entrancelogs | + Where Do Your Loyalties Lie? +

Entry tags:

+ Where Do Your Loyalties Lie? +

Who: Everyone
Where: The party
When: 7/21-7/23
Rating: PG-13 (warn if you go higher)
Summary:
The Story:
Orlais' current ruler, Lacie, has invited anyone of name, fame, and influence to The Winter Palace for three days of extravagant festivities surrounding the peace talks between her and Tillie, whose grasp for the throne has plunged beautiful Orlais into a dreadful civil war. Unbeknownst to both a third player, Elsie, has worked tirelessly behind the scenes to obtain her own share of power over the land.

Get ready for three days of fancy food, fine drink, good music, good entertainment, and just a little bit of murder, maybe? Your character has secured an invitation, and will join the illustrious crowd, become privy to the latest scandals and gossip, and observe as the struggle for Orlais' throne reaches its final chapter.

[OOC: This is an open mingle log for the Dragon Age event. The plotting post can be found here and event details can be found on the Bulletin Board.]

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[He almost wants to make a joke about Mettaton maybe getting something other than his eye on a Qunari, but he doesn't. He generally thinks that he knows where he stands with Mettaton, but habits die hard. You don't say something that could sound insulting, especially not when someone else might hear it.]

It has been quite a privilege, having the Inquisition visiting. I have never seen so many different people all together like that.

[He even means that. He admires the Inquisition. They just...don't seem to judge people the way others do.]

[He gives a soft inhale as Mettaton traces a finger along his neck. It's a calculated move, but it sends a little thrill down his spine. Mettaton knows exactly what he's doing.]

[His eyes hood a little.]

"Everything," hm? Well...if you would be so kind as to follow me...

[He slips along the wall and out of Mettaton's space in one easy, fluid motion, as if he was never really trapped to begin with. He smiles faintly and starts moving toward a doorway that leads to a storage room.]

[Neither of them can say anything outright. Consent cannot be written so clearly that anyone can see it, but it can be coded into words and phrases and subtle touches. Of course, he's not being as subtle as he could be but it has been terribly long since he's seen Sans last and part of the appeal of this party had been the potential opportunity to see him.

There's always been something about Sans that has made Mettaton crave more, and tonight is no different.

He lets Sans lead the way, eyes dark and intense, watching his every move hungrily. He waits for a few seconds before following after. They are not equals. They cannot walk side by side. When he reaches the storage room a part of him wants to tear into him immediately, teeth on flesh, hands under clothes, and have him shouting his name in seconds.

Instead he saunters in, looking both completely out of place and like he's the most brilliant thing in the room. He's six feet of pure charisma, the darkness of the room hiding his light brown skin as he makes sure the door shuts behind him. His hands are gentle as he feels out for Sans again as he wraps them around his waist.]

You're so gracious, darling. Are you this accommodating for everyone, or just me?

[He's not usually about this sort of thing. Sans keeps his head down, and as far as he's concerned, he's not exactly the most attractive of people, even among commoners. Mettaton isn't the first noble to approach him for...extra services, but Sans had never let anyone get their hands on him until Mettaton. He's got a knack for getting out of dangerous situation, but Mettaton has never been a dangerous situation. His charm goes past the usual horse shit of the aristocracy. And he's kind. He has never been rough or demanding, and sometimes Sans lets himself wonder if Mettaton might actually care about him. As much as a noble can care about a commoner, at least.]

[There's been a connection between them for awhile now, and there's no point in denying it.]

[It's darker in the storage room, but it's still easy enough to see Mettaton. Mettaton's hands are on him as soon as the door is closed, and Sans lets himself be backed against some storage containers. He reaches up and pulls down his mask so Mettaton can see him grinning.]

You insult me, My Lord. As if anyone else could handle me.

[His grin is cocky and inviting and it causes a mirror of it on Mettaton's face as well. He lifts one hand from its place at Sans's waist to his face and traces the curve of his cheekbones with his thumb.]

