AN: The only reason I never posted (or edited this) is because I want to change the names and put it on Kindle (eventually). When I wrote on my bio that I'd email this to people if they wanted to read it, I honestly thought only 2 or 3 people would ask for it, but I've actually gotten a lot more than that, so I decided to temporarily post it here after all. BUT IT'S UNEDITED SO I'M SORRY FOR THE CRAPPY MISTAKES AND RUSHED ENDING!
*** Once Upon a Time there was an actor that lived in a world that seemed ugly. No hearth to sleep beside, no cinders to keep him warm on lonely nights; instead, he slept in a wagon with his troupe. One night, after playing the role of a princess in distress, a dashing pirate captured the actor and held him hostage on a pirate ship named La Muerta. When the pirate discovered that his prisoner was an actor and not a girl worth a ransom, he fell in love and offered to share a legendary treasure with the actor if he'd join La Muerta's crew. In a story, they would have lived happly-ever-after, unfortunately, there was a prophecy stating that the pirate would one day be cursed and die so their love was star-crossed. Unless—***\
Ryo felt that the stage was really no different that succumbing to the Draught. Under the lights, when he lost himself to a character and lived their fictional life, it was the same as the melted-sugar-rapture that attracted one to the drug. However, after the crowd left and he packed the props and stage make-up back into chests and had to go onto the road, darning costumes while stuck for hours in a rocking wagon and selling himself to well-to-do baboochkas for enough pretty polly to finish the trip, it was the same as when the drug wore off and left its users cold and shaking for their next taste.
At the moment, Ryo was in costume. The rush of adrenaline that always gripped his nerves before a performance made the lights almost too bright to bear. He smeared creamed rouge on his cheeks and painted his lips with bright red stain, trying to bob his head up or down to get a good look at his face through the cracked mirror held together by a long-ago tarnished frame of gilded metal. In the reflection he saw his brother, Bakura, fastening the cuffs of his costume. Ryo frowned with his now scarlet mouth. "I don't see why I always have to be the tits."
"Oh gods, not this again. Must you bitch before every show?"
"If you don't want me to nag like a devotchka then don't dress me as one."
"You know damn well why you always play the devotchka. In every fairy story ever worth inking down, the maiden is willowy, coy, and snowy, and you, dear brother, are so snowy that Marik swears that your father was a djinn."
"Yarbles."
Bakura grinned, it curved the scar on his tanned, right cheek to a thin, pale crescent. "Personally, I think you're the bastard of one of the sidhe, but who's to say what sort of demon visited our whore-mother that night?"
Marik rushed into the nook that served as their dressing room, his golden hair hidden underneath his helmet. "Not tonight, you two. You know if we start this show late they'll take it out of our cut of the polly."
Bakura lowered his torso in a dramatic bow. "As you wish, lovey. C'mon, Ryo, we're in the first scene together."
"Fine." Ryo snatched a blue ribbon from his impromptu vanity and tied his long, white hair up off his neck. "But just once I'd like a role that didn't involve me being a pair of tits."
"Sorry, Maria," Marik called him by his character's name. "No one wants a fairytale with complex, strong, capable characters. They want to see the helpless princess get rescued from the diabolical villain by her infallible prince. It's the way of our world."
"Bolshy yarbles." Ryo snorted and adjusted his breasts before walking out onto the stage.
Until the play was over, he never saw the audience that watched him from their seats, hidden in dark while lights lay his every gesture exposed, but Ryo didn't need to see them. If they cheered at the end, if they clapped and stood and tossed little hand-tied bouquets of wild hibiscus or violets on the stage, then Ryo was satisfied and all those hours of cramped, wagon travel and all those nights of following in their mother's occupational footsteps, were a meager price to pay.
Bakura, rather Draco, took Ryo's hand and kissed it, and Ryo turned away and blushed, acting as meek and frail as the audience wanted him to be. Marik stepped onto the stage with a drawn sword, his posture and bold laugh denoting him as the villain. They spoke their lines and played their parts – lost to the moment, the only reality that of their characters' – until the usurper lay dead on the stage leaving Maria and Draco alive to wed and live in a vague, impossible happily-ever-after.
