✘ WARNING: ADULT MATERIAL. (…consensuality somewhat lacking, too.)

The corridor is badly lit - he doesn't really run much risk of being discovered by Dakarai's friend. Still, pacing is not the best way to entertain oneself, and there's nothing else to do but wallow in introspection. Nothing, for the past ten solid minutes, time that has seemed to stretch to a small eternity. And then, voices, muffled by the door, approaching the same. “…-ck marker pen? I'm somewhat disturbed that you don't already have one.” The tone is jovial, but a bit strained, filtering through the door better than the actual words. A moment later, the door swings open, spilling light into the corridor, and Dakarai responds with: “I can get it myself, too, you know. It's just less convenient for me than it is for you.” His hand rests side-on against the frame of the door, a crooked smirk on his face. “Now bugger off.” The tone is friendly, but he still evidently means it, even as the wirey chap is pushed with Dakarai's free hand into the corridor in a nudge. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'll get you that pen. And never return things to you again if you're going to give me new chores to do.” A raspberry later, the gaze finds Norman's shadow, brow arched, twitch touching the boy's left shoulder - before he shakes his head and says: “Well, bye, Dakarai,” before swirling to saunter off.

Norman exhales and steps slowly towards Dakarai, spots of colour appearing high on his cheekbones. “Mr. N'Sehla, I…” He pauses. “I'm sorry for what happened. I did not mean to cause you any harm if that is what I did, mentally or physically.” He finishes his mini-speech then smiles, surprisingly warmly. “I find you a very interesting and charismatic person… - I… - I would like to be able to spend more time in your company if you would allow it…” He blushes then, lowering his gaze and shifting uneasily, pushing back his desire for the other man to a more manageable level. Pushing a hand through his hair as he became silent, waiting patiently for a reply from the other man. His secret crush.

Dakarai arches a brow at the near-stranger that's stepped into the light of his apartment. He listens, immobile in the doorframe, expression one of idle boredom, scrutiny and suspicion. As Norman finishes, he gives a light smirk. “No.” It's simple enough, abrupt, single-syllable, delivered harshly; before in fluid motion, he unleans himself from the doorframe and pulls the door shut with a click. Well, that didn't work so well. Time to try again, perhaps.

Norman flinches at Dakarai reply before he lowers his head slightly, pushing both hands through his hair as he steps forwards and one hand curls to a loose fist as he raises it to knock on the door. “Please?” he asks, voice low but level as he struggles to keep emotion out of his voice.

Silence - almost long enough to warrant restating the question. A clearing of the throat later, the door is nudged open a crack and an expressive eye latches onto Norman. “What's it to you?”

Norman sighs softly. “I had no choice other than to do what I did. That was wrong of me. What it is to me? I… like you… a lot…” He blushes and looks away then up again, a gentle smile gracing his face. Fingers flexing, he adds: “I would like to know you better and make - at least - some reparations for my behavior towards you.”

A brow is arched - before the door is opened and a shrug is made visible. “No skin off my back,” he says, without enthusiasm, stepping to the side and letting Norman enter if he so wishes.

Norman actually blushes before he nods and enters, gnawing on his lower lip. He closes the door gently behind him then whispers: “Thank you, Mr. N'Sehla.. I… may I call you Dakarai?” His blush doesn't fade any and his dark eyes sparkle warmly, his fingers flexing nervously.

A chuckle is the immediate response, followed by an almost mischievous twinkle to those eyes, as if he wanted to warn Norman that he was not to be trusted. “Knock yourself out,” he remarks, lips having warped to a smirk, left hand almost absentmindedly stroking through the air in search for the door handle, finding it, then pulling it shut behind him - interfering with Norman's own efforts in the process, very much in a 'this is my house' fashion, but on the other hand naturally, fluidly, as if there were nothing special about it.

The apartment is small, a window on the far wall's left currently with its blinds let down. A bathroom is walled off immediately to their left, but otherwise, the apartment is a single room, with the kitchen in the right corner ahead, and a living room / office area in vicinity of the window, a bed set against the wall to the bathroom. A wardrobe sits to Norman's right, a slightly bulky thing that is well out of style. It's functional, this place, not pretty.

