Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction ❯ Delirium: Sixth ❯ A Thousand Tiny Deaths ( Chapter 1 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: spare 
The lemon chapter. Looks like a PWP? Perhaps it is. The rest of the story is at fanfiction.net.
Anime/Manga: Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Mystery / Hentai | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 05.02.2005 | Pages: 5 | Words: 8.2K | Visits: 2.3K | Status: Completed
The lemon chapter. Looks like a PWP? Perhaps it is. The rest of the story is at fanfiction.net.
Anime/Manga: Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Mystery / Hentai | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 05.02.2005 | Pages: 5 | Words: 8.2K | Visits: 2.3K | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: I do not own Petshop of Horrors. The pre-eminent Matsuri Akino does.
Preliminary Notes: Lemon! A melodramatic lemon. Oh yeah, that means PORN. As in SMUT. As in SEX. My first full-blown smutty chappie, so expect the whole shebang. ^_~ The story occurs just after the Donor episode in volume 7 of the manga. This is a YAOI (Leon x Count D) fic. Homophobes beware.
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Warnings: The following contains explicit descriptions of sexual acts between two men. The reader must be of legal age (at least 18 years old or above) to proceed. If you are not of legal age and/or if you abhor activities of a homosexual nature, kindly hit the back button or close this window for your own good. Now. If you choose to act otherwise, I shall take no responsibility for any psychological, emotional, or physical (O_O) trauma you may sustain.
x x x
Delirium
by spare
Chapter 6: A Thousand Tiny Deaths
And so here he was.
D had settled himself where she had sat, hands clasped loosely over his lap, taking one last appraising glance around the room. Thick, fragrant smoke drifted from the antique copper incense burner he had placed on the table beside them, its solitary occupant save for the tiny jar of emollient resting over its burnished edge. The use for the jar's contents needed no further elaborations; it was only a question of how it would be applied. Should he prepare himself, first, before proceeding with anything else, or should he wait for Leon to wake?
D sighed. It did not matter either way, did it? The outcome would be the same. He looked down. Before him, Leon still slumbered, snoring peacefully underneath the velvety sheets. A sheen of sweat had formed just above his brow.
Not much longer now until the drug would wear off. Not much longer now. In a few minutes, it will begin.
Tentatively, D reached out one hand to touch the detective's face. Tendrils of blond hair clung to the sides of his neck and forehead, plastered on flushed, feverish skin. His temperature had been already high when D had last checked, three hours ago. Now he was practically burning.
"This is certainly one fine mess you have gotten yourself into, detective," D whispered, leaning forward to push the covers out of the way. Leon grunted something in his sleep, turning so that he lay flat on his back, but did not wake.
No matter. He will wake soon enough.
Almost hesitantly, the Count began to disrobe. Not that his demurral had anything to do with modesty; the door had long been closed behind them, and would stay closed until... until whatever there was to be done was done with. He took off the black brocade slippers adorning his feet, setting them neatly on the cold wooden floor. No. It was the whole absurdity of the situation that made him waver; the knowledge that once again he had Leon's life in his hands, and the good officer would have no knowledge of it.
Not that D particularly relished the possibility of Leon knowing about what he was about to do, if he could. Of course. To the detective, this interlude would be but a dream, no different from the others the petshop owner surmised he had had, ever since Elna possessed his body.
A dream. Yes. Hopefully the last one the detective would entertain. He would make sure of that.
Deft, nimble fingers undid the front closures of his qipao. The silken robe sloughed off his pale shoulders to pool around his feet. Then the cream-colored pants he wore beneath his outfit, sliding uneventfully from his narrow hips. Only when he was fully unclothed did he allow his eyes to wander back to where Leon lay sleeping.
And clothed.
Standing in the nude, clad only in shadow, D allowed the barest ghost of a smile to grace his lips as he surveyed the detective's dormant form. Leon was dressed, yes. Not in the clothes he walked in on when D had admitted him into his shop, however. True, the detective had protested quite eloquently when he had suggested divesting him of his sweat-soaked clothes and into something more comfortable. But in the end, he'd won, if only because D left the new parcel of clothing on his bed and went out of the room to allow the man a measure of privacy. Only then did the detective finally change into the yukata the Count provided for him. Leon had worn it like a bathrobe and promptly buried himself under the blankets. It was the least 'feminine' outfit D could find: linen, dyed a drab, patternless gray. But even a small measure of gratitude for this consideration may have been asking too much from the American, D mused.
The Count fingered the folds of that yukata now, exposing more of the Detective's well-defined chest. He could not understand why Leon would want to hide such a fine body from anyone's view. It was not as if he had not seen the officer unclothed before...
Reaching down, he undid the loose knot the man had tied around his waist. The robe fell open, and D had to stop his exploration for a while, content to drink in the sight beneath him. Lean as a whip and muscular, but not overly so. Broad shoulders tapering off into a narrow waist and strong, sturdy thighs, and between them... D inhaled sharply inspite of himself. Between those legs, Leon's organ stood, hard and proud. A thick droplet of precum seeped out from the tip as he watched, trickling down the length of the shaft.
It struck him full force, then. The reality of what he was about to do. He froze, immobile before the detective's exposed body, feeling a knot of indecision tie itself tighter within his stomach. Unbidden, Elna's words returned to him. /Why do you care?/ she had asked, bewildered. /He is a human./
A human. D averted his gaze from the bed; averted his gaze from /him/. A human. Yes. He had sidestepped the question, then, unsure of how to answer, precisely because he was unsure of /the/ answer. Even now.
/You desire him as well./
Elna, however, provided him one.
He frowned into the darkness of the room. It was an absurd notion, certainly. Absurd, because Elna knew as much as he did that humans were the least desirable creatures to roam the earth. Especially American ones. And Leon was both. Ever wanting, ever ambitious, taking everything they can and giving nothing in return. There was nothing in them to be desired. Detested, surely, and pitied, perhaps.
Pity. Yes. His eyes drifted back to regard Leon's inanimate form. Despite his shortcomings (although, he idly noted, this did not in any way apply to the man's physical attributes), the detective does not deserve such an end, to die in the fatal embrace of a plant that brought mortals into the throes of delight just as surely as it brought them death. One could not fault him to feel compassion for a man who believed him the embodiment of his desires, however base they may be.
Pity. That was it. That was all it was, and all that it should ever be.
Pity, too, that the knowledge did little to inspire his faltering heart.
Eyes the color of clotting blood. Hateful eyes. /"You do know what his salvation entails, don't you?"/
/"Yes,"/ he had replied. /"I do."/
/"And you are willing to do it?"/ A mocking smile. /"More than that, /can/ you do it? You are... untried, if I recall correctly./ She had arched one pale green eyebrow. /"Or, in the absence of your grandfather, have you perhaps gotten ar--"/
/"I am able."/
He had not lain with anyone, let alone a human, before; that much was true. He was a young god, his decades-old existence upon this earth (4) trifling and short compared to his grandfather's, and, in his years of relative physical maturity, found no more than a detached interest on intercourse of a sexual nature. Oh, he had lost count of the times he was provided such an opportunity for a hands-on exploration of the subject: all the similar offers with varying provocations and subtleties; every one of them declined. Some, he thought, casting a furtive glance at his claws, with far greater finality. All for one simple reason: he had no need for it. Animals felt the need to copulate in order to reproduce. Humans were no different. /Their/ kind, however, need not resort to this means to abide. To do so would be wasteful, and, so he believed up to this point, tedious. He knew the basics, knew what was to be done and how to do it, regarded such acts as amusing, if not contemptuous.
/"I am able."/
But not now. Copulation was the only way to break the mind-fever Elna had placed upon Leon. Tonight, if only to save the detective's life, D would have to put to good use the stock of knowledge he had on mating with human men.
Elna had shrugged at his reply. /"Whatever. You have little more than a day, Count."/ she had informed him, narrowing her eyes. /"He will be mine forever, should you fail."/
/"I will not."/
He had sounded so confident when he had said it, so very sure of himself. He had even believed his own words, at that time.
And yet...
No. He should not think about it now, of all times. D took a deep breath, steeling himself, and crawled directly above Leon. This close, their faces mere inches apart, almost touching but not quite, he could feel the heat emanating from the detective's prone body, could feel the rasp of hot breath against his cheek. He inhaled again, feeling a stirring in his own loins as his body registered their current proximity. His knees braced securely on either side of Leon's waist, palms pressing into the pillow just above his head, D leaned forward to nuzzle the hollow of Leon's throat.
Leon was warm. So very warm, searing D's lips where they brushed against the detective's skin, making him so much more aware of the steady pulse of blood flowing underneath. And Leon smelled... good, he decided. The smell of salt, of sweat, and an underlying scent he couldn't quite place.
He moved upward, feathering small, soft kisses on Leon's jaw, and further up, on the side of his mouth. Leon was coming awake. He knew that, because Leon's legs were shifting under him, and his arms, relaxed and pliant just moments ago, now twitched restlessly against the bedcovers. D's own hands had moved to cup the detective's face, letting his elbows support the bulk of his weight. Long, slender fingers traced the outline of his lips, trying to coax them open, while his other hand traveled down, fingers grazing his collarbone, circling one flat brown nipple, pushing what remained of the underrobe out of the way so that he could clutch at his hipbone.
