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Three pairs of eyes are on him as he kneels before his acolytes, a reversal of the reverence usually held towards him. Towards Sleep. The air is thick around them, heavy with the atmosphere of ritual, of some variant of worship they would indulge in tonight.
Tonight, he would make an altar of their bodies.
iv will not take his gaze away from his lips, his own parted around shallow intakes of breath as ii holds Vessel’s eyes, pupils blown wide. iii fidgets with his hands in his lap, nearly thrums in anticipation as his eyes trace the lines of Vessel’s body, from the soft angles of his jaw to the sharp jut of his collarbones, exposed in the low light of the evening.
It warms him, the gentle awe with which they look upon him. The carnal undercurrent of their gazes.
Undeniable, the effect it had on Vessel himself.
He extends his hand to wrap around iii’s wrist as the other takes in a sharp breath, almost jumps out of his skin at the contact. Vessel can’t contain the smile pulling at his lips as he guides iii’s hand to them, presses a soft kiss to the pad of his index finger. The tendons in iii’s hand pull taut with the effort it takes him to relinquish control to him, let himself be the object of worship for once. His thumb presses into iii’s palm to soothe some of the tension, lips running along his heartline before he traces a path from the junction of his thumb to the tip of his finger with his tongue.
iii’s body shakes with the out-breath as Vessel wraps his lips around his finger, lets the digit rest against his tongue. He closes his eyes. There is a faint metallic taste to his skin, leftover from years and hours of plucking the strings of his bass. A low, pleased hum climbs out of his throat, vibrates through his body and resonates in iii.
He pulls back, lingers on the tip of his index finger, placing a gentle bite to the flesh before he releases iii in favor of pressing his lips to his knuckles, giving each digit careful attention. He smiles against the skin once more when he catches the hazy look in iii’s eyes, provokes another strangled noise when he wraps his lips around the tips of two fingers, tongue pressing up against them before he withdraws completely.
With a final kiss to iii’s palm, Vessel leans back on his haunches, lets his tongue trace his lips. The tension in the air has grown impossibly thicker, seeps through his own skin to settle in his core. When he looks up at ii, the weight of his desire is near palpable and all it takes is a short, barely-there nod before ii reaches out and cradles his jaw.
His hand is warm on Vessel’s persistently cold skin, frames most of his face as he leans into the gentle pressure of his palm. ii’s thumb traces his bottom lip, pulls it down to reveal the white row of his teeth before Vessel parts for him, takes the digit into his mouth and closes his lips around it. And he knows ii would be content to remain like this, his thumb resting on Vessel’s tongue, teeth grazing his knuckles, but it’s not all that Vessel wants.
He wants to show them gentleness, gratitude, worship. Pour all his love and trust into these gestures of reverence.
So he pulls back, both hands reaching for ii’s as he licks a broad stripe from the base of his palm to the tip of his middle finger. A quick kiss to the pad before he repeats the motion, tongue tracing the V between his middle and index fingers before he takes them both deep.
The noise he receives is low, guttural, makes him sigh around the digits as his eyes slip closed. His tongue tries with ardent zeal to map the topography of ii’s skin, to savor the clean taste. And when he opens his mouth to let his tongue loll out, show them where ii’s fingers press down on it, iv can’t contain the almost-whine trapped in his throat.
Vessel smiles as he releases ii’s fingers, looks over at his acolyte who looks back at him with tempered awe.
“Don’t worry” he says, voice rumbling as he shifts on his knees, moves closer to iv to rest his cheek against his clothed knee. “I haven’t forgotten about you.”
And iv nearly vibrates with it, with the need to reach out and touch Vessel.
So he reaches first, takes his hand to intertwine their fingers, pulls him in to press his lips to his knuckles. He bites at iv’s wrist, smiles when he pulls away to see a tiny, purplish mark where he had suckled at the skin.
Another bite to the base of his thumb before he stops wasting time, takes iv’s fingers between his lips without much preamble, splits them with his tongue and laves over the callouses. Proof of his hard-work and dedication. Proof of why Vessel was doing this at all.
He hopes to be a mirror of their desire, the trust they offer him with every passing day. In service of Sleep. In service to him.
Vessel hums around the digits, eyes half-lidded, unfocused when iv takes the initiative, slides his fingers along his tongue, to the back of his throat, withdraws them almost fully. His head still rests against his knee, nuzzles against the rough fabric of his trousers.
“Look at me.” The voice sounds hollow and carved out above him. “Please.” And Vessel does, blinks through the haze of his own pleasure to set his eyes on iv. His lips are parted, eyes wide and trained on where they are joined, so Vessel flicks his tongue against the tips of his fingers, sucks on them with increased fervor as his hand comes up to hold iv’s steady.
And he thinks he could stay here for hours, pressing kisses to the skin of his acolytes, tongue tracing every ridge and valley on their hands, and be perfectly content. But this night holds more for them.
So he removes iv’s fingers and parts with a final kiss to his knuckles, scoots back until he can look between the three of them. He can’t help the smile at iii’s barely contained ardor, leaned forwards in his seat with his pupils blacking out his eyes. He lets the silence settle for a few moments, revels in the holy tenor in the air around them.
When he speaks, he tries to pour sincerity into his words until they overflow with it.
“Your hands are a gift,” he says, keeps his eyes locked on theirs. “Thank you for giving them to Sleep. To me.”
His hands run down his own torso as lowers himself into the soft, threadbare carpet, lets his legs part as he wraps a hand around himself. Someone’s breath hitches, his own fighting to keep steady when he speaks again.
“Now allow me to give back.”