Norman rubs at the back of his neck, still chewing on his lip before he speaks. “I would… like to know if there's anything I can do for you and if so, all you have to do is to let me know.” He smiles then, warmly and looks across at Dakarai before he looks the other man up and down but in a complimentary way. “You are a…” He pauses, mentally searching for the right words. “A very attractive man,” he almost murmurs, blushing even more if that is possible.

“If you say so,” Dakarai remarks, words' indifference underlines with another shrug, even as he sees himself back over to the muted television screen and to the desk set immediately under the window, uplight to its left illuminating the room. On the table are a few long wires, a strange, crystalline object, a tube of super glue, a pair of gloves and what to Norman's eyes might as well be plastic shrapnel, scattered bits and pieces of black, curved plastic. There are a few other things there, small and, to Norman, unidentifiable.

Norman nods once. “That I do,” he says, firmly, a hint of adoration creeping into his tone before he swallows. “May ask what you're doing and if you need help?” He looks interested in the things on the table. He steps closer but doesn't say anything else, for now.

“Don't take this the wrong way, kid, but you couldn't help me if you tried,” Dakarai remarks, left knee rested on the seat of his chair, stood like that before the desk, casually, while sliding those delicate fingers into the gloves, his gaze on the elements scattered across the table surface.

Norman blushes a little, the colour returning to his cheeks and nods a little, brow furrowing. “Okay.” He smiles softly then. “Do you mind if I ask you what you're making?” His head tilts slightly.

“I do mind,” he says, simply, tone calm and collected, as if he were saying 'Go ahead', instead, and not in the least breaching social etiquette. Now gloved fingers stretch forward to seize a piece with practised ease, finding another, holding it up against the light inquisitively - it has a slight silver lining, like electronics, perhaps - and, after brief scrutiny, clipping it into place against the other, before testing if it's securely in place by trying to bend the result.

Norman nods, almost to himself. “All right.” He almost turns away then looks back across at Dakarai, thoughtfully before brushing one hand across his face and stepping closer. Gently, he presses his lips against the other man's cheek, shape twitching as he struggled to control himself and his emotions. Dark eyes darkening further to an almost inky black colour he meets Dakarai's eyes without that he says anything.

Dakarai slides his gaze sideways, toward the kiss, even as he drifts his head to the side and away, rest of his motions stopping abruptly as he pauses. “No,” he says, simply, firmly, decisively, clearly meaning that any such intimacy was uncalled for.

Norman smirks then but not nastily and shifts slightly, resting both hands on Dakarai's wrists before leaning in and kissing him again, closer to his lips this time, not using the slight weight advantage against the other man. “You,” he breathes. “Are so beautiful.” One hand lets Dakarai's left wrist go and strokes down his leg, lightly then back up and towards his crotch.

Dakarai's entire shape tenses, still immobile as before, expression melting into wariness. “…dude, quit it,” he says, lowly, tone almost hesitant, but without that he's pushing at him - maybe he's hoping he'll snap out of it by his own accord.

Norman purrs softly. “Why?” he asks without being nasty or too forceful. His lips are scant centimetres away from Dakarai's own and he doesn't look away. “Can't I honour such beauty with my lips and hands?” His fingers trail lightly over the other's wrist then further up the arm as he kisses Dakarai on the lips, lightly though.

The response is a grimace. “Stop being creepy stalker-ish. You barely know me,” he remarks, a certain bitterness in that tone, the gradual re-establishing of a determined tone evident.

Norman narrows his eyes slightly then grins, gripping both of Dakarai's wrists in one hand or at least attempting to do so and pulling him upwards slightly to a stand. Exhaling, he kisses the other man rather forcefully, using the slight weight advantage he has whilst his free hand strokes gently at Dakarai's crotch before rising to rest on one hip.

Dakarai can't be pulled into a stand more than he already is; his shoulders skew as he tries to pull himself out of Norman's grip without pushing at him or otherwise making a motion that could be misinterpreted as aggression. As Norman's free hand brushes across his crotch, he freezes, closing his eyes and casting his gaze sideways beneath those eyelids, discomfort lining his shape. To Norman, it must be bizarre, to have something so determined and strong barely bother to struggle.