That's good to hear. I'd be in danger of feeling jealous if I knew anyone else had managed to garner your attention.

[He leans down and places his face close to Sans's neck, letting his hot breath tickle his skin.]

I doubt anyone else can make you feel as good as I can though.

[Mettaton lays a hand on his face and Sans can't help but lean into it. He has always liked how that feels. Something about the warmth, maybe.]

[He chuckles a little, mostly at the idea that anyone else could get his attention. It's happened before--crushes and the like--but it happens so rarely. Another thing that makes Sans an odd one. So many other servants fawn over attractive people or this or that noble or chevalier, so many nobles lusting after each other, and half the time Sans just...doesn't see the appeal. Something else that's probably wrong with him. Like maybe the blood magic broke something inside him.]

You know I'm yours, Lord Mettaton.

[When Mettaton is around, though, he gets it. Most of the time, at least. He's glad tonight seems to be a night where everything is working properly.]

[He feels comfortable getting his hands on Mettaton now that Mettaton has started things off. He's always--maybe a bit shy about it. He can talk a big game, but he really hasn't done this often enough to have any confidence with it. And Mettaton is much taller than him, which makes getting a handhold a bit difficult. One hand settles at Mettaton's waist, the other going to his upper arm.]

[He feels Mettaton's breath against his neck and shivers a little.]

Are you telling me I should...heh, experiment? Do some thorough testing for comparison?

[This might be the last night, he realizes. If he follows through on his plan, gets himself and his brother out of Orlais by the time this party is over, he'll probably never see Mettaton again. He holds on a little tighter. He knows full well he won't change his mind, but it...stings. More than he thought it would.]

You know, I...mm. I've missed you, My Lord.

[It's a surprisingly tender thing to do, laying your hand on someone's face. It only becomes more so when Sans leans into it and Mettaton is vaguely grateful that no one can see them and that its dark in here. The softness in his eyes would be too obvious in the light. He sucks in a quick breath when Sans says that he's his and thrusts his hips forward a bit into Sans, biting his neck and leaving a small mark there as he does.]

I love it when you talk like that.

[He nips a bit more at his skin, leaving gentle love bites as he makes his way up and down his neck before moving up to put his mouth by his ear. He licks the shell of Sans's ear, once again delicate and feather-light, teasing.]

Mmm, why bother testing when you have the fact of me here, warming you up with my touch?

[He pushes him a bit harder against the containers, pressing his body flush to his partner as he does. He hesitates for just a moment, hands frozen, unsure of really what to do or say but... he decides perhaps he'll just be truthful.]

I missed you too, Sans. I was dearly hoping I would see you here.

[Mettaton reacts like Sans thought he would. A lot of nobles seem to really sort of...get off on power. Mettaton is the only one who isn't scary about it. Sans melts into it, shivering a little as Mettaton nips at his neck and pushes him harder against the containers. He shivers even harder when Mettaton licks his ear.]

[He's already breathing faster. If this really is going to be their last night then they have to make it count. God, he can't even tell Mettaton that it's the last. He can't risk Mettaton trying to stop him, or mentioning something to the wrong person.]

Fair enough, then. Why...ah, why question what you already know, right?

[It's like he can feel every contour of Mettaton's body. What he wouldn't give for them to be able to spend this night properly instead of just--stolen moments in a damn storage room. He kisses at Mettaton's neck when he leans closer, fingers toying with some of the fastenings on his clothes.]

I'm glad you came tonight. I...

[He doesn't know what to say. He reaches up and takes hold of Mettaton's face to pull him down for a hard kiss. It's deep and passionate and almost desperate. And maybe a little surprising, since he doesn't usually initiate anything--it's not his place to.]

[His breath is quickening and it's hard to not let himself get caught up in the moment and push things along. Restraint is hard for a man who has had everything given to him when asked for but he manages to compromise to just slipping his hands under his shirt rather than letting them slip elsewhere- yet.]

