A/N: Frustration-inspired.
At 3 a.m.
There was a whisper in the room, and it slithered along his nape.
Was it too tight? –the youth wanted to know.
Doumeki shrugged. The carelessly draped robe falling from stiffened shoulders, his flushed skin betraying the restless pawing of his heart against his chest. Laughter, musical and surreal, made him frown, but the brush of sleeves against his sides forced the archer to suck in a breath as the boy's chest burned against his back.
Could he see anything? –the demon-child wanted to know.
It was then that he caught the brief flicker of shadows darting just beyond the veiling blindfold. His head dipped ever so slightly towards his left shoulder and those hands wrapped themselves against his neck, forcing the archer-priest to raise his bound gaze to the indistinct textures and shades above them. Kisses glided over him like warm wine over silk, flooding him with a heated chill.
"That's enough of that," Doumeki cautioned.
… dip low…
Or he thought he did.
… loosen back…
He must have.
… swerving arcs…
Or musn't he?
Should it stop?-the spirit-child wanted to know.
Doumeki let his body sink against the coursing velvet and bit down a moan.
"What… is your name?" The man demanded as his lids trembled in a wince.
He remembers.-the captor teased.
And he did.
The violence of the void ripped the shadows with the sterile moonlight. Alone, he watched his slumped doppelganger… Come morning, they would bury the corpse beneath languid murmurs. Of course, Watanuki would make him do all the digging again. That… phantom youth.
...