Norman frowns then and shifts to stand behind Dakarai instead, lowering his head to the other man's neck, nibbling gently. His hand drifts up the other man's chest and then back down to the edge of his trousers before he whispers: “I'm going to let your wrist go now, but you keep that hand where it is.” He is mentally bemused at the other's behaviour though.

Dakarai hisses softly, very much hinting at that if the wrist is let go, he's going to do no such thing. “Leave me alone,” he utters, the words coming in something of a growl, a fairly guttural sequence of syllables, though they lack the volume to be truly threatening, though their veracity is hard to miss.

THEN, SOME ESPECIALLY ADULT STUFF HAPPENS. click to read.

THEN, SOME ESPECIALLY ADULT STUFF HAPPENS. click to read.

Norman tightens his grip slightly. “No.” He presses closer to the other man now, the hand at the top of his trousers popping the button open and sliding into them, brushing across Dakarai's length, then into his underwear. Pushing aside the fabric, suprisingly gently, Norman shivered slightly, purring darkly as he continues to nibble and kiss at the other man's neck.

A breath gasps past his lips - perhaps of surprise, perhaps of something else? It's hard to say. Fact is, he's not struggling against the grip, and his length seems to be quite malleable into at least a certain hardness by the probing fingers, as if perhaps it were trying to match the tension of the rest of his body.

Norman actually moans, but very softly, almost grinding against Dakarai now, the nibbles turning into bites but not painful ones… yet. He smirks then and puts a lot of his weight on to the other's back, even as he whispers: “Lean forwards.” He smirks a little, the stroking so very focussed and gentle. Norman's fingers stroke down to the base then almost agonisingly slowly to the tip then back, over and over again.

The next exhaled breath comes as a tremble, a definite reaction beneath those fingertips now. A sucked in breath later, Dakarai's lower lip finds itself trapped between the rows of his teeth, and his gloved palms come to rest against the table surface - but not because he's complying, he's simply steadying himself, holding himself almost ridiculously still, as if it would somehow make Norman lose interest and go away.

Norman snickers a little and presses a little harder with the hand around Dakarai's length before slowly speeding up that hand. His other hand, he reluctantly removes from the other man's wrist to properly shove his trousers and underwear out of the way before returning it to the aforementioned wrist. He pauses in his strokes then, nails digging into Dakarai's flesh slightly.

A soft moan is coaxed from the lad, culminating as it seems in a shiver rippling down his spine, tension not wanting to leave him - and his eyes remain closed, as if he were still wishing it all away with some part of himself, or perhaps simply hiding the confusion flitting across his expression. The tension seems to knot into something more - perhaps a slight fear? Was that even conceivable?

Norman smirks a little more. “Good lad,” he murmurs, his voice a soft and sultry purr before he shifts slightly and lets go of Dakarai's length, stroking that damp hand back and to the other man's ass, pressing a slim and cold finger against the little opening. He doesn't wait for Dakarai to get used to the pressure… he just slides that finger in as far as he can, latching his teeth into the other's neck.

Dakarai's shoulders fold forward abruptly as if he wanted to sag in on himself, eyes opening and latching almost with incredulous gaze at the window, as if it could somehow supply the mercy his expression sought. A moment passes - then, having been so crudely held back, a gasp issues from him. If Norman were to look at his face, he would see, clearly, the question of why in those eyes - but not the typical 'why me?' or related nonsense, but simply 'why am I still standing here without protest?'.

Norman smirks very faintly, trailing hot kisses across the other man's shape as he pushes the finger further into him, eyes drifting fully closed, waiting for a whimper of pain or a squirm of protest in such a way that could be classed as him almost longing for it. He doesn't give Dakarai the chance to get used to it though before he pulls the finger back out and torturously slowly, a soft purr escaping from between his lips.