Exactly, darling. No need to think so much. Just feel.

[Sans's fingers play with the strings on his clothes and Mettaton just wants to shimmy out of them so he can press his hot flesh against Sans. The kisses at his neck garner a low, guttural groan and he bends his neck to give him more access.]

Oh, Sans...

[He intended to say more but then Sans is kissing him so desparately that it catches him off guard. It doesn't take long for him to get his bearings back however and he kisses back with as much fervor and a bit of wonder at how forward Sans is being right now. He's not complaining even though he knows he should. This is technically a breach of protocol and power but god does Sans know how to use his tongue so Mettaton melts into it, letting out another low moan into the kiss as he does.]

[Mettaton is always careful. He's always more restrained than he probably wants to be. Sans is pretty sure they've never outright discussed it, but he thinks Mettaton must have picked up on the fact that Sans isn't always...in the mood. He's never teased Sans for it either, which is yet another thing Sans appreciates.]

[Yet another reason why the idea of leaving is so painful.]

[His breath hitches as Mettaton's hands slip under his shirt. God, he's so good with his hands. And his mouth, and the rest of him.]

Perhaps I have an overactive mind...

[Something a servant really shouldn't have, let alone admit to having. It's easier to be genuine around Mettaton. He's one of the only people that Sans can be himself around--or at least close enough to it.]

[He makes a soft sound into the kiss, loving the way Mettaton almost melts. As if not only did he not expect Sans to take initiative, but he...likes it. Or perhaps he's just surprised.]

[The kiss lingers for several long moments, and Sans is breathing hard when he finally pulls away.]

F...Forgive me if I overstepped my...

[He feels overly warm. He's usually good at keeping himself under control, even under Mettaton's ministrations, but right now it's like his soul is in turmoil.]

[Mettaton's head is spinning when Sans pulls away from the kiss. His eyes are hooded and his face flushed as he looks to Sans again. The servant seems pretty out of it himself and Mettaton grinds his hips against him. There's no real denying just how excited he is getting from all of this.]

Do not apologize for a damn good kiss.

[He says that with a low growl and a drop in his proper speaking. He shudders a bit and then pulls Sans in for another hot and heavy kiss as he runs his hands over as much of Sans's skin that he has access to. One hand creeps down to toy at the edge of his pants.

After another heated moment he pulls away from the kiss, panting a bit.]

Sans...

[He presses his forehead to Sans's and in that moment is struck with a sudden idea. He doesn't think about it, or what it may mean, or what it could potentially do to his reputation, but he speaks.]

Come away from this place. Come live with me. You can stay in my villa. I'll take care of you.

[He leans down and kisses his neck again. His lips are hot as he parts them to lick and suck a bit on a chosen spot. After that short ministration more words come tumbling out of his mouth in a rush, feverish against Sans's neck.]

I can find a way to hide you from Lacie so she'll never know where you disappeared to. No one would know and even if they did find out, I could protect you.

[A small sound escapes him as Mettaton presses forward. It's a good thing that Sans had no delusions about trying to hold himself back tonight.]

[The praise makes him weak in the knees. Mettaton knows that particular weakness, but Sans thinks he meant it. It helps his less than stellar self-confidence. Mettaton kisses him again, leaving him breathless, and Sans revels in the feeling of his mouth and tongue, his hands traveling over his skin.]

[He's ready for more, but then Mettaton pulls back. Sans is momentarily confused until Mettaton presses his forehead to Sans's. He makes another small sound, warmth rushing through him. He has never understood why that gesture feels so real and intimate to him, but he has tried not to question it.]

[Mettaton starts talking, though, and Sans's eyes snap open. He blinks and stares up at Mettaton.]

[Come live with me. I'll take care of you.]