Another twitch; more pronounced this time. Leon's fingers curled, and then uncurled, beneath him. With a sigh, D placed a chaste kiss on Leon's lips just as he grasped the length of the detective's shaft in hand, stroking it firmly. Leon moaned at the touch, lips parting, and D took it as his chance to delve into the officer's mouth. He tasted warmth and water and the medicine he had made him drink that night. Eyes sliding shut, D swirled his tongue further in, imitating the movements he was making with his hand. Leon tasted-- delicious.
A gasp, then a sudden tenseness in his frame, conveyed to him that Leon was now fully awake. D opened his eyes, breaking the kiss, and was rewarded with a most curious sight: Leon laying beneath him, mouth slack and panting slightly, a dazed expression on his handsome face.
"D?"
"Detective," D whispered gently in reply, letting the pad of one thumb run along the underside of the detective's penis.
The effect was electric. Leon groaned, a guttural sound rising from somewhere in the back of his throat, hips jerking forward, almost toppling D off his perch. One large, callused hand flew up to grab at D's shoulder as the other clutched his lower back, pulling him close, bringing their erections in startling contact with each other.
Another moan joined the one Leon was vocalizing. D barely had a moment to realize that the moan came from his own lips, before Leon's grip on him tightened, pulling him closer still, and flipped the both of them over so that he was on top.
Interesting.
Leon's hands now pinned him by the wrists.
Very interesting.
D glanced up, noting how his own heart now beat rapidly against his chest, how sweat trickled down Leon's forehead, scalding his own skin, even as the detective's cobalt-blue gaze met his. Their recent activity appeared to have driven all remnants of sleep from Leon's eyes. They now regarded him with feral intensity, staring him down, so very much alert, and -- yes -- alive.
"Fuck," Leon declared, panting harshly. "You just fucking... had to wake me." His voice was thick, laced with lust. D wondered how more heat could suffuse his features just from the sound of it. "Didn't you?" The detective finished.
"Y-you--" He was out of breath as well, apparently. He swallowed, and tried again. "You were dreaming, detective."
A short, bitter laugh. "I think I still am."
"Why do you think that?' the Count asked. He extricated one hand from his grip, lifting it to stroke the hair behind Leon's ear.
The detective actually managed a derisive snort, despite their current intimacy. "Because you're here," he replied, as if that explained everything. "And you're..." Leon gestured at their current position. "You'd never..." he trailed off, unable to continue, because D chose at that exact moment to take hold of the officer's organ once again, teasing it between his fingers.
"Never what?" D inquired pleasantly. "Do /this/, perhaps?" he suggested, and ventured lower to fondle his testicles.
"Y.. yes. That," Leon rasped. "Nngh..."
"Oh," he exclaimed, finding the audacity to blink. "And this, too, I suppose," D continued, taking pains to keep his tone conversational, even as he raised his hips, bracing one foot between Leon's ankles for leverage, and thrust upward. His arousal touched thigh, and then touched cock. Leon's cock. They both shuddered. "Yes... T-these actions..." He had to pause to collect himself once more, and managed a smile. "These actions are certainly out of character, are they not?"
Leon growled out something incoherent in reply, bent his head forward, and bit him on the side of his neck. Not deep enough to draw blood, but deep enough to make D want to press himself more urgently against his loins, a broken sound issuing forth from his lips. And then it was Leon's hot tongue lapping at the area he had just bitten, traveling down, leaving a wet trail of saliva between his collarbone and over his chest, flicking over the tight nub of one rose-colored nipple, and the broken sound became a wail. D squirmed, still moaning, both hands now cradling Leon's head close to his chest as the detective continued his assault, feeling something he could not quite comprehend building within himself.
The part of his mind, the one that held on to reason as the rest of him was swept away in a torrent of passion, was frankly surprised by the way his own body responded to Leon's caresses. D had believed this interlude to be brief and straightforward; meant only to provide enough pleasure to satisfy Leon's lust and thus release the hold Elna had over his body. He had not anticipated that the act would prove to be pleasurable to him as well, that the detective's hands on his body could make it quiver in delight and-- there it was, that feeling he could not name -- and expectation. That his mouth on his skin could elicit sounds he had never even made before. It bewildered him. It excited him.
It frightened him.
A particularly violent shiver wracked his frame just then. It certainly proved this latter point, he told himself. And the fact that Leon was now kissing the gentle slope of his lower belly, inches from where he was swollen and aching and desperate, was but a coincidence. Still, this assurance did not prevent him from clutching the detective's shoulders -- the yukata still draped over them loosely, D realized -- more firmly, holding fistfuls of cloth in his shaking hands.
Nor did it deter him from crying out when Leon bent further down, caressing the side of one flawless porcelain thigh with a rough, surprisingly dry palm, and took him in his mouth. "De--detective!" he exclaimed, as much appalled by the detective's actions as he was with his own frantic response, of arching backwards into the bed, of his hips bucking to feel the swirl of that hot, talented tongue laving over him, tasting him.
No. This was not going the way he had planned. His hands gripped the thin material still covering Leon's shoulders, making a token effort to push him away. Or hold him in place. Or-- D gasped, shaking his head fervently. He did not know. He did not /want/ to know. What he /did/ know was the wet and the heat, and the tightness in his testicles building up to the point that it was excruciating. He had to regain control of the situation before he-- before he--
/You must stop,/ D wanted to say, but all he managed was a hoarse "You--" and a choked sob and the treacherous thought that if he did not get more of this, soon, he would die. "You must--" he tried again, putting more work into pushing him away, this time, "Ah! Detective! Y-you should-- I--"
Leon appeared to pay neither heed to D's words, nor to his half-hearted struggles. The detective loomed over him, trapping the Count's legs with the weight of his body, arms braced on either side of his hips, keeping them still. D squirmed, and wailed, and dug his hands tighter into his shoulders, long nails tearing through fabric, then through skin. Leon growled against his erection, muscles tensing, hands grabbing his hips so hard D knew they would bruise, and took him further inside the moist cavern of his mouth, swallowing him whole. And then it was D's turn to tense beneath him, his own lips parting open in wonder and trepidation as he climaxed, feeling Leon's throat constrict around his shaft, swallowing reflexively, drinking as much of him as he could.
x x x
D passed out for what might have been seconds, minutes, hours -- he could not determine which. He usually could tell, the knowledge coming to him as naturally as breathing did. Not now, however. At the moment he felt faint and disoriented in a way that was strangely pleasant, as if he had fallen asleep in a warm bath and had just woken up, relaxed and refreshed. At any rate, he woke up to the feel of moist, warm lips brushing over his. He opened his eyes and it was Leon's face he saw, flushed and exultant, with eyes that smouldered beneath his lashes. His own eyes wandered to the detective's mouth, admiring the swell of his bottom lip and the hint of even white teeth it revealed. He could feel warmth pervade his features as he remembered what that mouth had done to him, moments before.
It was not too long ago, D surmised, considering the way they both breathed in shallow pants, the sweat that clung in beads on Leon's forehead and the strong cord of his neck, and the man's insistent hardness presenting itself against the inside of one slightly elevated thigh.
"Liked that, didn't you?" Leon asked, voice still husky and gruff, speaking in a leisurely drawl that made D all too aware of the faint tingling sensation he still felt in his groin.
D looked squarely into his eyes, resisting the urge to nod, let alone utter a direct affirmation. "That was... unexpected," he finally replied, answering the way he usually did, the way he was accustomed to: as truthfully as he could, without revealing too much. It was reassuring to note that his voice had regained its easy composure, that this first sentence was intelligible, so unlike the urgent, needy exclamations of before. He should treasure this state, because he had more than a sneaking suspicion that he would not be able to sustain it. Not for long. Especially not in this position, with Leon nestled between his legs, blue eyes regarding him hungrily. But now, now that he had regained control of his senses, if only momentarily, he could proceed with the ritual as was originally planned.
"Yeah." Leon smiled, and laughed -- a real laugh, this time, and continued, "Tell me about it. Giving-- " he swallowed, cheeks flaming in that endearing manner D had secretly delighted in inciting, "giving blowjobs ain't my usual thing. But this is a dream, so what the heck. You've--" he suddenly cleared his throat, and D watched the blush creep all the way to his ears. "I mean... Turnabout is fair play, and all that crap." As if it was almost an afterthought, he mumbled, "And I could adapt."
D smiled in return. "I am certain you could." Recalling what had recently transpired, he corrected himself. "You /have/, and splendidly," he proclaimed, and, because he could not bear to do otherwise, brushed his thumb across the detective's lips. Leon's tongue darted out to lick it teasingly, making D catch his breath. "Take me," D suddenly declared, the words spilling out of his lips before he could think to contain them. An impulse. A terrible, terrible impulse, he thought, looking up to regard his upraised hand and Leon's shocked countenance, behind it.
Terrible, precisely because he meant it.
Leon's eyes were wide, staring at him disbelievingly. "Could it--?"
"It could be done, detective," D affirmed. Well. Now that he had said it, there was no turning back. Fascinating how the very thought of it -- of Leon taking him, going in to the very hilt, filling him -- renewed those delicious tingles on his person. He moved his hand to stroke the side of Leon's cheek. Arching one dark eyebrow, he continued, "Surely, you could not be as naive as you pretend?"
