[There's a heat crawling over his skin that he normally only feels when he's doing something far bloodier. Restless at the best of times, it sends him out the street, looking for a fight or a fuck, he hasn't decided yet. It isn't that he notices him so much, because he's too good of a soldier not to notice everything. It's the colour of his eyes and the smile curving his lips, standing still in the flow of the crowd, like he's waiting. Starling meets the boy's gaze, approaches slowly, dark eyes examining his features.]
[Tall boy with pale skin, dark messy hair, bright blue eyes. A warden, not a witch, but he knows what you are Starling, and even if his smile doesn't quite fade, he's watching, still willing to invite, but adding a willingness to flee to the equation if this man just wants to hurt him.]
[Taller than he normally likes, but pretty, thin, otherworldly eyes. A nice canvas to paint some bruises on, but Starling has better ways of applying that sort of bruising than with violence. Fuck, then, he decides, and some of the tension in his shoulders shifts.]
[Jast laughs softly, pleasantly. Not quite the sound of agreement, but if they do spend the time together, perhaps his head will be clear enough to say 'goodbye' to him.]
[Starling nods and turns to lead the way back to his hotel. It takes a little longer than he'd expected, his restlessness had obviously taken him further than he thought. Sparrow isn't there when he takes the boy up the room, has obviously gone out to look for her own fun. He empties his pockets into the nightstand drawer and sits on the edge of the bed to work his boots off, tugging his shirt off as he stands. Gives the boy one last chance to get gone if he doesn't like what's hiding underneath.]
[He doesn't particularly like it, no, but that's not surprising considering what he is. But he comes anyway, light fingers lifting to touch the paths of scars, not fooled by them sitting still and innocent all. He wonders how difficult it would be for him to heal this thing clean. He breathes before twittering something up at the man that's a strange combination of keep your powers off me and I don't like to be hurt, the sentiment made most obvious by the tone and the set of his mouth. It's all right to Jast if the man doesn't decipher ever nuance of it, but the basic idea of it should be there. Not every scarred creature is a brute, but these scars are different.]
[Starling's hands come up slowly to catch those fluttering fingers, grip over the boy's bones secure, not too hard or too soft. The scars themselves, he writhes away, leaving clear patches of skin where the boy had been touching. He's worked far too hard earning his scars to have one stray little witch heal them out of whim.]
[Jast can agree to those terms, it isn't hard when skin to skin makes the fever in him flare hot and bright. Tilts his chin up, gives the man a curious and expectant sort of smile, lips parted, wondering when he's going to be given the use of his hands back.]
[Starling takes that as agreement, lets go of the boy's hands to pull him in and take his mouth. Hungry, that restless heat still crawling under his skin, but the thing that makes Sparrow and him so good at what they do is that they understand pain, the different levels and types. His hands might be heavy, he might leave a few bruises, but he won't hurt the boy.]
[He knows the restlessness, it's there in the wet confines of his mouth, it's there in his curious hands that have no qualms about touching everything from cheekbones to ears, the inside of his arm to the dip of his back, the turn of hip and thigh. The little bird makes a noise when he'd like to be alltowed to breathe again, but he has spent time as Spring's chosen plaything, he can handle a smothering, aggressive kiss.]
[He isn't really that willing to let the boy go when he asks for it, those fluttering fingers working him up more than he'd normally expect, but the boy's still fully clothed and Starling has a problem with that. So he lets him have his mouth back, steps away to deal with his own jeans and underwear.]
[Jast offers him a rather cheeky look that's off to his usual personality before he steps back, peeling the clean but ratty shirt over his head, jeans that are a little too big for him, hang on lithe hips. And he dislikes underwear nearly as much as he dislikes suits and socks, so there's none of that. He doesn't play coy and linger back, he goes to Starling resume what he'd started now that there is new skin to touch.]
[Eager thing. Not that Starling minds it, he just wants the boy under him already, not patient enough to stand still for his exploration. Hands on those skinny hips, guiding him back to the bed, down on it. Not really dismissive of the boy's touching, he can keep at it if he wants, as long as he doesn't get in the way. Lube already left on the bed from where he'd emptied his pockets, Starling gets his fingers slick, hitches one of the boy's legs up on his shoulder and uses up the last of his patience on working him open.]
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Don't talk?
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Waiting for someone, or do you want to come with me?
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Come here.
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Brought you here to fuck you, not beat you up.
[He glances down at their hands pointedly.]
No hurting. No healing.
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Strip.
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