ph_logs | December TL -- A Triptych

December TL -- A Triptych

Who: Pyotr Stamatin and players like you <3
What: Open post for those who would like to meet Artemy and Daniil's castmate!
When: December
Where: See below
Warning(s): Depression, alcoholism, and suicide ideation, including references to a successful attempt pre-game.

Panel One -- The Oak & Iron

A new ghost has come to Pumpkin Hollow.

His heart may beat, his skin feels warm, but he is a ghost all the same, one with clenched jaw and burning, agonized eyes. Coming here was a mistake; he'd opened his veins in anticipation of oblivion. Finding himself in a mundane office instead so bewildered Pyotr that he'd participated in the following conversation by rote, agreeing to everything the strange woman said so he could get away. And now he's stuck here, in a place where he can't die.

Nothing could be worse -- except for the fact that he's also sober. No, even worse than that: he feels healthy, in a way he hasn't since boyhood. Steady hands, clear eyes...if he cut himself open he'd probably find his liver fresh and regular in color, free of the cirrhosis that used to fret Andrey so until he rejoined Pyotr in architecture.

His thoughts follow one after the other in steady procession, without interruption or pause. Agonizing. Intolerable -- and he knew from long experience that wine would not be enough to soothe his soul, but it would make a fair enough anesthetic. If he could just stop thinking...

A ghost in the shape of a man sits down at the bar at the Oak & Iron, looking no higher than the level of the counter as he orders a bottle of wine.

Panel Two -- The edge of the woods

Eventually the noise of the bar gets to be too much for him. All those people coming and going, and even when they do him the courtesy of ignoring him he struggles to do the same. There was a reason he always avoided the Broken Heart...

No surprise, then, that he eventually walks out in search of a little quiet. He winds up on a track leading west out of town, through a thin patch of wood that opens out into farmland. There by a wooden fence, an interesting sight at last: a fallen kite, built in the shape of a bird out of colored paper and sticks. He turns it over gently and finds one of its wings crushed beneath the body, its bones snapped in twos and threes.

"Don't be sad," he tells it softly. "A bird can live quite well without its wings, so long as it takes care to avoid the cats."

Panel Three -- The Temple

The Cathedral was a loathsome sight, a great dead block of stone with neither love nor the will to seek it. He'd never understood Eva's infatuation with the cursed place; he'd boarded up all the windows in his flat that faced that side of town, so he wouldn't see even a speck of it by accident. The Temple...is not like that. Even standing outside, he can tell: this is a building with a soul.

Possibly four of them, if you listened to the locals.

It makes him sick, the way these people talk about their goddesses. Like they're people who can be just walked up to and touched --! It's not the first time Pyotr's wondered how much simpler his life might have been -- if he'd born one of the Kin, for instance -- but now the question burns him like a stomach full of coals. If he'd been born in a world like this...

What is he even doing here? Do these goddesses long for death? They could have satisfied themselves with Burakh in that case; he's the experienced god-killer. Pyotr Stamatin's talents lie more in the area of divine maiming. And besides, his useful days are over for everyone. What did they bring him here for?

Supposedly, he might be able to just walk right in and find out. Supposedly...

Fuck it, he's freezing his balls off out here. Pyotr pushes the heavy door open ahead of himself, passing through -- and immediately loses his nerve, sitting down on one of the nearest pews. This is fine.

The Frame -- Wildcards welcome

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"Yes, alright," Pyotr readily agrees. Too readily; he has no real conception of what Erik expects of him. A lifetime of indolence and co-dependence will do that to you -- and sure enough, his mouth curves in a small smirk.

"I wasn't expecting to find a new brother in the afterlife." His shoulders rise with a breathless huff of a laugh. "Much less one who'd want to stop me from drinking. But you're just as bloodthirsty as Andrey...and far more good-looking...so I guess you'll do." He grins briefly before offering his wrists to Erik again. "What do you want of me?"

Edited 2025-01-01 22:26 (UTC)

Erik's tone is a little too sharp when he says, "I am not your brother." That's one thing he cannot abide. He would never do these things with a sibling. Not the first time, not now.

Erik takes the man's wrist and lifts it to his lips teasing at more, only to gently kiss the unbroken skin and say, in an authoritative voice, "I want you to clean yourself up and go down to have more water and a meal. You've only just come back to, and my lust for blood is still sated from last night."

"I was speaking poetically, of course," Pyotr insists (but was he? Was he really?). He watches, rapt, as Erik raises his wrist to his mouth, a shivering going all the way through him when he's let off with a simple kiss.