Interesting how Leon could color further at the same time his blue eyes grew hazier with lust. "But--"
"Don't you want to?" he put in, deciding to cut the detective's protestations short with a featherlight stroke over his shaft. D smirked in satisfaction as the organ twitched at his touch, swelling further, while Leon's knees buckled, and the American fought to steady himself with both arms for support. The smirk proved to be short-lived, however, as Leon suddenly reached for his face, crushing his lips to his in a soul-robbing kiss.
"I do," Leon croaked when they finally separated, coming up for air. One large, work-roughened hand tenderly brushed wayward strands of hair from his forehead, smoothing across his cheek, down his neck; a trembling, almost reverent motion. The detective closed his eyes. "God, yes, I do. But don't we need--" he let out brokenly, panting, "do we have--"
"On the table," D panted back. He pointed to the jar laying next to the copper pot. "H-here." Watching Leon reach for the tiny container through heavy-lidded eyes, he continued, "You have to prepare me, first."
The detective hurriedly unscrewed the cap. "How?"
By the elder gods, was the American as ignorant as he presumed to be? "Your fingers," D replied quickly, repressing the urge to shake him, scream for him to do something, anything.
Thankfully, Leon finally seemed to catch on. The detective tilted the jar, both of them watching as clear, fragrant liquid began to trickle over the rim. Leon hastily coated his fingers, and D took the opportunity to spread his own legs wider, lifting his hips. He lay back, wondering briefly whether the detective really knew what to do next, surely he need not instruct the man further-- and then he gasped.
A slick, sticky finger circled his anus, gently probing at the puckered entrance, going in. D took a few deep breaths, willing his muscles to relax as Leon's finger pushed in deeper inside him. It was... a novel sensation, to say the least; unnerving, yet strangely exhilarating at the same time. Leon was touching the top of his thigh with his other hand, gliding across the sensitized flesh in soft, soothing gestures. "OK so far?" the detective whispered from somewhere above him, and D opened his eyes, unaware until that point of having closed them.
"Yes," the Count answered, nodding. Leon's countenance had the most peculiar expression: lust and adoration mingling with undertones of disbelief, the tanned, chiseled features of his face taut and determined, blue eyes locked to his, staring down at him with such intensity that he became uncomfortably aware of his own aching arousal.
"Good," Leon swallowed. "That's cool." D felt him begin to flex the digit inside him tentatively, inquiringly. His erection throbbed painfully at every in-thrust, at every movement. If Leon's hand would travel downward, D thought, trembling in spite of himself, if he would reach down and touch him there, caress him just as he-- D clenched his teeth, fighting to keep still. A second finger joined the first, moments later, sliding in, stretching him further. The ache in his loins increased tenfold. Yes, if Leon would just... D whimpered. Leon stilled inside him in an instant. "Are you--"
"Yes!" D moaned. "Yes," he repeated, steadying himself. He squirmed beneath him, giving in to the urge to buck his hips forward, allowing Leon's fingers better access, moaning because he could not bear to do otherwise. "Just-- please, if you could just--" He realized he was making no sense, but did not particularly care at the moment. He grabbed Leon's wrist, the one that rested over his thigh, guiding it down. The heel of his palm brushed against the head of his organ, making him hiss.
Leon got the idea, taking hold of D's arousal and rubbing it in quick, firm strokes, thumb spreading the moisture that had gathered at the tip. His fingers resumed their movement, scissoring inside the unyielding channel in slow, sure beats. D felt the now-familiar pressure begin to rise, the pleasurable tingles return, and knew he was close. His toes curled tightly, heels sliding over the rumpled covers. So close. But he could not, not yet, no. First, he must... Yes, he must-- Hastily, he pulled Leon's hand away, tangling moist fingers through his own shaking ones. "Now," D murmured, voice urgent, eyes squeezing shut. "Do it now, now--"
Leon needed no further encouragement. D watched him reach for the jar, watched him fumble, watched him scoop the contents with his fingers, watched him spread the liquid over his erection; all within the span of seconds, still not fast enough. At last, Leon scooted slightly forward, crouching down, large hands grasping the backs of D's knees, pushing his legs further apart, hoisting them up and over his shoulders. Leon slid inside him with hardly any difficulty, the salve and D's own slackened muscles helping to ease his entry. "Holy... fuck," the detective hissed through gritted teeth, fully settling himself within the Count's body.
"Y-..." D bit back a groan, head tilting back into the pillow, laying ever so still as his mind registered the way he had been taken. Claimed. He felt-- he did not know how exactly he felt, but it felt good. Alien, yet strangely familiar. His senses, sharp as they are, seemingly coming alive for the first time, so much so that he was aware of everything and nothing at the same time. Blood pounding behind his ears, throbbing in time with where they were joined. Black mixing with white. Leon's eyes, peering down at him through a haze of lust and longing. The spicy scent of incense combined with sweat, and the ointment's sweet, tart smell permeating the air, sinking through the pores of his skin. He managed another shaky breath. Leon filled him completely, filled him to bursting. D could feel him hot and pulsing and alive down there, inside him. Like he was part of his being. Like they were one. Unparalleled. Incredible. Worlds beyond anything any human tongue can aptly describe. And so D settled for the next best thing he wanted to say in reply. "Your language, detective--"
A snort, as if the other person could not believe what he had said, just now. "Fine time for you to tell me that," Leon grunted, sounding pained. He sucked in his breath, part of what D surmised was a herculean effort to keep still. "God! You-- okay? D?"
"I am alright," he assured him. That, and more. Much more. Leon's concern touched him, but he thought, surely, it ought to be apparent that he found their current position enjoyable. His eyes slid shut. And if the good detective would move, he ventured, taking a few more quavering breaths, it would be even...
"You sure?" Leon's rough, anxious voice intruded into his thoughts.
Better.
"Yes," D gasped, letting more than a hint of annoyance creep through his voice. /Start moving./ "Detective--"
"Leon."
D blinked. "Wh-- what?"
"Call me Leon. That's my legal goddamned name, and as long as we're going to fuck each other--"
"Language!"
"As long as we are going to do this," Leon continued, rephrasing his words, "I think you oughta call me by name," he finished, smoothing D's hair with shaky fingers. "Alright." The detective looked straight into his eyes. "I won't swear and you'd call me Leon. Deal?"
D shot him an exasperated look. "Really, detecti--"
"Leon." D could feel him pull out, as he said this, gaze imploring him earnestly, his own mismatched eyes widening. A few seconds passed like eternity plowing through a busy intersection, and then he pushed in again. Deeper. D swallowed. It had to be deeper.
Very well. "Leon it is," he acceded. The detective withdrew again in that same, slow motion. D lifted his hips as he redescended, drawing an answering groan from the other man. It felt good, warm, rigid flesh pulling away and thrusting right back in. But it was slow. Not hesitant, not exactly, just slow. As if Leon was afraid he might break beneath him if he so much as increased his pace. D really ought to divorce him of that notion. He shifted his legs to a more secure position over the blond man's shoulders, flexing his muscles around him in the process, and did just that.
"F-" Leon began, then narrowed his eyes to slits, shoulders hitching, and remembered in time. "Feels good," he concluded without missing a beat. He craned forward, head lowered, not quite close enough to kiss D's own parted lips. Hot breath prickled the sensitive skin of his throat, instead. "You're hot," Leon whispered, lips ghosting over the side of his neck. "And tight. So tight. I wanna--"
"Then do it," D rasped desperately, and squeezed around him even more. /Take me fast, take me hard, just do it!/ "Do it, de--" hurriedly, he corrected himself, "Leon."
And so he did. Leon thrust in harder, faster, moving as if it was an end in itself, moving like he could not get enough. Taking him roughly, taking him for the sake of it, stroking him deeper still with every thrust. D felt himself being pulled close, hefted higher so that his bare calves slid over the detective's back, noting that the yukata still covered it -- he should get rid of it, make it so it was skin against skin, that would be good, he thought -- and then Leon's organ struck a particularly sensitive spot inside him that drove all rational thought from his mind.
D wailed, a keening, incoherent sound that eventually broke into sobs but never really stopped. Not when Leon pulled out, growling something he could not decipher in his state of near-delirium, and plunged back in, repeating the motion. It carried on as Leon quickened his pace even more, hitting that spot again and again. D shivered. And, oh gods, again. It carried on even as he bucked his hips forward to meet him, matching a rhythm only they knew of, they and that heat, that friction, that delicious pressure building inside. And Leon was babbling, words spoken so rapidly he was not even sure they were words, but they conveyed a clear enough message nonetheless. D caught a curse word or two somewhere in the jumble of mindless utterances, but let it pass. It carried on as Leon's hand returned to his own erection, stroking it furiously with a slick, rough fingers. It carried on as D jolted at the sensation, froze, shivered, and came, harder than before. It carried on as Leon also shuddered, seconds later, his organ twitching inside him, filling him with seed, and buried his face at the crook of his neck, hips continuing to grind against his own.
It carried on, even when their movements stopped, even when the sounds stopped, even when it was supposed to be over. It carried on inside his head.
It carried on for a long, long while.
x x x
Chris couldn't sleep. He tossed. He turned. He tried sleeping on his right side. When that didn't work, he tried sleeping on his left. When /that/ didn't work, he tried sleeping upside-down. Then flat on his stomach. Then, because he couldn't breathe in that position, on his back. That didn't work, either. His eyes wouldn't stay shut for long. He looked over to where Pon-chan lay on the other side of the bed, snuggled comfortably on the downy pillow, sound asleep. Chris envied her.
