Blue Man Coalescence for @Makingmyway

[forrestertailor]

Forrester Tailor is a three storey turn of the century townhome made of red sandstone. There is a hexagonal tower on the front corner, with bay windows looking out onto the street and in onto the shop that makes up the first floor. The front door in etch glass and dark, polish wood, set back in a shaded porch that opens through a circular marble archway that grows down into a set of low steps onto the street. The porch is shaded by a second floor balcony built of the same white marble, with the posts of its railing carved to read 'Forrester Tailor.' Dorian has never been upstairs, the ground floor itself offers plenty of fascinations all its own, but he's come and gone from the shop enough times to find the ostentatiousness of the façade pleasant and familiar now.

Luka Forrester himself has become one of those familiar fascinations, too. Dorian usually finds him in the racks of the tall, red curtained main room of the shop. Here there are Persian rugs covering the hardwood floor, gently gold globe lights hanging from the tin tiled ceiling, long curtains covering the tall windows that face the neighboring buildings and a pair of covered mirrors. Everything else is shelves and racks and stacks of clothing of every cut, shape, material and purpose imaginable. There is a fitting room off the main room and a pair of pocket doors that close on a tomb of bolts of fabric and the rattling sewing machine Luka can be found at from time to time.

The man himself is tall, a full seven feet, and built as broad and brawny as any experienced adventurer. He's got pointed ears, dark blue skin, and yellow eyes like a cat's. Dorian has to wonder what combination of Drow he might be, though Luka has ducked the question if it's ever asked of him. With his good looks and implacable accent, a non answer is just as good as a real one.

He finds Luka at the large desk at the back of the main room, just in front of the tomb of fabric, reading the newspaper and nursing a cup of tea. The cup is a tiny, elegant porcelain thing with gilded lip and handle. It looks silly pinched in Luka's big hand, in a way that reflects the oddness Dorian feels in this building. The ornateness of the place is one thing, but it's also been built on a total different scale than Dorian is used to, all the doors, press-buttons for the lights, coat hooks and any other fixture built for someone Luka's size. The feeling of being a foot too short is now also familiar to him, though perhaps not altogether pleasant.

Luka sets his cup down, looking up over the corner of the newspaper.

"Dorian, right on time as usual I see."

Comments

[makingmyway]

Dorian shivers a little as he practically curls up against Luka’s chest, or at least as best as he able to while standing. His breathing comes out a bit heavy, the pleasure still coursing through his body and leaving him feeling weak but satisfied.

He hums softly at the question, his voice a bit dry and hoarse even as he tries to clear it. “It…It felt good,” he eventually concedes.

[forrestertailor]

“You flatter me,” Luka waves a hand demurely and traces its fingertips down Dorian’s cheek. Lazily, he hooks an arm around the other man’s shoulders to keep them together. “And how does it feel to be the owner of a new cloak?”

[makingmyway]

He leans into the touch at his cheek, even as he flushes at the reminder of his cloak.

“A-Ah…in all honesty, I’d…almost forgotten about it.”

[forrestertailor]

Luka gives his cheek a soft pinch.

“Eyes on the prize, Storm. If you think too much with that thing you’ll miss more than a cloak, you know.”

[makingmyway]

Dorian flinches a bit at the pinch, and a part of him wants to argue that this hadn’t even been his idea in the first place. But he bites his tongue, because technically he had offered anything, so he supposes that is on him.

“R-Right,” he says instead, then clears his throat. “So, um…is that it, then?”

He hopes he doesn’t sound quite as disappointed as that felt.

[forrestertailor]

“‘Is that it?’” Luka puffs up his chest in fake umbrage, giving Dorian more cushion to lean his head on. He scoffs. “Here I thought I might scare you off with just that.”

He tosses his soiled handkerchief aside for emphasis.

“If you want more you only need to ask, Dorian.”

[makingmyway]

Worried that he might have offended the other man for a moment, he relaxes at the offer. He chuckles, glancing up at Luka a bit sheepishly.

“I…wouldn’t mind going a bit further. If that’s all right.”

[forrestertailor]

"I'll have to check with my priest." Luka laughs, taking Dorian's hand and guiding him to the work table. He pats the surface of the table, offering it as a seat, and cocks his head at Dorian. "What should I ask the father about? What have you got in mind?"

[makingmyway]

Dorian hops up onto the table, fiddling a bit with the loose ties of his pants, less trying to retie them and more just needing to do something with his hands.

“Ah, well…” He hesitates a moment, swallowing to try and wet his throat as he runs the words through his mind. “You…haven’t had a turn yet, to uh…to come. So I thought maybe I could…return the favor.”

