ooc; Thank you! Here’s Perseus and Asiux, with the random roll of 53. Rolling Tongue Kiss.
The drinks settled in his veins like a sluggish fire, their numbing salvation dulling his thoughts enough to make the ache of his field performance hurt less, although the ache remained. Perseus slid his forearm across the counter, his knuckles pushing the glass toward the bartender in a wordless request. As the man scanned the milling crowd around him, his gaze flickered toward a towering mechari standing beside the doorway. After a moment Perseus raised his hand as a vague greeting toward the other man. Asiux stayed still for long enough that it seemed he had forgotten Perseus, before the mechari silently strode across the wooden floor and slid onto the stool beside him. The mechari crossed his hands on the table in a strange mockery of Cassian customs. “Colonel Asiux Sigmavelox,” Perseus said, the foreign name sounding strange on his tongue. “Several weeks past, we encountered one another during our speeches at the Dominion War Memorial.”
"Captain," the mechari replied, his voice a melodious humming sound, all mechanical. The mechari tilted his head to the side, just enough for his beaded jewels to chime against each other behind his exanite. After a long period of silence, when the mechari simply stared at him, Asiux added, "Ford, of the Crimson Legion." Each word seemed spoken with careful precision, his intent masked by a polite veneer of indifference unmatched by the intensity of his stare.
His fingers traced the underside of Asiux’s jawline, the chrome plating smooth as silk against his skin. Perseus pressed a kiss against the mechari’s lower mandibles, his arm curling to wrap around the mechari’s neck for balance as he balanced his weight against the edge of his stool. There Perseus hesitated, his lips barely parted from the warm chrome plating, before he ventured a quiet, “Asiux?” as doubt began to insidiously thread through his thoughts.
A mechanical hum built in the mechari’s chest, his obsidian plating rumbling gently against Perseus’s hand, which the man pressed there for balance. As Asiux tilted his head downward, no other movement made, Perseus surged forward to meet him, his lips pressed heatedly against the plates between the mechari’s parted mandibles. Warm chrome fingers wrapped around his forearms, each large finger curling so harshly around his skin, yet those hands held him in place; they did not push him away. A sinuous series of plates pressed against his lower lip, and Perseus lightly scraped his teeth against the metal tongue before he withdrew from the other man. His hand slowly slid across the mechari’s chrome arm, his fingers squeaking lightly against the chilled metal, the coolness spreading a wave of heat throughout his chest. Perseus felt his teeth bite the inside of his lower cheek as his gaze flickered up toward the mechari’s pale white eyes. “Asiux,” he repeated, his voice carrying all of the professionalism that his thoughts had long since abandoned.
"You require rest, Captain."
"Yes," the man said, his voice lowering as he turned his head from the mechari. Perseus gathered the remnants of his scattered professionalism around him like a gilded shield. "You are quite correct. Goodnight."