/"Big bro's sleeping somewhere in here, too,"/ the boy thought silently to himself. He ought to. Leon had looked really tired when Jill and the Count brought him into the shop, his face all red and his eyes all droopy. They told him his brother had a fever. Well, duh! As if Chris couldn't see that. He'd had his own share of fevers. Why, he had his worst just last year. Or was that a year and a half? Red, itchy spots had sprouted all over his body. His parents said he'd come down with "chicken pox", which Chris found weird, since he hadn't gone anywhere near any chickens before he got sick.
He had missed one week of school because of that, and that meant he'd had to do twice as much homework when he got well enough to go back. Chris scrunched his nose in remembrance. Fevers were bad. He wondered whether Leon would do twice as much homework (or what passed for that in his line of work) once /he/ gets well.
/"And he will,"/ Chris added, staring at the ceiling. He never doubted for a second that his brother would become fine again. Leon would be OK because Count D said so. The Count was always right about these things. The only question was how soon. He hoped it would be sooner.
Chris sat up, stretching his legs as he did so, and looked around the room. There weren't any lights on, but that was OK, because his eyes had pretty much adjusted to the dark. He could make out the curtains covering the far wall of the room, and the bedroom door, lined with the light from the hallway beyond, just across it. It was quiet, but not too quiet. You could always hear people talking, even singing, somewhere in the Count's shop, if you tried hard enough. It figured. There were so many people in here, after all. He never seemed to run out of new faces to see. And there were so many rooms to explore!
Explore. That's what he got to do. He could visit Philippe, or Shuko and her sisters. Hopefully they were still awake. It was too early to sleep, anyway. Carefully, so he wouldn't wake Pon-chan up, Chris got out of bed, bare feet landing on the carpet with a small thump. He rounded the edge of the bed, and nearly tripped over a sheet.
Oh. Yeah. Almost forgot about that. Sometime in the night, his feet had pushed the blankets all the way to the foot of the bed. T-chan, who usually slept there, would have been mad.
He picked up the blankets and put them back on the bed, frowning at the empty spot where the red-haired boy was supposed to be. T-chan would have been mad, except that T-chan wasn't there tonight. Chris thought he might have sneaked out again. T-chan always did, whenever he thought he could get away with it.
Chris had once asked him where he went on those nights. "Somewhere babies like you shouldn't be yapping about," the older boy had replied, smirking. "Go fill in coloring books with Pon-chan." Pon-chan had glared at T-chan then, and sniffed, nose stuck in the air. Chris had wanted to glare, too. He wasn't a baby; he was almost eight years old! But then the Count had finished preparing the tea and asked him to help with the cake he'd set out, so Chris didn't have the chance to do so.
It was also later (after two slices of cake and hide-and-seek and Leon visiting and T-chan tripping him accidentally on purpose as he made his way back to the stairs leading out of the shop) that Chris realized T-chan hadn't really answered his question.
An idea popped up inside the younger Orcot's head. He would find out where T-chan had gone off to, tonight! He inwardly beamed. All by himself, too. That would prove to the older boy that he wasn't a baby. With that thought firmly in mind, Chris closed the distance between his feet and the door. His hands found the latch, turning it gently.
The door swung open. Chris stepped out.
"Couldn't sleep, too, huh?"
Chris jumped. /"T-chan!"/
"Hey, kid," T-chan drawled from where he sat leaning against a wall, knees drawn, one clawed hand upraised in greeting.
/"What are you doing out here?"/ Chris asked, feeling both disappointed and relieved to find the toutetsu in the hallway. This was where T-chan went every night?
"Passing the time," the older boy replied with a shrug. "Nobody feels like sleeping tonight, it seems," he muttered, folding his arms behind his head. "'cept for Pon-chan, and your brother, of course. I think I saw Q-chan fly past just a while ago, too. The little furball seemed to be all riled up about something."
/"Q-chan?"/
"Yeah." T-chan thought for a moment. "Come to think of it, he sorta freaked out right after you found those yellow grains on the bed. What do you think that means?" He cast him a sideways glance, and added, "Not that a little squirt like you could figure it out, anyway."
/"I could, too!"/ Chris declared indignantly. /"It means--"/ He stopped. /"Wait. The Count kinda looked upset that time, too."/ No. Not upset. Scared was more like it. Chris had not really noticed, before.
T-chan frowned. "Something ain't right here," he said, but he didn't elaborate further. He was quiet for a few moments, looking like he was making up his mind up something. Then he turned toward Chris. "Wanna check up on your brother again?"
/"Well..."/ Chris began. He did want to go see Leon again, even though that probably won't make him any better. /"But--"/
"Don't tell me you won't go 'cause the Count said we should be asleep," T-chan cut him off, sneering as if it was the most babyish thing in the world to do. "We'll just take a sec. The Count will understand," he added.
/"O... OK, I guess."/
x x x
They were almost at the door to where the Count had tucked Leon in a few minutes later. They would have gotten there earlier, too, except that they passed by a kid with big, yellow eyes who said hello and never seemed to stop talking. He said his name was Oulan, which meant rain, and while nothing could compare to the tropical forests he'd left behind when Count D took him in, the petshop was a fine enough place. Oulan had wanted to say more, but T-chan had made up some excuse and then they had finally left, walking faster than usual.
"Damned bird," T-chan had muttered when they were far enough away. Chris had thought the comment funny, then, but didn't say anything. Everyone sometimes said (and did) weird things inside the shop. He had gotten used to it.
T-chan walked ahead of him, a scowl on his face. If Chris didn't know any better, he would think that T-chan was as freaked out about that 'something' as Q-chan and the Count were. But it was only a bunch of seeds. Wasn't it?
"Here we are," the older boy announced, stopping before Leon's room. The door was closed, but that was to be expected. Chris stepped closer, and then noted something that wasn't.
There were strange, muffled sounds coming from the room. T-chan seemed to notice it, too, because his frown grew even deeper. Someone was talking inside. Chris couldn't get what the person was saying, though -- it all came out too fast, and like whoever it was was out of breath. Another person said something in reply. Wait, /Leon/ said something in reply. Chris would recognize his older brother's voice anywhere, even though it /did/ sound dry and wheezy. And the person they'd heard earlier was Count D.
Raising both eyebrows, Chris pressed his ear to the door. He still couldn't get what they were saying, but at least they weren't fighting. It didn't sound like that, at least. /"Leon and Count D are talking inside,"/ he whispered. Suddenly it felt like a good idea to whisper. He didn't want to disturb them.
"Duh," T-chan replied, rolling his eyes.
Then they heard it. A squeaking sound, the kind Chris' bed made whenever he jumped on it or rolled around too hard. But this sound was louder, and longer, like somebody was bouncing repeatedly on the bed. Chris guessed it was Leon. He couldn't picture the Count doing anything like that. What was funny was the Count wasn't scolding his brother for doing that, though. In fact, Leon was saying something, and the Count had started to sing, except that his voice wasn't that good -- it was broken, as if he wasn't breathing properly.
Weird.
T-chan's eyes were wide, his mouth opening and closing for a few seconds without saying anything. "We should... go," the older boy declared finally, turning to him. Chris couldn't help but notice the way the T-chan's face seemed to turn all white and pasty for a few seconds, only to become a shade of red almost, but not quite, matching his hair color.
Weird, Chris thought, blinking. All this was weird. /"But... what are they doing in there?"/
"N-Nothing..." the toutetsu replied. But then his face began to /really/ match the color of his hair, so Chris knew 'nothing' meant something.
/"You don't know, either, do you?"/
"I do, too!" T-chan growled. "It's just..." the older boy groped for words. "We should leave them alone." He grabbed Chris by the scruff of his shirt, and tugged.
Very weird. The sounds continued before them, coming from inside the room. /"B-but--"/ he began to protest.
"Come /on/," T-chan ordered, and dragged them as far from the door as he could, as if he thought it might blast open any second.
And that was that.
But, Chris noted, while T-chan carried him bodily through the hallway and off to the bed where only Pon-chan slept at the moment, the door remained closed.
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Author's Ramblings: Four months. You think that's evil? Look at my longest multi-chapter fic, which I haven't updated for three friggin' YEARS. That's evil. But I got an excuse for the delay in this one! Two, actually: 1) the PC crashing, and 2) my godforsaken Final Undergraduate Semester of Doom. I've just graduated from college (and entering the nine levels of hell, i.e. law school)! (dances) These aside, writing this piece proved to be far more difficult than anything else I've ever done so far. Especially since it's summer in my part of the globe, and boy, it's already too darned HOT in here without my having to type all those (cough) scenes. Speaking of which, I owe a big thanks to elana-chan for help on all the nasty little details I just HAD to put in (for research purposes, hehe XP). And for promptly texting back replies to my weird, sweatdrop-inducing questions.
And... uh... did I mention in Chapter 5 that this fic's almost done? Ehehehe... Well, I'm mentioning in Chapter 6 that the fic is almost, /almost/ done. The next chapter will be the last, let's hope. Gomen nasai!
Whew. The longest chapter I've ever typed. The longest "Author's Ramblings", too. If you're annoyed, just think that the length makes up for all those months of absence. OK sa alright, bai?