Dakarai's spine straightens, straining up as if against some invisible force, palms remaining pressed down against the smooth surface before them, gaze still cast out forward at no point in particular, introspective, yet, equally, somewhat aghast. That one could wield such power over Dakarai - it seemed strange, almost humorous. He'd seen that demonic energy, where was it now? Most notably, why was it gone? He didn't exactly seem to be enjoying himself, not thoroughly. Physically, definitely, but he seemed incredibly confused, if nothing else.

Norman frowns then, brow furrowing as he rests his finger just inside the other man, twisting slightly to stare directly into Dakarai's face, gaze intent. Eyes narrowing, he gently kisses at his lips before pulling back and sliding a second finger to the stretched opening and sliding it inside him too, pushing both fingers in as far as is possible and then spreading them as wide as he can. Norman smirks then almost nastily and whispers: “Scream for me, my precious jewel.”

A gasp catches in his throat, and his eyes squeeze shut as if to compensate for the jolt of pain. The grinding of his teeth against each other as his jaw sets fills his perception, nearly blotting out the sense of touch in effect, before it is gone again, teeth set against each other. Past taut lips his breath hisses from him, nose wrinkling in silent snarl. His left hand rises as if to lash out and back - only to set back down on the surface of the desk a bit further left, a tremble travelling up his arms as if they were supporting his weight. Scream? He wasn't going to do him that favour any time soon. “Do it yourself,” he snaps, lowly, holding himself tense.

Norman clicks his tongue and shakes his head but he's not as disappointed as he may seem to be. “Is that so? We'll see if you change your mind any time soon won't we?” His voice turns cold then, harsh and unforgiving although internally he's kicking himself for it. He pulls his fingers from Dakarai then and fully before he pulls down his own zipper, fingers wiping themselves on the other man's clothing as he does so before locking back around his shaft. Norman exhales softly then with no warning slides himself into Dakarai, his back arching slightly as he does so. He pushes as far as he can until his entire length although he's more wide than long is buried inside the other man before he comes to a stop, panting slightly. “Such a tight fit…” A shiver runs through him. “Delicious.”

The sound the move elicits is surprisingly soft, but unmistakably a note of protest and pain, akin to a mewl of some feline, the tremble in his arms occurring afresh. His eyes remain squeezed shut, trying to outdo themselves in the fierceness of their clamping shut, and silent tears leak from their corners, tracing like cold needles down his hot cheeks. His teeth are still gritted, lips now pressed to a thin, paling line, and his breath comes in fairly short intervals through his nose, hissing from and into him audibly, emphasising the tension of his body.

Norman smirks widely and nibbles gently on Dakarai's left ear, purring very softly in approval before he starts to pull back, dragging his hand along the other man's shaft as he does so. His eyes drift closed again since they'd opened and he stops his nibbling, straightening to run his other hand down Dakarai's spine in an almost fond caress. “Such a good boy,” he murmurs.

Dakarai arches his back slightly, jaw unclenching, lips parting in silence, his head tilting back a touch. A silver droplet hovering at his jawline detaches and hits the desk beside one of the pieces of black plastic, but very much despite that, his length so eagerly responds to the caress by hardening. Somewhere in his mind, the words, 'Shut up,' form as if to be expelled as a verbal assault, but they don't pass his lips, slightly laboured breathing all that escapes.

Norman trembles, leaning his head over Dakarai's shoulder, gently kissing at one cheek as he almost pulled out of the other man, the crown of his shaft keeping him spread. He stayed still for long moments before dragging his hand swiftly and almost painfully hard across Dakarai's length, nails tugging at the soft flesh. “You want this my dear… you know you deserve it,” he smirks past his ear. Pressing his thumb against the tip of Dakarai's shaft, he pushes himself back into him in one hard thrust a gasping groan slipping and falling from his parted lips.

Dakarai evidently can't restrain that malice - and with a guttural, fierce, animalistic growl, throws over his shoulder: “Shut your ugly face up, before I break it.” His left hand, base of the palm ground against the surface of the desk still, curls into something of a fist, fingernails digging against his palm - or rather attempting to, given the gloves don't permit that particular form of self-mutilation. Another soft sound escapes him, this time a medley of a protesting whimper and something of a moan. “…goddamni-” It's hissed, barely audible, cut off by yet another grit of his teeth, as if he wanted to brace for it… without actually doing that.

