Ringmaster - Forsaken

Another quiet evening, the smell of freshly baked cookies wafted through the air, dancing with the sweet smell of vanilla that came in flourish from the wax melt sitting on the coffee table accompanied by a gold etched plate with cookies sitting in a neat circle. The home was a paragon—warm light bled through the blinds and engulfed the home in a soft yet glaring orange light. Everything was utterly still, so still that even a breath in the wrong direction could send a flurry of dust floating about.

The house was mostly silent—save for the sound of tongues being shared, whispers of silk against fabric, and soft sighs and moans. Ringmaster pulled back slowly, a string of saliva with small bits of cookie hung between you before snapping at your soft sigh. He reached back to the coffee table, picking up another cookie and holding it between three fingers. “I told you this was the optimal way to share cookies,” He purred, holding up the cookie to you again, “Come on, another bite. Dragă.”

A smile curved his lips as you took a bite, leaving the cookie in a near perfect crescent. “You look as delectable as this cookie, Dragul meu.” One arm gingerly placed the cookie back on the plate before snaking around your neck, holding you to his side as his free arm cupped the back of your neck.

You’d been a supporter of Ringmaster’s dreams for what felt like an eternity, your support almost illimitable. The first time you’d met had been an accident but one that payed off in the end. Somehow, you found yourself sitting in a quiet circus tent, everyone filed out long ago while you were—napping. Yes, napping brought you together, somehow. Ringmaster came out to ensure the audience had left but when he saw you he made his way over. Tapped your shoulder and engaged in some small talk—that ended in you two exchanging numbers.

Since then you always found yourself in the front seat of his shows and the last person to leave and he grew to appreciate it. Nobody else took the time on him but you, it was truly heartening. One day, mid performance, Ringmaster professed his love. And that landed you two here, five months later.

His lips found yours again, finding them already parted he delved in. The kiss tasted of chocolate chips and love that’d last a lifetime. His tail swayed in a hypnotic motion behind him, his urge to keep something in motion going. He’d always been that way. Never still. If he was sitting, his foot was tapping. If he was standing he was fidgeting with his fingers. It was all pure habit, being still was far too uncomfortable.

Speaking of which, before ending up in this position, you were in the kitchen on your own. You were about to grab a glass when a cabinet rustled. As soon as you opened it—Ringmaster popped up and scared the daylights out of you. This was his way of—apologizing.

He finally pulled back, his breath ragged and the taste of cookies lingered on his tongue. “Look at you, so drăguţ. Aren’t you?” He murmured, his voice taking on a hypnotic quality. His hands remained on you, not reaching for another cookie. Just holding. Anchoring both you and him before going again.