his nerves still on fire (in a good way) from his encounter.


It is a very good thing that the Bar has an excellent supply of hot water, because he stays in the shower for longer than usual. Once he finishes, and has toweled off (he does his best to shake his wings off in the shower to avoid getting water droplets everywhere), he lights another cigarette and lingers to study his neck and throat in the mirror.

The neck bruise is worse looking (though no punctures) and the scratches are visible, but will heal fairly quickly.

Even with her out on the balcony, he can sense her frustration and disappointment. He understands, but he doesn't know how to explain himself.

Skellig redresses (this time in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt) and then settles on sitting for the couch once more. There are cigarettes and a glass of water on the end table, and he's working on his feathers.

[katyafeline]

Katya stays put. She's not particularly inclined to start a fight - not with Skellig, anyway. They've been entwined for far too long for that to be a fight she'd enjoy. So she sprawls in one of the deck chairs, with her vodka and the stars for company, and idly works on resetting the wards.

[27_53]

Skellig switches at some point from his left wing to his right, and also switches from water to vodka, having found a second bottle buried in the back of the freezer. He, at least, has poured a glass.


Once he finishes his right wing, he refills that glass and makes his way to the balcony door.

"If you would rather be alone, I will respect that."

[katyafeline]

"It is your apartment too, be where you like." She shrugs. If she wanted to be unfindable, she'd dive into the Gloom and stay there, walking in the space behind the world. Her bangles ring like bells as she continues nudging the wards back into functionality.

[27_53]

The fact that she is still here and not in the Gloom is telling, but that is not exactly what he asked.

He also does not want to fight with her.

"I..." His fingers tighten ever-so-slightly around his glass as he contemplates what he's trying to say. He can feel what she's doing with the wards, subtle twitches as things straighten and align into a 'better' sort of shape. "I will not be a distraction to you."


Skellig returns to the couch, with his vodka, and lights another cigarette.

[katyafeline]

A voice in her head that sounds depressingly like Olga tells her this is what she gets for partnering with someone who isn't Other.

She flips the bird at mental!Olga in the way she would have never dared to do to the real person. The real Olga would have dumped her so deep in the Gloom for something like that she'd never find her way out.

Once the wards are soothed to her satisfaction, she finishes the bottle of vodka and stretches, shaking out her heavy coat. Then she pads back into the apartment to fetch the cow femur she stored in the fridge for later. Gnawing on something will distract from (quite plausible) plans to set the dragon's lair on fire. That'd deal with the blood, and dragons don't mind getting a little toasty, right?

[27_53]

At some point while she had been working on the wards, and after finishing his second glass of vodka...Skellig has fallen asleep on the couch, with his face half-buried into an overstuffed pillow.

Even as large as her tiger form is, she is very quiet, and he is very tired.

He shifts slightly at the sound of the fridge opening, but doesn't wake up.

[katyafeline]

For a moment she's worried - blood curses can weaken the target, drain them, kill... Hrm.

Nope.

Just fucked out.

Welp.

She rolls her eyes, and continues into the kitchen.

If she's less graceful than she could be getting her treat out of the fridge, dropping the heavy bone repeatedly on the linoleum and rolling it beneath her paws as she gets the door closed... totally unrelated.

[27_53]

There is a particularly loud thump as the femur bone knocks into the leg of a chair, which causes his senses to react and he jolts back into reality, trying to sit up.

And then he is suddenly incredibly dizzy, the room going off-kilter around him. Two glasses of vodka after getting that 'drunk' on dragon!sex!magic might not have been one of his better life choices in the last twenty-four hours.

There are some others in the running.

He's fine.
But he's gonna need a minute.

[katyafeline]

Katya isn't sorry.

She thumps the bone against a few other solid objects on her way to the giant dog bed she snagged at one point, because couches are weak when it comes to containing a tiger frame. And if she huffs with feline laughter at his incoordination...

Still not sorry.

She finally settles down to gnaw on her treat, her teeth grinding against the bone.

[27_53]

"I deserve that."

While the couch might not be strong enough to support her tiger-self, it is more than enough to support a man with hollow bones. Skellig flops back down, burying his face into the pillow with a groan.

He is less dizzy this way, with his eyes closed. This is better, even with her efforts to the contrary. His hearing is still heightened from before, so he can hear every ridge her teeth graze, every groove she digs into the bone.

"I had wondered where that came from."