Norman snarls then, seizing a tiny piece of skin with his teeth and yanking slightly. “Quiet,” he growls. At the same time, his fingers tighten around Dakarai's length and he gives his hips a savage twist, pulling completely out of the slightly smaller man. Narrowing his eyes, he lowers his other hand and squeezes at Dakara's sac, squeezing hard, trying to punish him. “I don't want to hurt you, but you are forcing my hand,” he snaps out as he rams fully back into the other man with a stifled moan.

Dakarai utters a cry as he's so painfully assaulted, folding forward in reflex, pulling from Norman's teeth in the process; his left arm crashes down against the desk, disturbing the parts on it, though it's only a brief moment. An instant later, even as Norman attempts to drive back into him, he's twisting around, left hand extending forward, arm sliding across the desk, fingers curling upward and seizing one of the wires - and with fire in his eyes, pumped with enough adrenalin to almost entirely disregard the pain, he comes to 'fall' back against the desk until he's leant against it with his left hip, left arm swinging to lash the wire at Norman's face.

Norman is fast, although not as fast as Dakarai is, and the first thing he does as his attempt fails is to turn sideways slightly, protecting his face as his hands busied themselves with sliding himself back into his trousers. Even so, the wires lash the back of his head painfully. He glares at the other man then as he backs away. “You only care for yourself. Auran was right about what he said about you. You are a bastard freak. Not human.” He sneers then. “Damn good thing I was only playing with you, trying to worm my way into your confidences so I could break you.” He knows his tone is harsh. “I wouldn't really love some one of my own gender. That's just sick.” A shiver runs through him. “You disgust me. I must scour myself to purge my body of you.” Inwardly his heart is breaking as he speaks but none of this shows outwardly. He turns to leave then. “You non-human fucking slut,” he throws over his shoulder as he starts to open the door. “You just want used. Well that's not going to happen unless somebody takes pity on you and even then they likely will not sully themselves by even killing you.”

Dakarai does not let Norman finish speaking. Even as Auran's name falls, he's snapping out his right hand, left held near his chest, that single line of wire bent awkwardly between them - fingers grab a hold of Norman's shirt, gripping him fiercely, pulling his shape around with that familiar bout of energy and toward the chair, letting go to make him crash into it. “Funny you should resent that,” he growls with frightening determination. “I didn't think you cared for anyone else, either.”

Norman snarls as he is slammed into the chair, moving to rise to his feet again before he slouches, not wanting to test Dakarai's strength. He doesn't make a sound now, lips pressed together in a thin line as he ground his teeth together. “I care for those who are worthy of my caring for them.” He raises his eyes and glares up at Dakarai. “Which isn't you.” Pain flashes swiftly across his face before it is gone again.

“…get out of my apartment before I break each of your bones individually,” Dakarai's eyes narrow, voice level, hissing from him, though he hears almost solely his own heart beat hammering in his chest. He's heaving his breaths, stood as though wanting to tower above this intruder, left hand still gripping the wire, angled as if he were ready to lash out with it a second time should it be necessary. Inhale, exhale. “Be glad I don't know where you live, lest I may feel tempted to desecrate your sanctuary, you respectless fool.”

Norman nods then, sullenly, pushing himself to his feet and past Dakarai, eyes closing to hide the shimmer of tears in his eyes and he stops in the doorway after opening the door, looking back at him as his eyes open without that he says anything before he turns away and is gone; footsteps barely audible as he strides elegantly away.

Dakarai stands immobile for a long moment, staring at where he had thrown Norman, before the ebbing adrenalin in his veins causes the ache of his body to become that much more palpable. A soundless wince distorts his features. The wire clatters to the ground, his hand flexing, before he pulls up his clothes almost absent-mindedly, not seeming as though he felt much of his dignity had been lost. In slow but oddly relaxed stride, he walks over to the door, and the button of his trousers closes as he pulls it shut.