[forrestertailor]

"What a generous soul you are." Luka faces him, leaning a hand on the table beside Dorian's thigh. He plucks one of Dorian's hands and puts it on his crotch, making the other man feel him up. Through his pants Dorian can feel he's half hard and heavy. Proportionate for a man who stands seven feet tall, and Dorian can only assume made of the same fine stuff as the rest of him.

[makingmyway]

Dorian sucks in a breath as his hand cups between Luka’s legs, feeling the generous bulge there. He swallows thickly, his own spent cock twitching just a bit at the thought.

“M-Mm…well I was also thinking…” He applies a gentle pressure as he moves palms the other man’s crotch. “Would you, perhaps, like to uh…finish inside me?”

It’s a bit more forward than he would normally be, but…well, Luka did say he could ask.

[forrestertailor]

"How could I turn up such an invitation?" Luka grins, leaning into Dorian's hand. Being pet like this, and offered far more, has him blushing a deep indigo. He rests both hands on Dorian's thighs, thumbing the open buttons at his fly. "You'll let me know if my strength gets the better of me, won't you?"

[makingmyway]

Dorian shivers a little, nodding. “To be honest, I’m stronger than I look,” he says, trying to be flirty but the words come out a bit breathier than he’d hoped. “But I will, yes.”

[forrestertailor]

"Oh, I've not doubt you are." Luka curls his fingers along Dorian's thighs, inching his trousers down before he slid both hands under his waistband and pulled them off. He pet the inside of Dorian's bare thigh with one hand and started fishing through the drawers of the work table with the other. As he did he looked distracted, leaving himself open for Dorian to touch while he spoke absently. "Have you thought about this a great deal, Dorian?"

[makingmyway]

Dorian shifts his hips a bit to help make removing his trousers easier, shivering as the hand ran along his bare skin.

The question has the flush on his cheeks darkening a shade, even as he continues to palm Luka’s arousal with one hand, the other running along the other man’s chest.

“N-Not exactly,” he replies. “At least, not this specifically.”

[forrestertailor]

"Oh?" Luka's ears perk up and Dorian can tell he is entirely focused on him again. His hand fishes a bottle out of the drawer and sets it down, plucking open his own pants and sighing softly as Dorian stroked him. His smile is bright. "You flatter me. It's one fair I tell you, I've thought about you a time or two myself."

[makingmyway]

Dorian removes his hand briefly to help ease Luka's pants down, but stills again as he glances up at the man's face in surprise. "Really?"

[forrestertailor]

"Of course. To be quite honest, Dorian, this isn't the first time I've accepted an alternative form of payment." Luka smiled demurely at him, taking the small bottle of pouring its slick contents over his fingers. "And you must own a mirror, you can forgive me for hoping."

[makingmyway]

Dorian's cheeks flush a bit at that, and he clears his throat as he glances away. "W-Well, I...don't presume that everyone would be attracted to me," he tries, but it's more embarrassed than anything else.

[forrestertailor]

"You should," Luka does not appear to be joking about that. "I know I certainly do, it works out quite well. Though the tills run a little bare because of it."

He takes Dorian's chin in his dry hand, tilting his head up to face Luka. His other hand cups Dorian's ass and smears lube across it.

"Why second guess yourself, Dorian?"

[makingmyway]

Dorian’s eyes widen a bit as his gaze is brought back up to meet Luka’s, his breath hitching as the cool lube is spread across his ass.

“I-I…I’ve been disappointed before,” he says reluctantly, after a moment. “Made to know better, as it were.”

Which is fairly normal, he’s certain, but…it’s been a fairly constant thing most of his life.

[forrestertailor]

"There are a number of fools in the world." Luka replied simply. His hand cupped Dorian's ass, slipping under it and spreading lube over him hole, tracing it with a fingertip.

[makingmyway]

Dorian sucks in a sharp breath, his hands gripping the other man’s shoulders, his entrance fluttering at the touch.

“W-Well…people can’t help who they’re attracted to.” He has a few friends who he knows he isn’t their type.

Back at in again at Krispy Kreme, as they say

[forrestertailor]

"People are fickle," He smoothed his free hand up Dorian's back, up his neck and sank his cold fingers into his hair. His other hand worked neatly, petting Dorian before easing him open around a finger tip, then a knuckle, then another finger. He hummed happily, feeling how tight he was. "It makes me grateful to have such lovely things all around me."

Haha welcome back!

[makingmyway]

Dorian shivers as the fingers sink into his hair, sending a pleasant sensation along his scalp and down his spine. Then his breath hitches as the finger slowly slips inside him, his grip tightening on the other man’s shoulders as his muscles yield to the attention.

“O-Ooh…”