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 Heads Will Roll (x), Harry <3
♔Dorian Belmont
 Posted: Nov 30 2017, 03:16 PM
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i've got red hands

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With a sanguine constellation painted across the collar of his shirt, Dorian took stock of his current situation. The faint notice that read “Two Adults Detected” across the windshield of the ground runner remained illuminated in that sickly modern blue ran parallel to the one that blipped “Check Storage Space”, “Check Storage Space” every five seconds in sunset-orange, and he didn’t follow the commands of inanimate objects - he would have disabled it manually, but the mortuary was only moments away. On the other seat lay an impressive display of blue anemone flowers that had been manipulated into a bouquet dotted with blooms of statice, all of which rustled in clear, indigo cellophane with every jostle of the transport. Fortune had smiled brilliantly upon them tonight: Mr. Belmont OG had a late evening and by chance Harry, too, had been beset upon by the last minute demands of a grieving family (and Dorian always found something so especially morbid about expecting immediate and expensive concessions for the dead - one’s last big opportunity to inconvenience friends and family before reverting to nothing but the remainder of borrowed elements). Typically, there was much more triangulation required when he needed to cash in upon his goodwill as a generally attentive spouse, more of a feeble backlash when he had use for the mortuary’s very specifically sized cremation chamber. Harry worked immensely hard at his craft, which Dorian regularly acknowledged and occasionally gave him shit for when he hypocritically felt himself neglected and ill-used by the demands the small business pressed upon his husband... but there was the occasional need to butter him up when it came to asking him to return to the funeral home for activities that were completely and utterly extracurricular. And illegal in most reaches in the universe. Applicable as well.

Leaving the transport near the mortuary’s garage, the flowers were swept up from their seat; the quarry in storage was exceedingly time-sensitive, though not in a state to be in a particular hurry itself, and Dorian chose to leave that until the cloak of night had settled in fully. Testing the locking mechanism in the ground runner, he briskly navigated the steps to push at the unbarred doors. A frown fled over his face. Security was especially tantamount to him, but he supposed that the luminescence that buzzed overhead would have been deterrent enough even in the hours stretching past the posted times... and all fairness aside, anyone moronic enough to break into a building filled with corpses deserved whatever they found. Nevertheless assured by the silence in the lobby that no one was lingering there (and Dorian protected very violently his monopoly upon whatever machinations happened offbook and after hours), Mr. Belmont secured the colossal entrance and shut off the lights. Ignoring the horror show quality the tenebrae of funerary decor naturally cast across the wide room, he moved on to the cold surgery, which was similarly unattended by anyone living. This didn’t shock him.

A silvery hum of water moving through pipes overhead registered then, and Dorian realized that Harry must have been in the shower. Rarely unsure when it came to matters concerning his husband, Mr. Belmont slipped quietly into the offset bathroom, the humidity hazing at his sight. Pale eyes fixed on the partitioning wall that separated the shower from the sink that was nearest the entrance of the chamber, he mulled over his options; and, realizing that he had no interest in cockblocking himself, deigned it better to not switch off the lights then, and instead gathered two separate sets of clothing from the countertop and left, shutting the door gently behind him. The garments obviously worn he left upon the washing table flanking the woman Harry had apparently been spending his night so far with, and Dorian, never overly excited to spend time amongst the preserved husks of people he wouldn’t have liked in life anyway, let himself into Harry’s office, relinquished his husband’s clean vestments to the the desk. He claimed the seat behind it rather than in one of the chairs facing it, and crossed a long leg over the other.

Harry would find him eventually.

This post has been edited by Dorian Belmont: May 13 2018, 10:15 AM
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♔Harold Belmont
 Posted: Jan 30 2018, 01:22 PM
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Harry had finished with his work late that evening and hadn't caught sight of the time. He always called Dorian when he was running late or when he would be stuck at work, normally before a visitation the next morning. However, sometimes he would become so engrossed in finishing his work to perfection that he would lose track of time and forget to call. It didn't happen often, but Dorian would be annoyed when Harry missed his "curfew" to call. Harry would always apologize and make it up to him when he was home, but no one wanted their spouse upset with them.

