#this is the red cups judgment meme just drawn over again

[sourbat]

For that writing meme: Melm/Mags "first confession of kink"? (it would be kind of funny if it was something pretty tame, but i'll leave it up to your choice! whatever would be most fun to write)

I hope you don’t mind, but I don’t have them openly confess to the kink (though it’s pretty obvious). 

Rating: M for blood and suggestive imagery 

Melmord woke to another promising day underground, hundreds of feet deep within Mordhaus’ flaming hearth. Clothes ironed and waiting for him, and a file containing the weekly agenda already resting in front of his bedroom door, Melmord could always be certain that his omnipresent savior and master was looking out for him, ensuring that no moment was without some purpose, no matter how menial. As he made his way down the long halls, Melmord opened the file. A quick glance at the list of upcoming meetings and destinations ahead suggested a deepening level of trust, if not tolerance of his meager existence. He’d be leaving his underground schloss this week, though not without supervision. Another peruse through the file gave way to the name of his newly appointed overseer, and Melmord smiled.

Another week under Magnus’ watchful eye. It was news worth celebrating over, though Melmord was careful not to give way to expressions, lest the wrong klokateer notice across the screen. Can’t let the big man upstairs know how relieving it is to be working with someone who didn’t try killing him. To be working with a musician again, no matter how “retired” he may be. Someone who, despite the rough edges, had the decency to acknowledge the shreds of humanity that still existed within his ragdoll form.

A fellow prisoner. 

He closed the file and his mouth shut before taking a sharp left, going deeper into the dragon’s pit, towards Magnus’ quarters.

Still new to this section of Mordhaus, Melmord was careful to memorize his steps. He knew he was on the right track when he couldn’t locate any obvious camera glued on his movement, either hidden or outright barred for Magnus’ sake (Note to self: ask Magnus what’s the deal?) Eventually, Melmord stumbled upon a bathroom door, slightly ajar, welcoming him to the amusing sight of Magnus cupping his chin, long goatee tucked into the palm of his hand as he brought a razor to his chin.

“That time of the week?” Melmord remarked, coming to a halt once the older man detected his presence. He leaned against the frame, pushing the door the rest of the way, revealing Magnus in just his jeans. Truth be told, it was a rather nice sight, and Magnus not immediately pushing him away and shutting the door asserted that things between them were still on the incline.

“You’re awake,” Magnus stated, dragging the razor down his cheek.

“Careful,” Melmord added, raising a finger at a small patch of untrimmed facial hair just under the man’s jaw. “You missed a spot.” 

Magnus winced at the finger pointed at him. “Thank you,” he murmured, meeting Melmord’s stare with his grim reflection.

“No prob,” Melmord replied, reading the room and concluding it was still too early for shenanigans. Though Melmord could summon up a smile at later hours, a laugh after a few drinks, a few wandering fingers after a huff of something good, getting anything from Magnus pre-breakfast was like squeezing blood from a beet. Or rock… how did that saying go again?

Melmord tried not to let the silence that followed get to him, but after a solid minute of watching a blade cut through thick hairs, gave in and ignored the obvious signs and asked, “So, you get this week’s memo?” 

“Yes, but I’ve not read,” Magnus answered plainly, eyes still on uneven trim.

“We’re working together again.” 

“Yes, just as I requested.”

“And it actually happened.” Melmord excitedly fiddled with his watch. “Not sure how you did it, man. I’ve been working under Offdensen for well over a year and barely got promoted out of custodial duty. You’re here for a few months, and suddenly we’re–ah, something wrong?”

The razor was pressed over the stubble, just above Magnus’ lengthy beard, but had ceased all progress. His reflection harbored the late stages of tolerance, now shifting to annoyance.   

“I’d prefer no distractions,” Magnus said, voice low and frigid, as though it took some effort on Magnus’ part to keep from yelling at him. “That is, not at this hour.”

The last second add on barely eased the blow to Melmord’s esteem. Alright, the guy wasn’t a morning person.