The play ended and they received their standing ovation from the audience as they bowed low, hands clasped together. Afterward, they collected their share of the pretty polly and condensed all their belongings back into the wagon. They still wore their costumes, though Marik removed the fake armor. The three actors stopped at the Broken Mast Pub at the edge of town for pints of stout to celebrate a good performance.
The public house faced the docks and sailors or merchants crowded around most of the tables. The men whistled and shouted lewd suggestions at Ryo as he walked past them still wearing lace and ribbon. It took too much time to unfasten all the buttons and loops of his costume. The gown, the petticoats, the corset, each piece was a gauntlet of hooks and snaps meant to warp the female figure into something idolic and they had to be back on the road after midnight, so Ryo always suffered wearing his dresses and makeup until they were back in the wagon where he could change at his leisure.
He wouldn't mind, if a few of the more handsome sailors went through on their threats, but he knew without the feminine shape in which the dress forced on his body, the sailors would have no interest in him, so he focused on his beer. The foam, almost as white as Ryo's skin, tickled his lips. The cold, bitter taste of the stout beneath the foam shocked Ryo's tongue and he sighed as he drained half the mug in a single, needful swallow.
"I have always admired the way you drink." Marik laughed, Bakura's arm wrapped around his shoulder. "It's like you cross a desert before tasting each glass."
"I taught him everything he knows," Bakura bragged before taking a drink from his own cup.
"Oh? Is that true, Ryo?" Marik asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Well, he did teach me how to play a tin whistle, if that counts for anything."
They laughed and set their glasses to the edge of the table to let the servers know they needed another round. While they waited, they sat and critiqued the bard singing in the corner of the public house, and laughed the the sailors failed attempts to impress the serving wenches. One meandered to their table with three fresh pints, sweat trickling down the sides of the mugs. Marik winked at the girl and she blushed before dashing away from their table.
Ryo leaned back into his seat, the cushions soft and comfortable against his body – much more comfortable than the flat, wooden benches of their wagon. He gazed up at the thick, exposed rafters criss-crossing the ceiling. When he glanced back down, he noticed Bakura whispering in Marik's ear, their fingers brushing together. Ryo smiled. He thought it was cute how sweet Bakura and Marik could be to each other when they thought no one watched, though most of the time they bickered like starry baboochkas. He didn't stare, looking back up at the rafters. Even if he wasn't trying to be polite, Ryo was too jealous of his brother to look anywhere other than the beams above his head.
A crash and shout intruded the normal noise of the pub. Ryo glanced to his left, expecting to see two sailors have at it over one of the serving devotchkas. Instead, Ryo saw half a dozen men holding scimitars and robbing one of the more notorious merchants. Ryo, Bakura, and Marik all finished their stout and rose to leave without speaking. They went to the back of the public house and snuck out the back through the kitchen.
"Pirates," Marik whispered as they walked out into the cool evening air. "Better to avoid all that."
"It's time we get back on the road anyway," Bakura said.
Ryo trailed behind them. His blasted heels and skirts slowed him down. He lifted the layers of silk and lace up so he could trudge through the muck-covered cobblestone quicker. He opened his mouth to tell the other two to wait for him, but before he could speak, a broad hand clamped over his mouth while another one wrapped around his waist. Ryo struggled, but the arms holding him against a broad chest were too strong for him.
"Shhh," a voice whispered in Ryo's ear. "I've found, over the years, that the best hostages often have body guards that help them sneak through the back during a pirate raid." The hands crammed a silk handkerchief into Ryo's mouth, binding the cloth with a scarf so that Ryo couldn't scream for help. The pirate tied Ryo's wrists, arms, ankles, and calves, preventing him from moving.
Ryo felt himself hoisted over his captor's shoulder. All he saw from his vantage point was a long, royal-violet cape shifting in the night-darkened air. The hands now held Ryo in place against his captor's shoulder, one secured on his ass, the other on his legs. The body beneath him felt warm and dense with muscle, if Ryo shifted his gaze, he noticed a wild array of blond hair, the mane of an exotic beast from a fable or a bard's song. The aroma of spiced rum and sea salt and sweat clung to the pirate like cologne, and Ryo, despite knowing he should struggle harder to escape, found himself sifting deeper into the hold and sucking in the delicious smell of the pirate. He hoped the multiple layers of petticoats and silk prevented the pirate from noticing Ryo's forming erection. He knew, with his gown and blue hair ribbon and red stained lips, that the pirate mistook Ryo for a high-born devotchka, and that the truth would earn Ryo a ruby necklace carved into his throat with a dagger.