[It's...it's more than Sans ever expected. More than he deserves. A few months back he might have chalked this up to Mettaton just wanting easier access. He knows better now, and the offer only drives it home. Mettaton is willing to risk his reputation for him. For a lowly, worthless servant. He...he shouldn't. He shouldn't care that much about someone like Sans.]

I-I...ah...

[It's hard to think when Mettaton starts kissing him again. Harder to remember why he shouldn't just agree to it. For a few, blissful moments, he can actually envision it. Mettaton's villa, away from Lacie and all the court politics. Him and Mettaton together, no longer having to hide. Happy, safe.]

[Mettaton keeps talking, and it's such a lovely picture. Such a lovely fiction. All at once, Sans feels cold down to his bones. I could protect you. No. No, he couldn't. What's more, he shouldn't. Lacie herself might not even notice the disappearance of some random servant, but some of the other servants would. Someone would say something. Or what about Mettaton's servants? Sans doesn't know a single one of them and he can't trust people he doesn't know. It would just take some offhand comment from one of them. At best it would just be a scandal for Mettaton, but for Sans? Hell, he doesn't even know. He has no idea what Lacie would do to him.]

[It would mean heightened scrutiny on Sans either way. Someone would figure it out. Someone would find out his secret, and...it's not like Mettaton would protect a blood mage, no matter how much he cares about Sans. Mettaton would assume what everyone else would assume--that Sans had bewitched him or something. He'd be betrayed, horrified, and he'd throw Sans to the wolves, like anyone in their right mind would do. Or worse, the Chantry would assume that Mettaton had knowingly harbored a blood mage. Mettaton could lose his land and titles or worse.]

[And Papyrus. What about Papyrus? They'd kill him too. Papyrus knows what Sans is. It's half the reason Sans has spent the last several years trying to get out of Orlais.]

[Sans squeezes his eyes shut. It's not...fair. It's not fair.]

M...My Lord, that is...very kind and generous of you. I am...I am not worthy of such an offer. If things were different...

[If he wasn't a filthy, vile blood mage he really would accept. Him, Papyrus, Mettaton, they could all be safe and happy. They'd all be happy if Sans wasn't tainted the way he is.]

I want to. But--

[He's not even sure what he can say as an excuse.]

I--can't leave my brother. I can't.

[With his face still buried in Sans's neck he doesn't see the initial surprise on his face when Mettaton speaks, but after a moment he pulls away. He looks at Sans eagerly, trying to not let it show on his face how... excited he is that he had this thought and voiced it.

Of course, his logical reasoning and court sensibilities are catching up with him. A grand part of him thinks that he should rescind this offer. Promises made in the heat of a moment of passion are something Mettaton vowed to never do. And yet, he can already feel the wheels turning in his head as to what, exactly, he could do. Turn in a favor here, intimidate these guards, build this sort of veranda...

Sans squeezes his eyes shut, looking so pained and torn and Mettaton, for a brief second, lets his face fall. He knows what that means. He pulls himself together quickly, unable to take out the sad softness of his eyes. He murmurs as he presses his head to Sans's forehead again, closing his own eyes. It'll make it easier when Sans rejects him again.]

Your brother can come as well. I'll also keep him safe. Just say the word and I will whisk you both away tonight.

[He already knows it's going to be a no. He should be grateful. But all he feels is a bitter disappointment.]

[Mettaton is still smiling, eager, but it's all in his eyes. He can already tell. Maybe he's even regretting that he asked in the first place. As ever, Sans is a disappointment. Nothing but a disappointment to everyone around him, especially the people he cares about. Especially the people who make the mistake of caring about him.]

[Mettaton presses his forehead to Sans's again and Sans leans into it, despite himself. Despite the fact that he doesn't deserve this, that he should pull back and walk away before this can start to hurt worse.]

I want to. You have no idea how much I want to.

[He holds on a little tighter.]

But I...can't. I'm sorry, My Lord. I--I wish I could explain why, but I just...can't.

