The other’s hands were large, with claws that seemed overly fierce for modern culture, and when he captured the smaller hand of his companion, it took great self control not to pull away. A stubborn bone refused to cow down before the frightful man. Those glowing golden eyes lowered to inspect the limb, and embarrassment suddenly filled the young prisoner. He did look like a servant right now, didn’t he? His own claws had broken off, a layer of filth stuck between his remaining nail and flesh. The delicate digits which would play the violin so beautifully were gone. These were vile, torn up and unkempt, covered in grime and disgust. He felt they were even more repulsive under such a pensive stare, such an observation from someone as beautiful and - oddly enough - clean as this individual. He pulled his hand away suddenly, folding them together in front of him, hiding them without truly hiding anything.

　　The shame was unbearable, and it bubbled up so suddenly, it would have caused a lesser man to cry. Kirin never cried. Instead, he shifted it into rage. Outrage at his situation, his imprisonment, the depths to which he had fallen, but most of all, towards the critical eye of this perfect creature. Who was he to pass judgment with such a cursory observation? The color on his cheeks was fuming red now, and his violet eyes daggered nothing short of a venomous glare towards his companion.

　　The larger man was utterly unmoved.

　　“Very well. Let me start the introductions. My name is Angeles, and this is my tomb, as you would call it. Who are you, my soiled nobleman, and what brings you to this destitute place?”

　　The realization that he had not conversed with anyone in a very long time hit him like a bullet, and made him at once self conscious and elated, piercing through his anger. Another voice. Another soul. It was not what he had thought to find down here, but it was not overly terrible... Yet. And scapegoating the man as the object of his displeasure was rather unjust, and wasteful of such a break in the monotony that was his current life. He decided there was no harm in entertaining the questions, since he honestly could not run away. If he could climb back up into his cell, so could this man. With only passing care, he noted that the other gave no surname. So he echoed him when he spoke in reply.

　　“I am Kirin. This place is below my cell. I thought it might lead to an escape.” The words were easier than he expected they would be. His flight instinct had not relaxed, though.

　　“Prison is more pleasant with company, I suppose,” Angeles spoke, though his voice was suddenly cold, not as appealing as before. It was a passing shift, for within the next breath, he was leaning forward, a hand reaching to lift up Kirin’s chin once more. Inclined dangerously close to the other man’s face, he uttered more softly, “More things to pass the time with.”

　　He should have expected what followed, indeed he should have, for he was neither ignorant nor innocent. But the situation seemed so ludicrous, the act so uncalled for, he did not. When lips pressed against his own, his whole body tensed. He did not yield easily, but with the heady scent that Angeles gave off filling him up, and his lips so persistent and sensuous, the beseeching of his teeth against Kirin’s own lips the perfect mix between demand and entreating, that it was quite without logical awareness that his mouth parted and welcomed in the foreign tongue. It was hot and wet, and utterly delicious. His taste was exotic and intoxicating, and caused excited tendrils to quiver down Kirin’s whole body, easing the tension.

　　Angeles pressed further, his tongue exploring the warm cavern of Kirin's mouth, his hand shifting from chin to neck, curling behind to cradle his head. It had been too long since either had tasted flesh, and the youth had never learned to savored the flavor of another - this was an impulsive moment, an opportunity seized rather than missed. Angeles' other hand was not content to sit idle, but instead wandered wantonly down, eager to drift over the bare skin of his new companion’s chest. He paused upon the nipple, pinching it lightly between his fingertips, teasing it with a twist and pull. The boy withdrew, just slightly and released such an enticing sound, a cry which stimulated long dormant desires in his companion

　　The heat between the pair rose. Encouraged by the yielding nature of Kirin’s body - more honest than his mind - Angeles pressed further, boldly, brasher - what seemed an eon of isolation and neglect surmounted in limited restraint, a carnal lust for the taste of another. Perhaps it was that fact which made this exchange so impassioned, that built the feeling in the pit of his stomach into a swell of warmth, of yearning, which set his flesh aflame every time it happened to brush, grind, and caress against that of the others. It was exquisite, and it was urgent. His hand shifted, snaking behind Kirin’s narrow abdomen, capturing the base of his back and pulling him forward, crushing their bodies together. He could feel the intensity of heat as their groins pressed together, felt a sudden spike of pleasure quake through his form, mirrored in the shudder that besieged his companion.

　　It was nearly more than he could bear. 

       And it was too much for the young immortal. The onslaught of desire was too raw, too heated, the sensations causing a churning in his being that he had never known and never expected to find in a situation such as this. It roused a duality so contrasting in his being that it shattered the reality in his mind, causing him to both yearn for further stimulus and run away like the coward he was. If he did not, he was afraid of what this would mean, afraid of the stranger who suddenly assaulted him. He could regain his pride another day. 

For now, he escaped.

　　He probably could have been stopped, but it was a risk worth chancing. Kirin knew it was there on his face, that his companion bore witness to desire giving in to fear, hesitation conquered by indignation, his apathy crumbled beneath the exchange of heated passions as he scampered to his feet in a most inelegant manner, and dashed towards the entrance of the tomb. He did not look back, or perhaps he would have seen Angeles watching, witnessed his own conflicting emotions, left to wonder about their meaning. But that was a contemplation for another day.