Ryo tested the ropes around his wrists as the pirate carried Ryo back to his ship. They were well knotted, but Ryo knew he could untie them once left alone. Already too far away from Marik and Bakura, Ryo decided to allow himself to be taken hostage until he found a more opportune time to escape.
The pirate brought Ryo to his cabin, dumping Ryo on a dark green, velvet upholstered chair. He lit a lamp and warned Ryo with a raised finger. "Virgins get a higher ransom, so as long as you behave this will be as short and as pleasant an experience as possible. I'd prefer your father's money to your life, but I won't hesitate."
Ryo wanted to roll his glazzies at the vague threats – he was used to specific, detailed terms that were never threats – but at the moment he was in character. He kept his glazzies wide and tried to push soft mewls past his gag like any other frightened devotchka. All the while, he used the time to admire the pirate's face. The pirate resembled Marik enough to tell Ryo they were both Easterners. They had the same golden hair and lavender stare, but Ryo preferred this stranger standing above him. Marik was smooth and polished; however, the man standing before Ryo was coarse and unfinished looking, wild.
He knelt on one knee, staring in Ryo's green glazzies. "You've calmed down a bit."
Ryo blinked three times, realizing he'd stopped acting frightened. He couldn't decide what to do so he pretended to faint into the soft, plush upholstery of the chair.
He heard the pirate snort out a breath of amusement. Ryo almost jerked up when he felt the coarse fingertips smooth over his cheekbone. He wanted to lean into the warmth and sigh but knew he couldn't so he stayed as still as he was able. "There's something very . . . strange about you." The hand withdrew from Ryo's face and Ryo held his breath as he listened to the footsteps. When he thought it safe, Ryo slit his glazzies open. The pirate removed his cape and undid the top buttons of his blouse. Ryo cracked his glazzies opened a little wider so he could snatch a better look at his captor's chest. The pirate kicked off his boots and slumped into the bed. Ryo waited until his breath rose and fell soft and rhythmic from his chest before he started working at the knots around his wrists.
The first rope wasn't difficult and, once it dropped to the chair cushion, Ryo could reach the ropes on his ankles and calves. Unfortunately, he couldn't reach the ropes above his elbows. Ryo glanced around the room, he noticed a wardrobe with ornate, ivory-carved handles. Ryo lifted himself from the chair, trying to keep his skirts quiet as they swished-shuffled-swished from his walking. Ryo squatted near the wardrobe, wiggling the bottom of the wardrobe-handle into his ropes and using the leverage to shimmy his narrow arms away from the rope.
The process was slow, but once free Ryo looked around the room. There were a few end tables in the room, the wardrobe, and the bed. The walls were bare except a strange arrangement of gears that served as a clock. Ryo had seen a few in his travels, though they weren't as common as water clocks, but usually used the sun and stars to tell the time himself. He helped himself to a cigar out of a box resting on a table with maps and navigation equipment. Ryo chewed on the end of the unlit cigar, trying to find something better to steal before he left the ship. He didn't see anything, any treasure on board presumably locked away. Ryo gave one last, longing look at the pirate asleep on a bed much too big for one person. He sighed and moved towards the door. As Ryo's hand reached out and touched the handle the pirate slammed into him, pressing his cheek against the wood. Ryo bit into the cigar, refusing to let it drop from his mouth.
The pirate spun Ryo around so they stood face to face, Ryo still pressed against the door. The pirate frowned when he noticed the stolen cigar in Ryo's mouth. Ryo grinned and shrugged. The pirate snatched the cigar from Ryo's lips and bit into it himself; his expression that of a spoiled child re-claiming his favorite toy. "I don't know how you got out of those ropes, but you're going to regret it."
"There's something about me you should know," Ryo said.
The pirate slapped him; Ryo hit his head hard against the door from the impact. "Wenches don't speak on my ship."
"About that—"
The pirate slapped him again. "I told you—"
"I'm a malchick."
The pirate raised his hand again. He stopped and furrowed his brow and frowned. "What?"