"If those are your conditions, I've no choice but to obey," he gives his consent, eyes shining and closer to lively than they've been since his arrival in Pumpkin Hollow. "But you will have me again soon, won't you? Andrey once told me that the body begins replenishing blood within 48 hours -- I know I'm not in the healthiest shape, but if the point is to drain me dry anyway..."

"Of course," Erik says with a tight smile.

It does his soul some real good to see the brightness returning to Pyotr's eyes. If this is what will give the man some zest for life again then, so be it. The arrangement isn't really that disagreeable at all. Except for...

"Yes. Soon. But must I drain you dry? I could drink you until you're weak and dizzy and let you experience that for an entire night. Is it really death you crave or balancing on the knife's edge?"

If Erik's question was meant as a distraction, it works to perfection: Pyotr immediately turns thoughtful, tilting his head with a quiet hum. "That would be interesting," he softly agrees. "Like drunkenness or a drugged lethargy, but brought by the sacrifice of a piece of my body instead of the addition of chemistry...We can try that next time, if you wish."

There's a good chance he'd let Erik do almost anything to him, if only it involved touching him, hurting him somehow...

It's working just as intended. If he can talk his new client down from death, it would be far more palatable. Not to mention more convenient.

"There is a similar euphoria that can occur, yes. I'd like to see what you look like in the throes of it." He smiles with a little extra teeth, just to sweeten the offer.

"Since you are so new, it seems your body has returned in the same state in which you arrived. That won't do; you'll hardly be able to nourish me like that. Besides, I suspect there will be some fall-out from the disturbance last night. I'll need to see that it's been taken care of first. Be patient for me, won't you?"

"I will," he agrees eagerly, his wide eyes locked on Erik's teeth. "Let me prove myself to you. I swear you won't have any complaints."

Whether or not that's actually a promise he can keep, Pyotr is at least sober, upright, and freshly-bathed when he delivers himself to Erik's front door several days later, his hair wind-mussed and sticking to his face as he waits to be allowed inside. At some point he conceded to the demands of the flesh and purchased a heavier coat...he still doesn't have a hat or a scarf, though. Or gloves...it's fine, though, right? He doesn't go outside that much anyway.

Erik is pleased to see him in that coat, though he thinks he might just send him home with a spare pair of mittens and a stocking cap to complete that set. Not that he doesn't enjoy the windswept look. He does. He's even more pleased that his nose can confirm Pryotr's good behavior extends beyond just that. He'll get plenty of praise today.

"Welcome in," Erik says with a toothy smile as he ushers Pyotr through his door and then past the parlor and into his work/play room. Inside the large space is a sturdy bed with tall pillars and various rings and latches that are very clearly intended for the leather straps and chains all hanging neatly from a rack on the wall. Usually, Erik would have a curtain pulled over those to hide them for modesty sake, but he suspects Pyotr might like seeing them exposed. The same is true for the standing cross in the other corner of the room. It's lined with leather padding and has places to put straps on both the arms and legs of the X-shaped wood.

Also in the room are more mundane instruments. A few chairs, a plush fainting couch, a closed wardrobe full of different clothing and accessory items being among the larger of them. There also happens to be another shelf filled exclusively with clean sheets and towels, sat next to a washing basin, with a sitting tub peeking out from around a modesty screen. Erik doesn't neglect his aftercare, so he also has an abundant amount of Max's bread from the bakery along with some dried fruit and a pitcher of chilled water set out on a side table near the fireplace. He hopes Pyotr might give him a reason to need those things today, by choosing to live to the end of it.

"You may touch whatever you like. Come in and get comfortable. I see you've been taking care of yourself. Good. Very good."

Erik can hear, no doubt, the way Pyotr's heartbeat quickens as he enters that room, eyeing those instruments of debauchery. The praise stains his cheeks with pink, and he fidgets with his coat and the strap of his bag.

"I said I would," he quietly points out, staring at the floor now. Turned shy by desire, he mumbles, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. What you did to me before, what you might do to me now...I'd say it haunts me, but --" He grins at the floor, sharp and lively, eagerness unrestrained. "That would imply a negative that manifestly does not exist."

"And you proved yourself a man of your word," Erik praises. "I shall do the same."

The sudden shyness in the face of his deep desire is quite cute in Erik's eyes. He stalks closer, shrugging the coat down Pyotr's shoulders for him from behind as he grins, himself, making them a matched set.