Review, even if it's to remind me that the fic sucks. Just tell me how and why. Clickety. Go on.
(4) This is my own personal take on D's age. I'm guessing he's twenty to fifty years old. Hardly half a century, anyway. There has not been, to my knowledge, any official (i.e. Akino-sama says so) ruling on how old D is.
Preliminary Notes: Lemon! A melodramatic lemon. Oh yeah, that means PORN. As in SMUT. As in SEX. My first full-blown smutty chappie, so expect the whole shebang. ^_~ The story occurs just after the Donor episode in volume 7 of the manga. This is a YAOI (Leon x Count D) fic. Homophobes beware.
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Warnings: The following contains explicit descriptions of sexual acts between two men. The reader must be of legal age (at least 18 years old or above) to proceed. If you are not of legal age and/or if you abhor activities of a homosexual nature, kindly hit the back button or close this window for your own good. Now. If you choose to act otherwise, I shall take no responsibility for any psychological, emotional, or physical (O_O) trauma you may sustain.
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Delirium
by spare
Chapter 6: A Thousand Tiny Deaths
And so here he was.
D had settled himself where she had sat, hands clasped loosely over his lap, taking one last appraising glance around the room. Thick, fragrant smoke drifted from the antique copper incense burner he had placed on the table beside them, its solitary occupant save for the tiny jar of emollient resting over its burnished edge. The use for the jar's contents needed no further elaborations; it was only a question of how it would be applied. Should he prepare himself, first, before proceeding with anything else, or should he wait for Leon to wake?
D sighed. It did not matter either way, did it? The outcome would be the same. He looked down. Before him, Leon still slumbered, snoring peacefully underneath the velvety sheets. A sheen of sweat had formed just above his brow.
Not much longer now until the drug would wear off. Not much longer now. In a few minutes, it will begin.
Tentatively, D reached out one hand to touch the detective's face. Tendrils of blond hair clung to the sides of his neck and forehead, plastered on flushed, feverish skin. His temperature had been already high when D had last checked, three hours ago. Now he was practically burning.
"This is certainly one fine mess you have gotten yourself into, detective," D whispered, leaning forward to push the covers out of the way. Leon grunted something in his sleep, turning so that he lay flat on his back, but did not wake.
No matter. He will wake soon enough.
Almost hesitantly, the Count began to disrobe. Not that his demurral had anything to do with modesty; the door had long been closed behind them, and would stay closed until... until whatever there was to be done was done with. He took off the black brocade slippers adorning his feet, setting them neatly on the cold wooden floor. No. It was the whole absurdity of the situation that made him waver; the knowledge that once again he had Leon's life in his hands, and the good officer would have no knowledge of it.
Not that D particularly relished the possibility of Leon knowing about what he was about to do, if he could. Of course. To the detective, this interlude would be but a dream, no different from the others the petshop owner surmised he had had, ever since Elna possessed his body.
A dream. Yes. Hopefully the last one the detective would entertain. He would make sure of that.
Deft, nimble fingers undid the front closures of his qipao. The silken robe sloughed off his pale shoulders to pool around his feet. Then the cream-colored pants he wore beneath his outfit, sliding uneventfully from his narrow hips. Only when he was fully unclothed did he allow his eyes to wander back to where Leon lay sleeping.
And clothed.
Standing in the nude, clad only in shadow, D allowed the barest ghost of a smile to grace his lips as he surveyed the detective's dormant form. Leon was dressed, yes. Not in the clothes he walked in on when D had admitted him into his shop, however. True, the detective had protested quite eloquently when he had suggested divesting him of his sweat-soaked clothes and into something more comfortable. But in the end, he'd won, if only because D left the new parcel of clothing on his bed and went out of the room to allow the man a measure of privacy. Only then did the detective finally change into the yukata the Count provided for him. Leon had worn it like a bathrobe and promptly buried himself under the blankets. It was the least 'feminine' outfit D could find: linen, dyed a drab, patternless gray. But even a small measure of gratitude for this consideration may have been asking too much from the American, D mused.
The Count fingered the folds of that yukata now, exposing more of the Detective's well-defined chest. He could not understand why Leon would want to hide such a fine body from anyone's view. It was not as if he had not seen the officer unclothed before...
Reaching down, he undid the loose knot the man had tied around his waist. The robe fell open, and D had to stop his exploration for a while, content to drink in the sight beneath him. Lean as a whip and muscular, but not overly so. Broad shoulders tapering off into a narrow waist and strong, sturdy thighs, and between them... D inhaled sharply inspite of himself. Between those legs, Leon's organ stood, hard and proud. A thick droplet of precum seeped out from the tip as he watched, trickling down the length of the shaft.
It struck him full force, then. The reality of what he was about to do. He froze, immobile before the detective's exposed body, feeling a knot of indecision tie itself tighter within his stomach. Unbidden, Elna's words returned to him. /Why do you care?/ she had asked, bewildered. /He is a human./
A human. D averted his gaze from the bed; averted his gaze from /him/. A human. Yes. He had sidestepped the question, then, unsure of how to answer, precisely because he was unsure of /the/ answer. Even now.
/You desire him as well./
Elna, however, provided him one.
He frowned into the darkness of the room. It was an absurd notion, certainly. Absurd, because Elna knew as much as he did that humans were the least desirable creatures to roam the earth. Especially American ones. And Leon was both. Ever wanting, ever ambitious, taking everything they can and giving nothing in return. There was nothing in them to be desired. Detested, surely, and pitied, perhaps.
Pity. Yes. His eyes drifted back to regard Leon's inanimate form. Despite his shortcomings (although, he idly noted, this did not in any way apply to the man's physical attributes), the detective does not deserve such an end, to die in the fatal embrace of a plant that brought mortals into the throes of delight just as surely as it brought them death. One could not fault him to feel compassion for a man who believed him the embodiment of his desires, however base they may be.
Pity. That was it. That was all it was, and all that it should ever be.
Pity, too, that the knowledge did little to inspire his faltering heart.
Eyes the color of clotting blood. Hateful eyes. /"You do know what his salvation entails, don't you?"/
/"Yes,"/ he had replied. /"I do."/
/"And you are willing to do it?"/ A mocking smile. /"More than that, /can/ you do it? You are... untried, if I recall correctly./ She had arched one pale green eyebrow. /"Or, in the absence of your grandfather, have you perhaps gotten ar--"/
/"I am able."/
He had not lain with anyone, let alone a human, before; that much was true. He was a young god, his decades-old existence upon this earth (4) trifling and short compared to his grandfather's, and, in his years of relative physical maturity, found no more than a detached interest on intercourse of a sexual nature. Oh, he had lost count of the times he was provided such an opportunity for a hands-on exploration of the subject: all the similar offers with varying provocations and subtleties; every one of them declined. Some, he thought, casting a furtive glance at his claws, with far greater finality. All for one simple reason: he had no need for it. Animals felt the need to copulate in order to reproduce. Humans were no different. /Their/ kind, however, need not resort to this means to abide. To do so would be wasteful, and, so he believed up to this point, tedious. He knew the basics, knew what was to be done and how to do it, regarded such acts as amusing, if not contemptuous.
/"I am able."/
But not now. Copulation was the only way to break the mind-fever Elna had placed upon Leon. Tonight, if only to save the detective's life, D would have to put to good use the stock of knowledge he had on mating with human men.
Elna had shrugged at his reply. /"Whatever. You have little more than a day, Count."/ she had informed him, narrowing her eyes. /"He will be mine forever, should you fail."/
/"I will not."/
He had sounded so confident when he had said it, so very sure of himself. He had even believed his own words, at that time.
And yet...
No. He should not think about it now, of all times. D took a deep breath, steeling himself, and crawled directly above Leon. This close, their faces mere inches apart, almost touching but not quite, he could feel the heat emanating from the detective's prone body, could feel the rasp of hot breath against his cheek. He inhaled again, feeling a stirring in his own loins as his body registered their current proximity. His knees braced securely on either side of Leon's waist, palms pressing into the pillow just above his head, D leaned forward to nuzzle the hollow of Leon's throat.
Leon was warm. So very warm, searing D's lips where they brushed against the detective's skin, making him so much more aware of the steady pulse of blood flowing underneath. And Leon smelled... good, he decided. The smell of salt, of sweat, and an underlying scent he couldn't quite place.
He moved upward, feathering small, soft kisses on Leon's jaw, and further up, on the side of his mouth. Leon was coming awake. He knew that, because Leon's legs were shifting under him, and his arms, relaxed and pliant just moments ago, now twitched restlessly against the bedcovers. D's own hands had moved to cup the detective's face, letting his elbows support the bulk of his weight. Long, slender fingers traced the outline of his lips, trying to coax them open, while his other hand traveled down, fingers grazing his collarbone, circling one flat brown nipple, pushing what remained of the underrobe out of the way so that he could clutch at his hipbone.
Another twitch; more pronounced this time. Leon's fingers curled, and then uncurled, beneath him. With a sigh, D placed a chaste kiss on Leon's lips just as he grasped the length of the detective's shaft in hand, stroking it firmly. Leon moaned at the touch, lips parting, and D took it as his chance to delve into the officer's mouth. He tasted warmth and water and the medicine he had made him drink that night. Eyes sliding shut, D swirled his tongue further in, imitating the movements he was making with his hand. Leon tasted-- delicious.