He finally finished his work, and sent his well wishes to the deceased before slipping away for the night. Now that it was done, it was time for him to shower. Harry already took more showers than most people did, but he figured most living people also didn't work with dead people on a daily basis. He always showered at least twice a day (once in the morning before leaving for work and once at night after finishing work and before returning home) if not thrice a day, and he always kept a clean pair of clothes in his office which he would take into the small bathroom with him and change into once he was out of the shower.

With his head under the running water, Harry didn't hear his husband sneak in and take his fresh pair of clothes, so when he got out and started to towel dry himself (he could have used a fancy body air dryer, but he didn't have the expenses for one at work, and he felt that the friction from the towel's fabric against his body dried him and warmed him better) he was utterly confused when he saw his clean pair of clothes were not where he had left them. In fact, neither of his pairs of clothes were where he had left them on the counter in between the sink and the shower.

He could have lost track of time, but he would never forget to bring in a fresh change of clothes. Or, could he, for once in his life, have been so scatter-brained from the intensity of finishing his work tonight for the morning deadline that he had forgotten to bring it in? But no, his pair of dirty clothes was not here, either. Wrapping the towel his waist, Harry existed the bathroom to find his pair of dirty clothes on the wash basin nearest the door, and his curiosity and confusion piqued. Had Dorian stopped by to surprise him and was playing a trick on him? Had some local teenagers broken in to the scary morgue and didn't know what to do any better than taking the mortuary owner's clothes? The second sounded slightly less likely, although Harry honestly wouldn't put it past anyone if they were bored enough.

But now he had two options: try to find his clean clothes while wrapped in a towel or put his pair of dirty clothes back on. His mind immediately reeled at the thought of putting clothes in which he had just finished working on a dead person back on his freshly cleaned body, so it didn't take him long to decide that he rather run the risk of accidentally being exposed to intruders than put back on his pair of dirty clothes.

He trudged back to his office where he didn't think twice about the light being on, as he had left it on after he first retrieved his set of clean clothes, so he wouldn't have to walk back down the hallway and enter the room in complete darkness. The sight that met his eyes when he opened the door, however, was both surprising but at the same time of course it was something that Mr. Dorian Belmont would do. And Harry had still married the man, after all.

There were his clean clothes and there was his husband. "Hello, Dorian, what a pleasant surprise," he spoke calmly while his mind began racing. Was his husband checking up on him? Was he worried, obsessed, or simply wanted to surprise him with something nice? Or all of the above? His brain always short-circuited a little whenever he first laid eyes on his husband, so he wasn't thinking about the fact he was still wrapped in a towel, and he hadn't yet noticed the flowers, but did key in on the fact of where Dorian was sitting. "Dorian, that's my chair," he added almost feebly, a statement of fact but one that sounded more like a child who had lost his spot at the top of the slide or had gotten his favorite sandbox toy taken away from him by the older, bigger child on the playground, and not like someone who was actually about to fight for the right of sitting in the chair.

[819]
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♔Dorian Belmont
 Posted: Mar 4 2018, 09:25 PM
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i've got red hands

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Harry never disappointed. It was a secret that Dorian had never let him in on; that he rose to the occasion spectacularly, folded when his ego dictated he have a victim, and came back into his arms regardless of how feebly angry or upset he may have been. He knew his husband was afraid of losing him - he’d always been aware of that neediness, even when their relationship had only been the impersonal dregs of something purely physical when their nights got lonely on opposite ends of the city. On occasion he generously reminded him, if only in action, that it wasn’t a possibility. Harry was his and Dorian wasn’t particularly good at sharing the space in his heart, protecting it with words that would cut a lesser being into ribbons. Metaphorical teeth bared for blood. Hands quick to strangle the threat out of anyone stupid enough to present it. His husband was his greatest asset, his biggest accomplishment, the soul he had chosen to share to make up for Dorian’s lack of one.