"I'm an actor in costume. Didn't mean to waste your time, lovey, but you didn't exactly give me a chance to explain earlier."
The pirate's glazzies darted to and fro as he studied Ryo. He grabbed one of Ryo's fake breasts and then ripped the front of Ryo's gown.
"Cut that out. It's expensive."
He ignored Ryo, stripping Ryo's top half completely bare and tossing the padded brassiere to the floor. His rough hands explored Ryo's chest as if touch would somehow convince him of what his sight couldn't comprehend.
Ryo hadn't been touched by a man in too long and the pirate's calloused palms felt exquisite against his bare chest. Ryo bit his lower lip to hold in any noises he might make from the sensation of strong hands on his body.
The pirate still rough-handled him, his expression perplexed. He grabbed Ryo's hair to hold him tighter against the door and thrust his hand below the remainder of Ryo's dress. When the pirate grabbed Ryo's erection, Ryo gasped, unable to hold in the noise.
"You're a boy," the pirate whispered, hand still absentmindedly squeezing Ryo.
Ryo grunted in acknowledgment, glazzies squeezed shut as he tried to put his thoughts somewhere else but his mind was too content with the moment to be distracted. "Um, would you, please . . ." He couldn't finish the sentence. Please what? Stop? That's the last thing he wanted. Squeeze harder? Jerk up and down until he came in pirate's hand? Yes. That's what he wanted to say, but couldn't very well say it out loud so he stood against the door with his erection twitching in the pirates hand.
Realization caught up with the pirate. He pushed himself away as if Ryo were on fire, the cigar dropping to the floor. He looked away. "You're hard."
"I'm sorry," Ryo said, his glazzies still closed while he waited for a shiv to punch his gut as punishment for his perversion.
The pain never came, only a the mild creek of the pirate's mattress. Ryo looked and saw the pirate sitting on the edge of his bed, hands resting on his knees, glazzies blinking at the rugs covering the floor. Ryo sighed in relief. He walked to the corner of the room near the wardrobe. A basin and pitcher rested on a shelf. Ryo used a small amount of water to wash the stage make-up from his face. He saw a box of matches and took them, going back to the door and retrieving the cigar. He lit it, enjoying the seasoned smell of the tobacco smoke and how it burned his lungs. After a few draws from the cigar, he sat next to the pirate and handed the smoke over. "Here, you look like you need this."
The pirate took the cigar absentmindedly and puffed at it.
"What a waste." Ryo stood up and shimmied out of the skirts and petticoats, leaving himself in only a half-corset that connected to a cream-colored garter, stockings, and matching heels. The cream fabric looked dull compared to Ryo's skin.
"What the hells are you doing?"
"You ripped my costume to shreds. Besides." Ryo looked down at his tall legs flowing from the garter-belt. His erection still hung low from excessive blood flow. "I'm not ashamed to say that I look damn good in this." He plopped back on the bed.
Ryo reached out his hand for a turn at the cigar. The pirate, still dazed, handed it to Ryo as if he didn't know what else he could do. Ryo closed his glazzies and took a hard pull at the half smoked ciggy. He exhaled slow. He felt the pirates fingers brush against his bottom lip and the breath hitched in Ryo's throat.
"Your lips are still red."
Ryo crossed his legs, taking another hit from their shared cigar. "It's a special stain. Alcohol removes it, got any rum?"
He didn't really expect the pirate to accommodate his request, so he was surprised when the pirate stood and retrieved a squat, glass bottle and a clean handkerchief. He dabbed the cloth with liquor and rubbed it against Ryo's lips. Ryo sat there, shocked, unable to move as the pirate removed his lip-rouge for him. It seemed like something a gentleman would do, and Ryo wasn't used to being treated with curtsey. He breathed through his mouth, breath shifting the silk of the handkerchief. On instinct, Ryo half closed his glazzies. The pirate leaned forward, moving his lips closer to Ryo's and Ryo wondered if he was still gagged and bound, sitting in the chair, asleep and dreaming.
The pirate moved his hand. Ryo licked his lips and tasted rum and spice. Then the pirate's mouth pressed against his. The cigar burned unattended in Ryo's hand as he and the pirate worked their lips against each other. Ryo slung his leg around so he sat in the pirate's lap, both hands wrapped around the pirate's neck, careful not to burn him with the cigar's cherry.