A gasp, then a sudden tenseness in his frame, conveyed to him that Leon was now fully awake. D opened his eyes, breaking the kiss, and was rewarded with a most curious sight: Leon laying beneath him, mouth slack and panting slightly, a dazed expression on his handsome face.
"D?"
"Detective," D whispered gently in reply, letting the pad of one thumb run along the underside of the detective's penis.
The effect was electric. Leon groaned, a guttural sound rising from somewhere in the back of his throat, hips jerking forward, almost toppling D off his perch. One large, callused hand flew up to grab at D's shoulder as the other clutched his lower back, pulling him close, bringing their erections in startling contact with each other.
Another moan joined the one Leon was vocalizing. D barely had a moment to realize that the moan came from his own lips, before Leon's grip on him tightened, pulling him closer still, and flipped the both of them over so that he was on top.
Interesting.
Leon's hands now pinned him by the wrists.
Very interesting.
D glanced up, noting how his own heart now beat rapidly against his chest, how sweat trickled down Leon's forehead, scalding his own skin, even as the detective's cobalt-blue gaze met his. Their recent activity appeared to have driven all remnants of sleep from Leon's eyes. They now regarded him with feral intensity, staring him down, so very much alert, and -- yes -- alive.
"Fuck," Leon declared, panting harshly. "You just fucking... had to wake me." His voice was thick, laced with lust. D wondered how more heat could suffuse his features just from the sound of it. "Didn't you?" The detective finished.
"Y-you--" He was out of breath as well, apparently. He swallowed, and tried again. "You were dreaming, detective."
A short, bitter laugh. "I think I still am."
"Why do you think that?' the Count asked. He extricated one hand from his grip, lifting it to stroke the hair behind Leon's ear.
The detective actually managed a derisive snort, despite their current intimacy. "Because you're here," he replied, as if that explained everything. "And you're..." Leon gestured at their current position. "You'd never..." he trailed off, unable to continue, because D chose at that exact moment to take hold of the officer's organ once again, teasing it between his fingers.
"Never what?" D inquired pleasantly. "Do /this/, perhaps?" he suggested, and ventured lower to fondle his testicles.
"Y.. yes. That," Leon rasped. "Nngh..."
"Oh," he exclaimed, finding the audacity to blink. "And this, too, I suppose," D continued, taking pains to keep his tone conversational, even as he raised his hips, bracing one foot between Leon's ankles for leverage, and thrust upward. His arousal touched thigh, and then touched cock. Leon's cock. They both shuddered. "Yes... T-these actions..." He had to pause to collect himself once more, and managed a smile. "These actions are certainly out of character, are they not?"
Leon growled out something incoherent in reply, bent his head forward, and bit him on the side of his neck. Not deep enough to draw blood, but deep enough to make D want to press himself more urgently against his loins, a broken sound issuing forth from his lips. And then it was Leon's hot tongue lapping at the area he had just bitten, traveling down, leaving a wet trail of saliva between his collarbone and over his chest, flicking over the tight nub of one rose-colored nipple, and the broken sound became a wail. D squirmed, still moaning, both hands now cradling Leon's head close to his chest as the detective continued his assault, feeling something he could not quite comprehend building within himself.
The part of his mind, the one that held on to reason as the rest of him was swept away in a torrent of passion, was frankly surprised by the way his own body responded to Leon's caresses. D had believed this interlude to be brief and straightforward; meant only to provide enough pleasure to satisfy Leon's lust and thus release the hold Elna had over his body. He had not anticipated that the act would prove to be pleasurable to him as well, that the detective's hands on his body could make it quiver in delight and-- there it was, that feeling he could not name -- and expectation. That his mouth on his skin could elicit sounds he had never even made before. It bewildered him. It excited him.
It frightened him.
A particularly violent shiver wracked his frame just then. It certainly proved this latter point, he told himself. And the fact that Leon was now kissing the gentle slope of his lower belly, inches from where he was swollen and aching and desperate, was but a coincidence. Still, this assurance did not prevent him from clutching the detective's shoulders -- the yukata still draped over them loosely, D realized -- more firmly, holding fistfuls of cloth in his shaking hands.
Nor did it deter him from crying out when Leon bent further down, caressing the side of one flawless porcelain thigh with a rough, surprisingly dry palm, and took him in his mouth. "De--detective!" he exclaimed, as much appalled by the detective's actions as he was with his own frantic response, of arching backwards into the bed, of his hips bucking to feel the swirl of that hot, talented tongue laving over him, tasting him.
No. This was not going the way he had planned. His hands gripped the thin material still covering Leon's shoulders, making a token effort to push him away. Or hold him in place. Or-- D gasped, shaking his head fervently. He did not know. He did not /want/ to know. What he /did/ know was the wet and the heat, and the tightness in his testicles building up to the point that it was excruciating. He had to regain control of the situation before he-- before he--
/You must stop,/ D wanted to say, but all he managed was a hoarse "You--" and a choked sob and the treacherous thought that if he did not get more of this, soon, he would die. "You must--" he tried again, putting more work into pushing him away, this time, "Ah! Detective! Y-you should-- I--"
Leon appeared to pay neither heed to D's words, nor to his half-hearted struggles. The detective loomed over him, trapping the Count's legs with the weight of his body, arms braced on either side of his hips, keeping them still. D squirmed, and wailed, and dug his hands tighter into his shoulders, long nails tearing through fabric, then through skin. Leon growled against his erection, muscles tensing, hands grabbing his hips so hard D knew they would bruise, and took him further inside the moist cavern of his mouth, swallowing him whole. And then it was D's turn to tense beneath him, his own lips parting open in wonder and trepidation as he climaxed, feeling Leon's throat constrict around his shaft, swallowing reflexively, drinking as much of him as he could.
x x x
D passed out for what might have been seconds, minutes, hours -- he could not determine which. He usually could tell, the knowledge coming to him as naturally as breathing did. Not now, however. At the moment he felt faint and disoriented in a way that was strangely pleasant, as if he had fallen asleep in a warm bath and had just woken up, relaxed and refreshed. At any rate, he woke up to the feel of moist, warm lips brushing over his. He opened his eyes and it was Leon's face he saw, flushed and exultant, with eyes that smouldered beneath his lashes. His own eyes wandered to the detective's mouth, admiring the swell of his bottom lip and the hint of even white teeth it revealed. He could feel warmth pervade his features as he remembered what that mouth had done to him, moments before.
It was not too long ago, D surmised, considering the way they both breathed in shallow pants, the sweat that clung in beads on Leon's forehead and the strong cord of his neck, and the man's insistent hardness presenting itself against the inside of one slightly elevated thigh.
"Liked that, didn't you?" Leon asked, voice still husky and gruff, speaking in a leisurely drawl that made D all too aware of the faint tingling sensation he still felt in his groin.
D looked squarely into his eyes, resisting the urge to nod, let alone utter a direct affirmation. "That was... unexpected," he finally replied, answering the way he usually did, the way he was accustomed to: as truthfully as he could, without revealing too much. It was reassuring to note that his voice had regained its easy composure, that this first sentence was intelligible, so unlike the urgent, needy exclamations of before. He should treasure this state, because he had more than a sneaking suspicion that he would not be able to sustain it. Not for long. Especially not in this position, with Leon nestled between his legs, blue eyes regarding him hungrily. But now, now that he had regained control of his senses, if only momentarily, he could proceed with the ritual as was originally planned.
"Yeah." Leon smiled, and laughed -- a real laugh, this time, and continued, "Tell me about it. Giving-- " he swallowed, cheeks flaming in that endearing manner D had secretly delighted in inciting, "giving blowjobs ain't my usual thing. But this is a dream, so what the heck. You've--" he suddenly cleared his throat, and D watched the blush creep all the way to his ears. "I mean... Turnabout is fair play, and all that crap." As if it was almost an afterthought, he mumbled, "And I could adapt."
D smiled in return. "I am certain you could." Recalling what had recently transpired, he corrected himself. "You /have/, and splendidly," he proclaimed, and, because he could not bear to do otherwise, brushed his thumb across the detective's lips. Leon's tongue darted out to lick it teasingly, making D catch his breath. "Take me," D suddenly declared, the words spilling out of his lips before he could think to contain them. An impulse. A terrible, terrible impulse, he thought, looking up to regard his upraised hand and Leon's shocked countenance, behind it.
Terrible, precisely because he meant it.
Leon's eyes were wide, staring at him disbelievingly. "Could it--?"
"It could be done, detective," D affirmed. Well. Now that he had said it, there was no turning back. Fascinating how the very thought of it -- of Leon taking him, going in to the very hilt, filling him -- renewed those delicious tingles on his person. He moved his hand to stroke the side of Leon's cheek. Arching one dark eyebrow, he continued, "Surely, you could not be as naive as you pretend?"
Interesting how Leon could color further at the same time his blue eyes grew hazier with lust. "But--"
"Don't you want to?" he put in, deciding to cut the detective's protestations short with a featherlight stroke over his shaft. D smirked in satisfaction as the organ twitched at his touch, swelling further, while Leon's knees buckled, and the American fought to steady himself with both arms for support. The smirk proved to be short-lived, however, as Leon suddenly reached for his face, crushing his lips to his in a soul-robbing kiss.