[He could press, he thinks. After all, he is the noble here. Sans would eventually have to give in, or else. But the sad way Sans looks at him just makes his own heart hurt and he nuzzles him.]

Well... that is disappointing to hear.

[No doubt about that.]

But I'm sure you have your reasons.

[He gives Sans a wane smile and then leans down and places a gentle kiss to his lips.]

Even if you can't come with me, at least I'll still be able to see you whenever I visit.

[In a departure from what he usually does in these situations he pulls away and then wraps his arms around Sans tight. He places a hand on the back of his head and presses him to his chest, easily keeping any stray tears that may want to slip out in check on his face. He's being far too sentimental here but he knows that he cannot allow himself to see Sans very often after this conversation. He's a weak point, a vulnerability. (As if he wasn't already.)

He gives a light chuckle but doesn't let go.]

I do apologize, I seem to have ruined the mood.

I do. [And Maker does he wish he could explain himself.] But...know that, if circumstances were different for me, I would go with you in a heartbeat.

[He gives a very tiny smile.] It's...ah. Nice, knowing you think so much of me.

[It's incredible, really, but all he can think is how much he doesn't deserve it. Everyone knows what blood mages really deserve. Even if he wasn't a blood mage, he still wouldn't be a good enough person to warrant this sort of kindness.]

[He leans into the kiss, deepening it a little, inhaling sharply through his nose when Mettaton says that at least they'll still be able to see each other. This is breaking his heart. He doesn't think he's ever hated his own magic more than he does right now.]

[The fact that Mettaton breaks off the kiss to hug him just makes it even worse. He holds on tight, trying to convey how sorry he is.]

No, no. Not at all. It's my own fault.

[He can see himself living with Mettaton, is the thing. He could see that being such an incredible, beautiful life. If he was just normal.]

It's my fault. I should try to make it up to you.

[Perhaps he owes Lacie an incredible debt. Perhaps he is hiding from something, or someone. There are a thousand reasons, as many as there are people in Orlais, and Mettaton knows that there is no real way to know what the truth is.

The only truth he knows now is how painful all of this actually is.]

I do think a lot of you, Sans. And think of you often.

[It feels like a dam has broken in his heart, letting out more vulnerability and emotion than he's felt in awhile. He wants nothing more than to get on his knees and beg him to leave with him; that no matter what it is that's holding him back, they can face it. Together.

The thought scares him. A small part of his heart, the part that has dreamed of romance and sweeping declarations of love, yearns to do something large and unexpected. But the greater part of him knows that to misstep in the Grand Game means to die. And there is too much at stake with his standing and those who serve him to allow himself to bend knee and accept a fate any less than he deserves.]

Why don't we agree to say it's a bit of both of us, hm?

[The hug works; it's long enough to let his tears fall, long enough to let his face twist in pain, long enough to pull himself back together again and put his mask back on.

When he pulls away from Sans his face is completely visible and free of any and all blemishes. No tear tracks can be seen.]

Make it up to me? Mm, darling, that sounds tempting, but I think it all depends on what it is that you would do if it would work.

[He smiles very faintly at that. He's learning just how much he means to Mettaton tonight. If it had come sooner...]

[Nothing would have been different. He would have just had to lie for longer.]

I think of you a lot too. I always will.

[He's going to miss him so much.]

Yes. I suppose. A bit of both.

[It's not. It's not. Mettaton is being so kind. He's done nothing wrong. He's only guilty of loving a bloodmage.]

[He tries for a bit more of a smile at the question.]

Well, this soiree lasts three days, so...I'm sure I could find time to make it...memorable for you.

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+ Where Do Your Loyalties Lie? +

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im fucking dying we BOTH used the SAME ICONS ONE AFTER THE OTHER

I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH HUMAN SANSES

I KNOW BUT IT'S STILL FUNNY

cw: internalized aphobia

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