Which was exactly why Dorian was obnoxious.

Your chair? It’s my name on the side of the building,” he replied teasingly, a fairly sardonic smile tugging at the thin corner of his mouth; it was Harry’s too, given with great gravitas a few years ago, but Dorian claimed a greater degree of ownership to it by merit of heredity and age. Harry was likely to be the last to bear it. Semantics, silly bickering. Foreplay, honestly. “Besides, kitten, haven't you always been mine?” It was pointed statement intended primarily to make it clear that he felt a certain possession of everything related to his husband - he had his room of stuffed creatures and Dorian had never sought to intervene upon the joy it gave him with a less malevolent hobby, but most else. Was it his fault that Harry had precious little interest in lasers and explosives and everything Dorian entertained himself with? With an expansive yet somehow slightly roguish gesture towards his lap, he answered, “There’s plenty of room.”
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♔Harold Belmont
 Posted: Apr 1 2018, 09:49 PM
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Harry's lips pressed together into a thin line at Dorian's response. He was right. Of course Dorian was right. He was always right. "Touché," Harry replied tersely. At least it was a name he shared with me, he thought to himself, heart thundering in his chest like a giddy school boy who was experiencing his first crush. He opened his mouth as if to say something to Dorian's next statement (but not to argue, surely) but immediately closed it again, looking much like a fish out of water, as he cast his eyes down to the floor. That nickname and the way Dorian spoke to him did things to Harry that he would rather not like to admit to anyone but his husband. Harry had been, and would always be, Dorian's in heart, body, mind, and soul.

He looked back up to Dorian when his husband spoke to him again, edging closer to see Dorian pat his lap while Harry himself hitched the towel higher around his waist. He stared at Dorian's lap not with disgust or disdain (his husband had a perfectly fine lap, thank you very much!) but more warily as if something were going to jump out at him at any moment. Harry paused for a long moment to consider something before he moved closer to Dorian. He stepped forward to make it look like he were going to sit in Dorian's lap before he shifted back at the last second to sit down on the edge of the desk instead, being careful to not sit too perilously close to the corner. Once situated, Harry sent Dorian his own roguish grin which, on the younger husband, came out as more of a saucy smile while he gave him a look that was one hundred percent Harold Belmont.

[300]
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♔Dorian Belmont
 Posted: Apr 18 2018, 10:07 PM
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i've got red hands

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Harry wisely seemed to be behaving, outwardly, as if Dorian had some internal machination to bite and snap; as much as he enjoyed the little game, this cavil, his husband played at for a few moments before logic and better judgement inevitably set in, Dorian arched a brow. Harry wasn’t the type to linger when he was upset, and while he himself had made very little attempt to hide his garments, the younger Mr. Belmont had yet to render himself clothed nor had he turned away to dress himself elsewhere without eyes prying at him. Dorian knew every muscle and scar and divot and tattoo on Harry’s body like he knew his childhood home, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t always searching and appraising, attentive to any injuries sustained outside of his own sexual proclivities, nor did it mean he didn’t take every opportunity to admire what was his. And he allowed him a few seconds of being left properly unmolested, somewhat amused at the swerve out of his invitation. It was anything but rejection. Dorian didn’t have much patience otherwise.

Then, having so generously bestowed upon his spouse a rare moment of complete autonomy, Dorian leaned to tug him firmly from his bastion just out of reach and pulled him onto his lap. Grasping his chin to hold him in place - rarely too hard, and it wasn't now - Mr. Belmont breathed against Harry’s neck, nuzzling possessively into his shoulder, “Can you really blame me for making an opportunity to get you naked and alone?” He nipped at the pale swath of skin and added lowly, more an order than a request, and the digits of his free hand traced down towards terrycloth. "Lose the towel."
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♔Harold Belmont
 Posted: Apr 20 2018, 05:54 PM
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He saw it coming before it happened, but Harry was unable to stop it once Dorian had started. Before he could fully process what was happening, Harry found himself being pulled from his perilous perch into his husband's lap and suddenly discovered all of his senses to be completely and utterly filled with Dorian. Harry shifted to right himself, which only caused him to inadvertently push down further into Dorian's lap. One hand shot out to help balance himself more, clutching at the fabric of his husband's pants near his waist. He hum-hissed at Dorian's ministrations, subconsciously exposing more of his neck and shoulder to the other man in the process while also stilling in a submissive manner at the possessive grip on his chin. "Mm, only if that man is my husband," he replied, forgoing a teasing that Dorian could just have asked because well, the only place Harry would have met Dorian naked was in the bedroom or the shower.