"I do," Leon croaked when they finally separated, coming up for air. One large, work-roughened hand tenderly brushed wayward strands of hair from his forehead, smoothing across his cheek, down his neck; a trembling, almost reverent motion. The detective closed his eyes. "God, yes, I do. But don't we need--" he let out brokenly, panting, "do we have--"
"On the table," D panted back. He pointed to the jar laying next to the copper pot. "H-here." Watching Leon reach for the tiny container through heavy-lidded eyes, he continued, "You have to prepare me, first."
The detective hurriedly unscrewed the cap. "How?"
By the elder gods, was the American as ignorant as he presumed to be? "Your fingers," D replied quickly, repressing the urge to shake him, scream for him to do something, anything.
Thankfully, Leon finally seemed to catch on. The detective tilted the jar, both of them watching as clear, fragrant liquid began to trickle over the rim. Leon hastily coated his fingers, and D took the opportunity to spread his own legs wider, lifting his hips. He lay back, wondering briefly whether the detective really knew what to do next, surely he need not instruct the man further-- and then he gasped.
A slick, sticky finger circled his anus, gently probing at the puckered entrance, going in. D took a few deep breaths, willing his muscles to relax as Leon's finger pushed in deeper inside him. It was... a novel sensation, to say the least; unnerving, yet strangely exhilarating at the same time. Leon was touching the top of his thigh with his other hand, gliding across the sensitized flesh in soft, soothing gestures. "OK so far?" the detective whispered from somewhere above him, and D opened his eyes, unaware until that point of having closed them.
"Yes," the Count answered, nodding. Leon's countenance had the most peculiar expression: lust and adoration mingling with undertones of disbelief, the tanned, chiseled features of his face taut and determined, blue eyes locked to his, staring down at him with such intensity that he became uncomfortably aware of his own aching arousal.
"Good," Leon swallowed. "That's cool." D felt him begin to flex the digit inside him tentatively, inquiringly. His erection throbbed painfully at every in-thrust, at every movement. If Leon's hand would travel downward, D thought, trembling in spite of himself, if he would reach down and touch him there, caress him just as he-- D clenched his teeth, fighting to keep still. A second finger joined the first, moments later, sliding in, stretching him further. The ache in his loins increased tenfold. Yes, if Leon would just... D whimpered. Leon stilled inside him in an instant. "Are you--"
"Yes!" D moaned. "Yes," he repeated, steadying himself. He squirmed beneath him, giving in to the urge to buck his hips forward, allowing Leon's fingers better access, moaning because he could not bear to do otherwise. "Just-- please, if you could just--" He realized he was making no sense, but did not particularly care at the moment. He grabbed Leon's wrist, the one that rested over his thigh, guiding it down. The heel of his palm brushed against the head of his organ, making him hiss.
Leon got the idea, taking hold of D's arousal and rubbing it in quick, firm strokes, thumb spreading the moisture that had gathered at the tip. His fingers resumed their movement, scissoring inside the unyielding channel in slow, sure beats. D felt the now-familiar pressure begin to rise, the pleasurable tingles return, and knew he was close. His toes curled tightly, heels sliding over the rumpled covers. So close. But he could not, not yet, no. First, he must... Yes, he must-- Hastily, he pulled Leon's hand away, tangling moist fingers through his own shaking ones. "Now," D murmured, voice urgent, eyes squeezing shut. "Do it now, now--"
Leon needed no further encouragement. D watched him reach for the jar, watched him fumble, watched him scoop the contents with his fingers, watched him spread the liquid over his erection; all within the span of seconds, still not fast enough. At last, Leon scooted slightly forward, crouching down, large hands grasping the backs of D's knees, pushing his legs further apart, hoisting them up and over his shoulders. Leon slid inside him with hardly any difficulty, the salve and D's own slackened muscles helping to ease his entry. "Holy... fuck," the detective hissed through gritted teeth, fully settling himself within the Count's body.
"Y-..." D bit back a groan, head tilting back into the pillow, laying ever so still as his mind registered the way he had been taken. Claimed. He felt-- he did not know how exactly he felt, but it felt good. Alien, yet strangely familiar. His senses, sharp as they are, seemingly coming alive for the first time, so much so that he was aware of everything and nothing at the same time. Blood pounding behind his ears, throbbing in time with where they were joined. Black mixing with white. Leon's eyes, peering down at him through a haze of lust and longing. The spicy scent of incense combined with sweat, and the ointment's sweet, tart smell permeating the air, sinking through the pores of his skin. He managed another shaky breath. Leon filled him completely, filled him to bursting. D could feel him hot and pulsing and alive down there, inside him. Like he was part of his being. Like they were one. Unparalleled. Incredible. Worlds beyond anything any human tongue can aptly describe. And so D settled for the next best thing he wanted to say in reply. "Your language, detective--"
A snort, as if the other person could not believe what he had said, just now. "Fine time for you to tell me that," Leon grunted, sounding pained. He sucked in his breath, part of what D surmised was a herculean effort to keep still. "God! You-- okay? D?"
"I am alright," he assured him. That, and more. Much more. Leon's concern touched him, but he thought, surely, it ought to be apparent that he found their current position enjoyable. His eyes slid shut. And if the good detective would move, he ventured, taking a few more quavering breaths, it would be even...
"You sure?" Leon's rough, anxious voice intruded into his thoughts.
Better.
"Yes," D gasped, letting more than a hint of annoyance creep through his voice. /Start moving./ "Detective--"
"Leon."
D blinked. "Wh-- what?"
"Call me Leon. That's my legal goddamned name, and as long as we're going to fuck each other--"
"Language!"
"As long as we are going to do this," Leon continued, rephrasing his words, "I think you oughta call me by name," he finished, smoothing D's hair with shaky fingers. "Alright." The detective looked straight into his eyes. "I won't swear and you'd call me Leon. Deal?"
D shot him an exasperated look. "Really, detecti--"
"Leon." D could feel him pull out, as he said this, gaze imploring him earnestly, his own mismatched eyes widening. A few seconds passed like eternity plowing through a busy intersection, and then he pushed in again. Deeper. D swallowed. It had to be deeper.
Very well. "Leon it is," he acceded. The detective withdrew again in that same, slow motion. D lifted his hips as he redescended, drawing an answering groan from the other man. It felt good, warm, rigid flesh pulling away and thrusting right back in. But it was slow. Not hesitant, not exactly, just slow. As if Leon was afraid he might break beneath him if he so much as increased his pace. D really ought to divorce him of that notion. He shifted his legs to a more secure position over the blond man's shoulders, flexing his muscles around him in the process, and did just that.
"F-" Leon began, then narrowed his eyes to slits, shoulders hitching, and remembered in time. "Feels good," he concluded without missing a beat. He craned forward, head lowered, not quite close enough to kiss D's own parted lips. Hot breath prickled the sensitive skin of his throat, instead. "You're hot," Leon whispered, lips ghosting over the side of his neck. "And tight. So tight. I wanna--"
"Then do it," D rasped desperately, and squeezed around him even more. /Take me fast, take me hard, just do it!/ "Do it, de--" hurriedly, he corrected himself, "Leon."
And so he did. Leon thrust in harder, faster, moving as if it was an end in itself, moving like he could not get enough. Taking him roughly, taking him for the sake of it, stroking him deeper still with every thrust. D felt himself being pulled close, hefted higher so that his bare calves slid over the detective's back, noting that the yukata still covered it -- he should get rid of it, make it so it was skin against skin, that would be good, he thought -- and then Leon's organ struck a particularly sensitive spot inside him that drove all rational thought from his mind.
D wailed, a keening, incoherent sound that eventually broke into sobs but never really stopped. Not when Leon pulled out, growling something he could not decipher in his state of near-delirium, and plunged back in, repeating the motion. It carried on as Leon quickened his pace even more, hitting that spot again and again. D shivered. And, oh gods, again. It carried on even as he bucked his hips forward to meet him, matching a rhythm only they knew of, they and that heat, that friction, that delicious pressure building inside. And Leon was babbling, words spoken so rapidly he was not even sure they were words, but they conveyed a clear enough message nonetheless. D caught a curse word or two somewhere in the jumble of mindless utterances, but let it pass. It carried on as Leon's hand returned to his own erection, stroking it furiously with a slick, rough fingers. It carried on as D jolted at the sensation, froze, shivered, and came, harder than before. It carried on as Leon also shuddered, seconds later, his organ twitching inside him, filling him with seed, and buried his face at the crook of his neck, hips continuing to grind against his own.
It carried on, even when their movements stopped, even when the sounds stopped, even when it was supposed to be over. It carried on inside his head.
It carried on for a long, long while.
x x x
Chris couldn't sleep. He tossed. He turned. He tried sleeping on his right side. When that didn't work, he tried sleeping on his left. When /that/ didn't work, he tried sleeping upside-down. Then flat on his stomach. Then, because he couldn't breathe in that position, on his back. That didn't work, either. His eyes wouldn't stay shut for long. He looked over to where Pon-chan lay on the other side of the bed, snuggled comfortably on the downy pillow, sound asleep. Chris envied her.