His cold fingers glide down to Pyotr's wrist, gripping there with promised force, echoing the way he'd brought the man's hands to his teeth the last time.

"Since we are both feeling fresher, I intend to take my time on you, Pyotr. I'll give you such exquisite pain. I'll make your mind dance in dizzy circles, and hold you on the edge of my teeth. That's only just the beginning of what I can do."

"Ah, please..." He shudders, leaning into Erik's grip -- as he turns to meet Erik's eyes, he does find himself wishing that the other man was a bit taller, so he could rest his head on Erik's chest...but it's not important. Once Erik puts him on his knees or straps him to something or lays him out on that bed, whatever it is he's planning to do, the height difference will conclusively cease to matter.

"In case it wasn't obvious," he quietly confesses, looking down at Erik with bitten lip and hungry eyes, "I rarely do this kind of thing. I can't even remember the last time I asked someone to touch me." It must have been with Farkhad, before everything went so wrong -- but his memories of that time are blurred from twyrine, so it's not really a lie. "But you, the feelings you stir in me -- they're an exception. So forgive me if my reactions seem strange or my manners are insufficiently polished."

Despite the difference in height, Erik's stance, and the command in his hard gaze is meant to lock Pyotr in place, to start to make him feel small and perhaps a little helpless. Yet, Erik's voice is warm and reassuring. "There's nothing to forgive. I crave your reactions, the less polished the better. You are in my parlor now and there's no need for the manners of the outside world. All you need to do is exactly what I tell you. Let those feeling stir and I will quench them."

His free hand moves up to cup Pyotr's cheek, nails lightly scratching his skin, "That said, one of my first rules is that I do nothing, no matter how brutal, without your consent. If you want me to stop, you can trust that I will. But, not until you tell me. I am many things, but not a mind reader." His hand slides down to Pyotr's throat, gripping only lightly, "Understood?"

"Yes..." Pyotr shudders hard. Erik's charisma...well, it's certainly effective. Pyotr tips his head back slightly, exposing his throat to Erik's grip. "I understand...I'll do as you say. But..."

But he's still Andrey Stamatin's brother, and they would never have gotten so far if they weren't both in love with pushing boundaries. He opens eyes that moments ago had fluttered shut to give Erik a curious, searching look. "What will you do if I don't?" he asks.

Pyotr's shudder stirs the predator in him. Rather than resist, he reaches into the feeling, drawing himself up just a little higher on the balls of his feet. His fingers tighten around Pyotr's throat. "Defy me and find out."

"Hah...it's a little early to play the rebel. I'd rather beg you for more. Would you like that?" His eyes are very bright now, fiendishly interested as he hunts for Erik's buttons. What will it take to make him react further? What will that reaction look like.

"Would you have me on my knees?" he presses further. "Should I undress now, or would you rather do it yourself?"

"I would love to see you beg for me, Pet," Erik's eyes are bright too, and his teeth are on full display. His hand loosens from Pyotr's throat to drag down his chest, nails plucking at the fabric dangerously.

"I will have you on your knees soon enough, but first you have a choice to make. Undress for me, or I will rip those clothes off of you--and I will not be careful." Up to Pyotr if what he wore here means enough to him to save it.

Surprise and interest chase each other across Pyotr's face, followed only belatedly by the thoughtful consideration such a suggestion really requires. "If you do that," he finally says, disappointed, "I won't have anything to wear home. But perhaps next time?"

He quickly begins undoing his shirt, long fingers nearly flying over the buttons. When was the last time he felt so eager for...anything?

Erik notes that reaction down for later, pleased when Pyotr makes such a fine suggestion. "We'll plan on it for next time. I suggest leaving a small overnight bag here, in fact." He has a secure space where he has several other overnight bags stored, each with it's own lock and key for that extra sense of privacy.

He stands back now to watch Pyotr eagerly disrobe. His expression sits on the fence-line between possessive and admiring, and his eyes never stop boring into Pyotr's skin as it's revealed inch by inch. Once the last piece is shucked away, Erik steps in close enough for their shoulders to touch as he circles around with all the menace of a hungry shark. Pyotr won't be able to see Erik now where he stands as his back, but the sensation of eyes searing into him never lessens.

"Good. Very good. Now, I want you to kneel."

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December TL -- A Triptych

cw: vaguely incestuous subtext (which is only subtext but just to be safe)

cw: incestuous subtext (a little less vague this time)

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