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It is dark and silent inside the sparse hallways of the Assassin's Guild.

Nevertheless, Havelock is even quieter and more careful than he had been outside. Assassins are creatures of the night, so running into another student or a professor is not at all unlikely.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Oh, bravo."

"I like to be clear," he notes before kissing him.

Puck may have noticed.

He may have.

The fairy kisses back, tongue nudging lightly at Havelock's lips. His fingers dance back up his chest and trail along his collarbone.

Havelock leans in closer, lifting a hand to place it lightly on the curve of Puck's neck, stroking slowly.

Puck grins against Havelock's mouth and deepens the kiss for one hard, fast second before breaking off to breathe. His hands are skittering over his body, light and soft and never letting up.

Havelock runs the backs of his fingers softly over the smooth skin of the fae's neck, other hand curving around his waist. When the hand reaches Puck's shoulder he smiles and pulls him closer to press his mouth there instead.

Puck lets himself be pulled, held, kissed, not resisting in the least. His fingers, however, are tugging nimbly at Havelock's clothes, loosening here and unbuttoning there.

"You're crystal clear," he whispers, breaking into a laugh.

"I am glad you find me so," he whispers back, eyes doing the laughing for him as he glances at Puck. He lifts one arm helpfully to aid in shirt-removal.

Puck tugs the shirt smoothly over his head and off, then shifts against Havelock and ducks his head to press warm lips and tongue to his chest, right above the nipple.

Havelock inhales just a little more sharply than usual, hand on Puck's waist sliding around to the small of his back and upwards, slow but insistent.

Puck could practically purr at that little near-gasp, but he smiles instead, mouth sliding down Havelock's chest by a few strategic centimeters. Teeth close lightly over sensitive skin.

His eyes close involuntarily, but Havelock keep his fingertips moving over Puck's back - dragging slightly through the cloth of his shirt. They linger a moment near the base of his wings - never entirely sure if that is wise, or wanted.

There's a moment of stillness.

Then, almost cautiously, the wings begin to unfurl under his shirt. It's more a gesture than any real attempt to spread them.

And perhaps a suggestion that Havelock ought to remove his shirt now, as Puck's hands are rather occupied with the sharp curves of his hipbones.

Havelock's hands are likewise still a moment before he reaches to obligingly unbutton and tug at Puck's shirt. He pulls it down off his shoulders, running fingertips over warm skin as he does so.

And now there's bare skin on bare skin as Puck leans forward, forward, to kiss Havelock again, careless this time with tongue and teeth. His hands leave his hips; he slides into Havelock's lap instead-- rather insistently, it must be said-- fingers dancing along his spine.

There are no complaints at his insistence at all as Havelock kisses back hard and slides his hands around Puck's waist and upwards to continue their previous slow deliberate exploration.

Puck hopes, then, the lack of complaint continues as he presses forward again, this time a nudge in the direction of down with the expectation of becoming horizontal.

Havelock allows himself to be pushed backwards as his hands keep working upwards, trailing smoothly and almost curiously up between the fae's wings.

With one hand on Havelock's back to keep him from falling, Puck lowers him down, comes with him to lie light-boned against him. He shivers slightly as Havelock's hand pauses between the blades of his wings. He hesitates.

Havelock tilts his head fractionally up at Puck, questioning. But his hands keep moving fractionally, smooth and gentle, exploring.

The fairy bends his head to Havelock's neck, lips parting slightly over the soft skin. Besides that, he is very still.

One thumb runs delicately over the base of a wing while the other rests where it is a moment.

The contact, light though it is, elicits a purr; and there are fangs flashing out to nibble at his neck. Not hard enough to draw blood, but perhaps enough to bruise.

Havelock shifts a little at that, smiling at the soft purring, and runs slightly more sure fingertips out over the smooth warm wings.

And they unfold, beat, flutter at his touch. Puck's tongue is hot and wet as it laps at the places he's bitten, his hands roughly caressing Havelock's hips.