/"Big bro's sleeping somewhere in here, too,"/ the boy thought silently to himself. He ought to. Leon had looked really tired when Jill and the Count brought him into the shop, his face all red and his eyes all droopy. They told him his brother had a fever. Well, duh! As if Chris couldn't see that. He'd had his own share of fevers. Why, he had his worst just last year. Or was that a year and a half? Red, itchy spots had sprouted all over his body. His parents said he'd come down with "chicken pox", which Chris found weird, since he hadn't gone anywhere near any chickens before he got sick.
He had missed one week of school because of that, and that meant he'd had to do twice as much homework when he got well enough to go back. Chris scrunched his nose in remembrance. Fevers were bad. He wondered whether Leon would do twice as much homework (or what passed for that in his line of work) once /he/ gets well.
/"And he will,"/ Chris added, staring at the ceiling. He never doubted for a second that his brother would become fine again. Leon would be OK because Count D said so. The Count was always right about these things. The only question was how soon. He hoped it would be sooner.
Chris sat up, stretching his legs as he did so, and looked around the room. There weren't any lights on, but that was OK, because his eyes had pretty much adjusted to the dark. He could make out the curtains covering the far wall of the room, and the bedroom door, lined with the light from the hallway beyond, just across it. It was quiet, but not too quiet. You could always hear people talking, even singing, somewhere in the Count's shop, if you tried hard enough. It figured. There were so many people in here, after all. He never seemed to run out of new faces to see. And there were so many rooms to explore!
Explore. That's what he got to do. He could visit Philippe, or Shuko and her sisters. Hopefully they were still awake. It was too early to sleep, anyway. Carefully, so he wouldn't wake Pon-chan up, Chris got out of bed, bare feet landing on the carpet with a small thump. He rounded the edge of the bed, and nearly tripped over a sheet.
Oh. Yeah. Almost forgot about that. Sometime in the night, his feet had pushed the blankets all the way to the foot of the bed. T-chan, who usually slept there, would have been mad.
He picked up the blankets and put them back on the bed, frowning at the empty spot where the red-haired boy was supposed to be. T-chan would have been mad, except that T-chan wasn't there tonight. Chris thought he might have sneaked out again. T-chan always did, whenever he thought he could get away with it.
Chris had once asked him where he went on those nights. "Somewhere babies like you shouldn't be yapping about," the older boy had replied, smirking. "Go fill in coloring books with Pon-chan." Pon-chan had glared at T-chan then, and sniffed, nose stuck in the air. Chris had wanted to glare, too. He wasn't a baby; he was almost eight years old! But then the Count had finished preparing the tea and asked him to help with the cake he'd set out, so Chris didn't have the chance to do so.
It was also later (after two slices of cake and hide-and-seek and Leon visiting and T-chan tripping him accidentally on purpose as he made his way back to the stairs leading out of the shop) that Chris realized T-chan hadn't really answered his question.
An idea popped up inside the younger Orcot's head. He would find out where T-chan had gone off to, tonight! He inwardly beamed. All by himself, too. That would prove to the older boy that he wasn't a baby. With that thought firmly in mind, Chris closed the distance between his feet and the door. His hands found the latch, turning it gently.
The door swung open. Chris stepped out.
"Couldn't sleep, too, huh?"
Chris jumped. /"T-chan!"/
"Hey, kid," T-chan drawled from where he sat leaning against a wall, knees drawn, one clawed hand upraised in greeting.
/"What are you doing out here?"/ Chris asked, feeling both disappointed and relieved to find the toutetsu in the hallway. This was where T-chan went every night?
"Passing the time," the older boy replied with a shrug. "Nobody feels like sleeping tonight, it seems," he muttered, folding his arms behind his head. "'cept for Pon-chan, and your brother, of course. I think I saw Q-chan fly past just a while ago, too. The little furball seemed to be all riled up about something."
/"Q-chan?"/
"Yeah." T-chan thought for a moment. "Come to think of it, he sorta freaked out right after you found those yellow grains on the bed. What do you think that means?" He cast him a sideways glance, and added, "Not that a little squirt like you could figure it out, anyway."
/"I could, too!"/ Chris declared indignantly. /"It means--"/ He stopped. /"Wait. The Count kinda looked upset that time, too."/ No. Not upset. Scared was more like it. Chris had not really noticed, before.
T-chan frowned. "Something ain't right here," he said, but he didn't elaborate further. He was quiet for a few moments, looking like he was making up his mind up something. Then he turned toward Chris. "Wanna check up on your brother again?"
/"Well..."/ Chris began. He did want to go see Leon again, even though that probably won't make him any better. /"But--"/
"Don't tell me you won't go 'cause the Count said we should be asleep," T-chan cut him off, sneering as if it was the most babyish thing in the world to do. "We'll just take a sec. The Count will understand," he added.
/"O... OK, I guess."/
x x x
They were almost at the door to where the Count had tucked Leon in a few minutes later. They would have gotten there earlier, too, except that they passed by a kid with big, yellow eyes who said hello and never seemed to stop talking. He said his name was Oulan, which meant rain, and while nothing could compare to the tropical forests he'd left behind when Count D took him in, the petshop was a fine enough place. Oulan had wanted to say more, but T-chan had made up some excuse and then they had finally left, walking faster than usual.
"Damned bird," T-chan had muttered when they were far enough away. Chris had thought the comment funny, then, but didn't say anything. Everyone sometimes said (and did) weird things inside the shop. He had gotten used to it.
T-chan walked ahead of him, a scowl on his face. If Chris didn't know any better, he would think that T-chan was as freaked out about that 'something' as Q-chan and the Count were. But it was only a bunch of seeds. Wasn't it?
"Here we are," the older boy announced, stopping before Leon's room. The door was closed, but that was to be expected. Chris stepped closer, and then noted something that wasn't.
There were strange, muffled sounds coming from the room. T-chan seemed to notice it, too, because his frown grew even deeper. Someone was talking inside. Chris couldn't get what the person was saying, though -- it all came out too fast, and like whoever it was was out of breath. Another person said something in reply. Wait, /Leon/ said something in reply. Chris would recognize his older brother's voice anywhere, even though it /did/ sound dry and wheezy. And the person they'd heard earlier was Count D.
Raising both eyebrows, Chris pressed his ear to the door. He still couldn't get what they were saying, but at least they weren't fighting. It didn't sound like that, at least. /"Leon and Count D are talking inside,"/ he whispered. Suddenly it felt like a good idea to whisper. He didn't want to disturb them.
"Duh," T-chan replied, rolling his eyes.
Then they heard it. A squeaking sound, the kind Chris' bed made whenever he jumped on it or rolled around too hard. But this sound was louder, and longer, like somebody was bouncing repeatedly on the bed. Chris guessed it was Leon. He couldn't picture the Count doing anything like that. What was funny was the Count wasn't scolding his brother for doing that, though. In fact, Leon was saying something, and the Count had started to sing, except that his voice wasn't that good -- it was broken, as if he wasn't breathing properly.
Weird.
T-chan's eyes were wide, his mouth opening and closing for a few seconds without saying anything. "We should... go," the older boy declared finally, turning to him. Chris couldn't help but notice the way the T-chan's face seemed to turn all white and pasty for a few seconds, only to become a shade of red almost, but not quite, matching his hair color.
Weird, Chris thought, blinking. All this was weird. /"But... what are they doing in there?"/
"N-Nothing..." the toutetsu replied. But then his face began to /really/ match the color of his hair, so Chris knew 'nothing' meant something.
/"You don't know, either, do you?"/
"I do, too!" T-chan growled. "It's just..." the older boy groped for words. "We should leave them alone." He grabbed Chris by the scruff of his shirt, and tugged.
Very weird. The sounds continued before them, coming from inside the room. /"B-but--"/ he began to protest.
"Come /on/," T-chan ordered, and dragged them as far from the door as he could, as if he thought it might blast open any second.
And that was that.
But, Chris noted, while T-chan carried him bodily through the hallway and off to the bed where only Pon-chan slept at the moment, the door remained closed.
x x x
Author's Ramblings: Four months. You think that's evil? Look at my longest multi-chapter fic, which I haven't updated for three friggin' YEARS. That's evil. But I got an excuse for the delay in this one! Two, actually: 1) the PC crashing, and 2) my godforsaken Final Undergraduate Semester of Doom. I've just graduated from college (and entering the nine levels of hell, i.e. law school)! (dances) These aside, writing this piece proved to be far more difficult than anything else I've ever done so far. Especially since it's summer in my part of the globe, and boy, it's already too darned HOT in here without my having to type all those (cough) scenes. Speaking of which, I owe a big thanks to elana-chan for help on all the nasty little details I just HAD to put in (for research purposes, hehe XP). And for promptly texting back replies to my weird, sweatdrop-inducing questions.
And... uh... did I mention in Chapter 5 that this fic's almost done? Ehehehe... Well, I'm mentioning in Chapter 6 that the fic is almost, /almost/ done. The next chapter will be the last, let's hope. Gomen nasai!
Whew. The longest chapter I've ever typed. The longest "Author's Ramblings", too. If you're annoyed, just think that the length makes up for all those months of absence. OK sa alright, bai?
Review, even if it's to remind me that the fic sucks. Just tell me how and why. Clickety. Go on.
(4) This is my own personal take on D's age. I'm guessing he's twenty to fifty years old. Hardly half a century, anyway. There has not been, to my knowledge, any official (i.e. Akino-sama says so) ruling on how old D is.