a midnight prayer ; beryl&adrien

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eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris
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a midnight prayer ; beryl&adrien May 7, 2019 12:00:39 GMT -5

Post by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris on May 7, 2019 12:00:39 GMT -5

He's high from victory —
drunk on his own excellence.

There's a crown of gold atop his curls, a flute of champagne in his grasp. His rivals are scrambling, in the halls and in their rooms; working through their strategies and their appeals. Beryl has no one to sway, nothing to be afraid of. He does not seek salvation. A boy with nothing more than a pretty face and a kind heart, the sharpest teeth behind the softest lips.

Imagine their surprise when he was placed at the top of their private society, safe from expulsion and favoured by the sun. He dances with the light, haloed, and he has the gall to laugh. That's all this competition is to him. Something fun and beautiful and easy to follow. His feet guide him to where he belongs, a twirl and a bow. And this is that place.

Among the stars, burning in that sacred fire. One of the chosen three, that much closer to their goal. Still so far. He has learned to shed his skin, to reveal himself in terrible and lovely ways. His flaws are bare before him, his arrogance and his feline disinterest; all the petty thoughts and the fake smiles. But then he looks elsewhere, a polished mirror.

And for all his faults, there have been revelations of a gentler kind. The way he loves so generously and so hungrily, how he pries the needle from Adam's hands and asks so sweetly to be his new addiction. He treats the world with such kindness, holds it in his hands and gives it to the flames. 'To keep you warm,' he swears, but he is not an honest man.

Never cruel, never the same as his family — but just as lethal, just as likely to strike when cornered. The best of the worst, still so terrible. Beryl has learned just as much about his blood, about the call for power that sings in his veins. The things a Fillis will do to achieve it. He licks his lips when he notices Adrien at the bar, ending his isolation.

"Come to ease my loneliness?" he drawls, sugary and buzzed and intoxicating. "Or are you here to drink away your sorrows?" He moves closer to the young man, thigh against thigh and a soft hand on his shoulder. Just enough to set the trap, to invite danger. "You're safe from me, if that comforts you. I can't imagine anyone sending you away."

He pouts, a low whine. "Not before we get to know each other. Four months, and what do we have to show for it?" His hand closes the limited space between them, smelling of alcohol and lavender soap. He's begging to be devoured, to be adored. "I'm Beryl. Let's start fresh." And then he leans closer, a whisper. "We could be friends for the night, or something more exciting. Adam will forgive me."

Everyone does.

Last Edit: May 7, 2019 12:01:13 GMT -5 by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris

all my girls got their lace and their crimes.

umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]
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a midnight prayer ; beryl&adrien May 7, 2019 12:57:27 GMT -5

Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on May 7, 2019 12:57:27 GMT -5

He only had three hours until the deadline; he still hadn't made any concrete decisions. It was easy, in theory. He wanted to stay, so the others had to go. But the premise of why they had to go — because they weren't deserving — weighed heavy on his shoulders. Under the harsh light of reality, it boiled down to a simple question:

Whose dreams didn't matter as much?

Truth was, Adrien hadn't been born into money, and he hadn't ever expected to die in it. His hands were calloused from working for an end's meet. He was a good man in a storm, but not once in his life had someone looked for him to be the one to guide everyone to safety. He didn't need this empire, this hush money, but now that he was so close to getting it, he would've been lying if he said he did not want it.

So, as most people did when dealing with financial troubles, he found himself lounging on one of the cushioned seats of the bar in a two thousand dollar suit that had been waiting in his closet for him when he got there. The bartender was almost textbook, with a receding hairline and a habit of polishing glasses which were already clean. When he spoke, his voice was gravelly and aged, sun-dried as the wrinkles around his eyes.

"Vodka soda," Adrien said, face buried in his hands. He ran fingers through his disheveled hair and inhaled deeply. The smells here were too clean for it to be considered a bar. It seemed like a liquor license was all it took to bring the property value of an entire neighborhood down in most places. Usually, it smelled like cigar smoke and desperation. There were crowds of people whose regrets clung to their ankles like weights, like they were forced to drag them along everywhere they went. This place, with its clean floors and its cool, crisp air, was a place where people only ever came to celebrate.

If he didn't belong in the mansion in the first place, this room should've been the last place he found himself.

"Come to ease my loneliness?"

There was something serpentine to Beryl's fluidity. Even when he smelled of alcohol and the ends of his words lilted up on the edges, every move felt like a dance short of music. Adrien had always been in one place, he realized, and Beryl had always been in another. Not purposefully. At least not on Adrien's side of things. But he saw an opportunity to lessen the chance of his eviction, so he did not protest when Beryl's leg pressed against his own.

