Disclaimer: Of course I don’t own them.


By katryne

"Don't say a word."

Startled grey eyes tried frantically to look for the person to match the voice.  But a hot, heavy hand muffled his mouth and his arms are gripped tightly behind him. Struggling was futile; his arms were gripped harder in return and he cried out in pain.


But that wasn't what that froze him solid.

A light touch, the faintest kiss, a hot and languid breath on the nape of his neck.

He shivered.

There was a hand on his belly now, stroking slowly through his shirt, spreading warmth faster than he could stand.

"Move." He was helpless, and could do nothing but obey.

They were standing in front of the mirror. It was a very large mirror; too large, in his private opinion.

But his lover asked for it, and he could not bear to disagree. I had plans, his lover said, winking to him and stroking him through his pants.

Just like the hand that was travelling lower and began worming its way into the waistband. He tried to squirm away, but he was held tighter, his ear lobes bitten, as a warning perhaps against future disobedience. He whimpered at the force, at the even, measured, knowing stroking. That mouth, that hot mouth was moving along his shoulders, kissing, biting, licking him, bringing him closer to meltdown so much faster than he ever thought possible.

He tried begging, “Please…” stop? more?

The hand moved so fast to clasp over his mouth. He could smell his own scent on the hand. The realisation was heady and he could feel his cheeks burning. Those lips that were impossibly close to his ears shushed him again, and whispered, “Open your eyes.”

Were they closed? He didn’t realise that they were. He opened his eyes and gasped a little at the scene reflected back to him. He had taken off his jacket earlier, and now his shirt was riding high, exposing a belly that was as flushed as the rest of him. His erection was straining against the leather, and looking at him, at them he was so very aware of the insistent bulge pressing behind him.

He couldn’t help himself; he was moving against it, coaxing it, teasing it, moaning at the feel of it.

There was a deep growl in his captor’s voice. “I take it you like what you see.”

Should he answer? He just nodded in frantic agreement. He was turned around and that maddening mouth returned to him, this time taking over from the hand to keep him quiet. The kiss was violent, no, not violent. The kiss was brute force and want and need that were matched by the restless hands that were moving along him. He was wanting and needing too, and his fingers were caught in the fabrics in their haste to meet skin.

The cool air that caressed his skin went unnoticed; they were too hot from the foreplay and the promise of more.

“You are beautiful,” his golden captor said softly. He wanted to say you too but he wasn’t sure if that was allowed. He started to reach for more skin, but his hands were stilled and he whimpered in frustration.

There were soothing words. “Not tonight. I’m having my turn tonight, and I’ll enjoy it.”

Those hands begun stroking again, playing him like a well-known instrument that he probably was. Toying with his shoulders, his neck, teasing feather-light touches along his nipples, his abdomen, his navel. He gave up trying to predict where they’ll go, and tilted his head back to see the inverted reflection in the mirror. It should probably be obscene, but it was probably the best thing the mirror had ever seen.

A glide along his inner thighs snapped him back from his flight. Back to a reality where slick hands are taking their own sweet time to torture him in their own fashion, helped by hot lips and breaths and words that inflamed him further.

Distance would have been a reprieve, so naturally that mouth came closer. “Look at me,” that voice commanded, and he looked wide-eyed as he was swallowed whole. He screamed, his body convulsed, still that mouth held on and those fingers continued their maddening stroking along his hips. Up and down, licking and sucking, a careful bite here and a forceful swallow there and pretty soon he was coming, coming and coming into a waiting, eager, greedy mouth that took everything.

He was gasping, out of breath. He could not see, there was a white film over his eyes. He was revived with a kiss and turned over unceremoniously, facing the mirror that was the sole witness of tonight.

“Look at it. Look at us,” the voice said, just as slick fingers began working into his relaxed hole.

Slip-sliding and gliding in and out, making dirty little wet sounds as he was stretched wider and wider and all he could do was whimper-moan for more. A crooked finger made him scream again. And again and again until he was near exhaustion, but he knew there was more and that made him mewl in shivery delight.

He could feel a blunt edge nudging at his opening. He could not help but be eager and pushed his hips higher, like a bitch in heat, wanting to be impaled, to be fucked and he sighed in anticipation when those hands caressed his bottom and that cock pushed inside.

“Ohh….” But there was no punishment for his slip; his captor was enjoying himself too much buried in him to care. He could feel that himself stretched so much wider, the delicious friction spreading outwards until he could swear his hair was on fire. But they were pasted on his face, damp with sweat, and clinging to his mouth and eyes and obscuring his view of their rutting reflections.

They were beautiful, he decided. Too beautiful for words, and he envied those who could never comprehend this moment. This moment of sheer primal need, of them grunting and moving against each other, trying frantically reaching for that final peak, for more pleasure, for more feeling.

He was beyond all that. Too many sensations were flooding his body, he was losing his mind to the intensity. Again and again that little gland within him was stroked; he could feel keenly the burning movement of that hard cock sliding in and out of him, too much ecstasy for a mere mortal could stand.

They were both burning up, he could feel it in the increased frenzy of their movements. There’ll be bruises on his hips later, he would not magic them away. No Cure nor Curaga this time, let those finger-shaped bruises mark him and he would be proud.

Those hands were guiding his hands, making him watch himself as he stroked himself to completion as the man behind him continued pumping and driving into him. This time, he truly emptied himself, and he lay his exhausted head on those strong shoulders as he was filled with searing heat. His captor moved away, and he sighed at the loss. But those arms came around him soon after, and in their secure embrace he slept.



“Do you think… do you think we can do that again, some other time?”

“What, the fucking or the role-playing?”

“Just because I’ve been very well-fucked doesn’t mean I can’t summon Shiva to freeze your balls off.”

“Ouch. Well, you were rather loud. I mean, louder than usual… and it was pretty hot…”

“Is that a yes?”

“You think I’ll ever turn down a chance to claim that ass, Leonhart?”

“Ha. Next time, I’ll ream your ass.”


“And you’ll like it.”

“Of course. Now go to sleep.”

*mutter* “You always had to have the last word.”

*kiss* *sigh*

“Not all the time.”



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