“I mean,” Melmord began, admittedly caught off-guard by the subtle accusation. His natural inclination was to make a joke of it, berate himself if it meant a speedy getaway. “Is that your way of saying you can’t handle my dashing good looks, or­–”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “What I’m saying is you–ow!”

Blood oozed from the fine, diagonal cut now adorning Magnus’ face. A small, inflamed cut dripping with vibrant red blood, catching Melmord’s attention quicker than the hiss emitting from Magnus’ clenched teeth.

“Shit,” Melmord said, eyes drawn to a fat droplet already seeping into the beginning of Magnus’ beard. “Here, let me…” 

“No, I’m good.”

“You’re bleeding.”

The action was without thought. Right as Magnus tossed his razor into the sink, Melmord stepped forward, thumb pressed over the cut to stop any further bleeding. Magnus made a slight complaint, another gruff noise to suggest his discomfort, but it vanished under the heated pulse that hummed a constant beat under Melmord’s thumb. Underneath, he felt the warm blood trickle, and as it threatened to pour into Magnus’ peppered roots, reminded Melmord of the single red flash, then darkness that once haunted him. Blood ran further, and as he watched Magnus’ eyes land on him, Melmord saw the blood once more, only this time it lacked the nauseous suggestions, and instead, invited Melmord with its heavy scent.

Another act performed, and Melmord lifted his thumb from Magnus. Not looking away from the man, he brought his thumb to his lips and, unthinking, lapped it up with his tongue. Sweet iron flavored his mouth, leaving behind traces of a man he was still figuring out, and Melmord pursed his lips round it all, sucking and harvesting sweet memories of another life.  

“That was…”

Melmord caught Magnus starting at him with that look. The “holy shit, dude, really” look. The “you’re into that, huh” judgmental stare. Melmord knew it well enough, had made it himself on a rare occasion; however, it was the first time he’d seen Magnus make it, and it was aimed directly at him.

Now, suddenly aware of his surroundings, Melmord brought his hand down to his side, tucking his stained thumb into a fist.

“Bad habit of mine,” Melmord said, stopping Magnus from finishing his thoughts. “Used to, uh, cut myself when I was starting out.” He pointed at the messy scruff lining his face. “That cutting. Not the bad kind. But, uh, I guess I got used to the taste of blood, haha. Didn’t think I’d…well, you know, bro?” 

With the same hand, Melmord combed through his heavy locks, and laughed. Magnus flinched back, left eye wincing as his chin drew upwards, releasing a new line of blood that only served to make Melmord more aware of the discomforting situation.  

“Well, I won’t bother you anymore,” he said, eyes caught between Magnus’ deepening frown, at the blood now decorating his tangled beard. Still, as nice Magnus looked in red, Melmord wasn’t going to risk going any further, and stepped out of the bathroom. “See you at the breakfast table,” he said, back facing the older man. “Or, later. Whenever, really. I ain’t in any hurry.”

It was hardly a save, but by this point, Melmord was more invested in vanishing from existence than he was in saving face.

Licking up his supervisor’s blood? And right after Magnus told him he wasn’t in any mood?

Well, this was going to be the start of a rather…interesting week.  

“Ow.” 

Melmord halted, eye flickering at the low voice that pierced the hall. Hesitant, he glanced over his shoulder, looking past greasy locks and finding the bathroom door fully opened, and Magnus standing at the edge, just under the frame. Blood ran down his chin, into his beard, and just like before, Melmord was drawn to how well it complemented Magnus peppered locks and sharp features. But it was the patter of blood dripping from his hand that had Melmord about-facing. The razor, now clenched in Magnus’ hand, dribbled with blood. Melmord watched, awestruck, as Magnus released his grip, letting it fall and hit the floor. He brought his hand up and stared, eyes yielding little information as he turned his palm towards Melmord. 

Melmord swallowed at the sight of blood now decorating Magnus’ hand, along with the knowledge that, of the few rooms that were guaranteed no monitoring, the washrooms were one of them.

From the tip of Magnus’ beard, a single droplet gathered, filled and snapped off, dropping and splattering over the top of Magnus’ foot.  

With his impression already made, Melmord had little trouble dropping to his knees once the bathroom door was closed. 

A very interesting week indeed.