"You're safe from me, if that comforts you. I can't imagine anyone sending you away."

Adrien hadn't meant to be so transparent, though he supposed he didn't have to be. Beryl was safe. Adrien was not. It didn't take a genius like Indigo to guess he was having some anxiety about it. He offered the other boy a slight smile.

"Thank you. That does help, actually."

Beryl's hand fell to the small of Adrien's back and he pressed his lips together and squinted straight ahead. They'd been living together for four months, and never once had Beryl shown him any interest. He didn't know if the alcohol had tainted Beryl's judgement or suppressed his inhibitions, but on a day like that day, Adrien wouldn't be caught dead sticking a single toe out where someone might have the chance to cut it off.

"I'm Beryl. Let's start fresh."

The bartender slid Adrien's drink to him and he cleared his throat, nodding and shaking Beryl's hand.

"Nice to meet you, Beryl."

Every touch was deliberate. The hand on Adrien's back, the knee pressing against his thigh. He knew what this meant, and he thought very hard about whether or not it was something he wanted. Something that could help him.

"We could be friends for the night, or something more exciting. Adam will forgive me."

His back stiffened and he stood up straighter, turning to face Beryl so that their lips were only inches apart.

"Oh, that's right. You and Taupe. I've had my suspicions, you know." Adrien nipped at his bottom lip with a lazy smile. Maybe they hadn't meant for their relationship to be a secret. But this, Adrien was sure, was absolutely something Beryl probably didn't want the others to find out about.

Adrien was single, and therefor not in the wrong when he didn't look away from Beryl's gaze, those brilliantly green eyes. He was single, so it didn't count when his hand slid onto Beryl's leg, his index finger tapping against the other boy's knee. He was single, so it didn't count when he leaned in so close, he could feel Beryl's breath on his cheek. But just when their lips were going to meet, Adrien turned so that his mouth hovered right next to Beryl's ear.

"I'm not so sure, though," he whispered, after a long moment. He leaned back and turned forward, swallowing every ounce of his drink. He flagged the bartender down for a refill. "I think, maybe, Adam feels a bit more than simple attraction to you, no?"

Last Edit: May 7, 2019 13:00:19 GMT -5 by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris
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a midnight prayer ; beryl&adrien May 8, 2019 12:01:28 GMT -5

Post by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris on May 8, 2019 12:01:28 GMT -5

They dance with their pleasantries.

Pretty words without meaning — dead leaves falling from a lifeless tree. From the union of summer and spring, autumn is born. This is their season. The air is smoky around them, a heavy scent. Like cinnamon and death; the beautiful kind. A bird falling from the sky, a forest swallowed by flames. Beryl has always been able to see beyond terror, to find the sweet flesh of a decaying fruit. He has grown fond of the taste.

And so he dances, and he listens — their bodies move to the secret melody, he lures danger in; he sinks his teeth in its throat. He is both Venus and the flytrap, a lovely and lethal thing. And Adrien is just as powerful, just as capable of hiding his cards until it's time to reveal the contents of his deck. He has a full court at his disposal, a sense of royalty and control that comes off him in waves. Beryl has to wonder if he even realizes.

But then he moves with such force, speaks with such sharpness — and it's certain that somewhere, in a deep and sacred part of him, Adrien knows. He knows that he is so much more than he presents. And Beryl is thrilled by this revelation, by the lips so close to his skin and the hand curling around his knee; by the clever words and the way he shifts like the tides, approaching slow and retreating fast. This is the kind of game that excites him.

'This one,' Beryl thinks, 'I won't allow to escape.' So he follows, the sharp comments and the guarded movements. He's not afraid of being cut. "Adam and I aren't hiding. If you've had suspicions, you should have asked to join us ages ago." His interest becomes more bold, easier to sense. In his breath and the way his body coils, preparing to strike. The fingers he brings to Adrien's cheek, so tender and loving.

"You misunderstand." He creeps in closer, mirroring the other man's actions. A moth flutters against the light; it dies longing for the sun. "What I have with Adam is real. It's much more than attraction for me, too." And yet his hand moves lower, fingertips brushing across Adrien's throat and running the length of his collarbones. "He will always be my favorite. I will always be his." He smiles, ravenous and inviting. This is the unfurling of a rose.

"But we're not yet official, I don't carry his name. I don't expect him to limit himself to only me, so I seek the same." He pulls himself up on the counter, ignoring the bartender and the sound of shattering glass. His legs wrap around Adrien, positioned right in front of him. A lamb offering itself for slaughter, to be sacrificed. "He's my future, but you could be my present. I will never deny myself pleasure." He curls forward, leaning down. They breathe as one.

"I want you, Adrien,
and my lover will not deny me that."