Harry was practically thrumming with desire as Dorian's hand slipped lower, his other hand coming up to rest over his husband's, fingers entwining when they reached the towel. The one bit of power he had left in the situation was to say one word, which he did in response, but which Harry and Dorian both understood to mean one thing. The breathy "No," that issued from Harry's lips didn't mean, 'No, stop,' but more, 'No, you'll have to make me or do it yourself,' without Harry saying as much. But Dorian knew Harry inside and out, possibly even more than Harry knew himself, and he would understand his husband's language, both spoken and unspoken.

[276]
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♔Dorian Belmont
 Posted: May 13 2018, 10:15 AM
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i've got red hands

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It had likely been a steep learning curve to know exactly how to frustrate and toy with Dorian; it was something that required tenacity and plain old willingness to put up with his manipulative bullshit, and it was something that his younger husband had adapted to with admirable swiftness. Harry knew how to push him to the edge of annoyance almost as adeptly as Dorian could to him… and he didn’t know whether this was nothing but luck but a willingess to play him and be played. He had no stomach for the overly sentimental, but denial of instant gratification was a good enough surrogate. A good fuck was reward in and of itself (universal truth), but god if Harry didn’t know how exactly how to feed into Dorian’s needs, offered those little physical - if inadvertent - nuances that had his body’s attention. A sharp intake of breath near Harry’s jaw indicated how very welcome the pressure of his weight was, a hand moving to grip his bicep to help steady the partially nude mortician.

“No?” There was no real anger in the rebuttal, but it was a pointed, hard word that he murmured against Harry’s ear, teeth catching against the lobe and giving it a light tug. As if mulling over the abstract concept of actually listening to his husband, his fingers stopped teasingly above the boundary of the towel. “That’s not the answer I was hoping for. Can’t say I’m not a little disappointed, kitten.” Spurred into action against this mock-refusal, Dorian settled his palm against the relief of Harry’s cock underneath the cloth, thumb pressing gently against one edge in a slow, deliberate stroke, breath hot with sustained lust against the juncture of the man’s neck and shoulder. “You always make things so difficult.”

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♔Harold Belmont
 Posted: May 17 2018, 10:53 AM
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The sound that emanated from Harry's throat at the bite to his ear lobe was one Dorian was all too familiar with in regards to the mortician’s desires. “That’s why I married you - to make your life more difficult than when we were dating,” he teasingly croaked. 'Dating’ being a nice way of saying they were fucking each other's brains out on a nightly basis. “And who says you have to be disappointed for long?” he asked, the hand resting against Dorian's hip crawling over to press down against the rough fabric that was situated equal distance between Dorian's hip and Dorian's groin. Harry was well aware of precisely where his hand was at this moment, but he was still playing the game with his husband.

“You always make things so hard,” he released with a breathy groan, using the word ‘hard’ both as a synonym for ‘difficult’ (teasing that Dorian also made things difficult in his own way) but also as a sexual innuendo for how his own cock was beginning to twitch against Dorian’s hand. He shifted up into Dorian’s hand, which, from the effort of it, caused his backside to shift down and into Dorian's own groin in the process. Harry's other hand trailed up to the waistband of his towel and untied it at the junction to his hip but didn't completely pull it off his body, not quite yet. He still wanted to tease and play with Dorian just that bit more, but both of them knew that Dorian would either get too impatient to wait any longer or Harry would give in and submit to his husband's every whim and desire.

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