Ryo's bare erection pressed against the pirate's slacks. He felt the pirate's arousal through the fabric of his britches and Ryo tried to rub against the growing mound. The pirate moaned, loud. His lavender glazzies shot open with the sound and he pushed Ryo onto the rug below.
Ryo winced as he landed hard on his bottom. "Ouch."
"You need to go."
"Go?"
"Yes. Go. You're useless for ransom. Get off my ship."
"But, but, I thought—"
"Go."
Ryo clenched his jaw and put the cigar out on the rug, grinding ash into the threads as well as he could. "Fine. Thanks for the smoke."
Ryo stood and marched to the ruined pile of lace. He scolded himself for wasting time and he dug through the petticoats for something he could use as a waist-wrap to get himself back to the wagon a little better than naked. He ripped at the linen and then tied it around his waist.
"What are you doing?" the pirate asked.
"Well, can't parade around like a devotchka now, but I'd still like something to cover myself with." Ryo walked towards the door.
As Ryo passed the pirate, he stood and grabbed Ryo's arm. Ryo smacked him aside, angry and suffering from a broken, rejected feeling throbbing in his chest. The pirate grabbed him again and pulled him towards the wardrobe.
"Sod off and let go." Ryo punched him again, in the left breast.
Ryo was wiry, but capable of fighting; however, the pirate was too dense with muscle and took the blow in stride. He opened the wardrobe and took an old, faded pair of leather trousers out of the closet. "Here." He pushed the pants into Ryo's arm. "They'll be big, but it's better than a slip."
Ryo clenched his jaw and looked away as he took the slacks from the pirate's hand. He never felt pity for himself having to grow up in a whore house, (in fact, he and his brother often had fun during their childhood); he never felt regret during those quick nights with eager, emotionally detached men that could only provide basic release but never anything substantial; he never felt shame when he sold himself to lonely baboochkas for extra polly, but something about the moment – about a handsome pirate kicking him out of the ship's cabin but still lending him a pair of slacks before he left so he wouldn't be naked – made Ryo want to sink to his knees and weep. Used to changing in a rush during a performance, Ryo jumped into the slacks, but his heels caught and he fell.
The pirate caught him and held him upright. Ryo bit his bottom lip, wanting to curse, wanting to bury his face in the pirate's chest, wanting to cry. "I don't see why," Ryo spoke in an angry hiss, unable to help himself. "You're going out of your way to avoid a taboo from a culture you hated so much that you ran to the sea to escape it."
They looked at each other, Ryo's foot still tangled in the slacks.
"Well." The pirate snorted. "I don't see how you walk in those shoes."
Ryo's lips twitched up in a slight grin. "I can waltz in them, too."
The pirate glanced away. "I do hate my homeland."
"Then ignore the traditions of your homeland."
He pressed Ryo against the wardrobe door. He knotted their fingers together, lifting Ryo's arms above his head and holding them against the wooden surface of the closet. The trousers fell to the ground and Ryo stepped back out of them.
"Um . . ." the pirate avoided Ryo's stare, he looked nervous.
"What is it?" Ryo asked.
"I've never done this."
Ryo thought about what he said, trying to figure out what he meant. "With a malchick?"
"With anyone."
And suddenly leaving sounded like a good idea. "Oh. Um, oh. You, well, then perhaps I should go. I'm not really a good pick for a first. We, uh, haven't even been introduced."
"Kek. That's my name."
Ryo looked up at him. "I'm Ryo."
"You do look good in those stockings, Ryo."
"I know I do." It wasn't vanity, though Ryo was a little vain, it was just the truth.
Kek gave him a shy glance. "I want to kiss you again. May I?"
Ryo blushed, feeling the hot rush of blood to his face and lips. No one had ever asked him, ever, it made Ryo feel like a virgin himself. "Please do."
This time Kek kissed him slow, tentatively slipping his tongue into Ryo's mouth. Kek pressed against Ryo, releasing Ryo's hands so he could brush his fingertips against Ryo's face as he continued his meek, gentle kisses. Ryo's pulse throbbed in his temples, he held Kek's waist with one hand, using his other to explore the triangle of exposed skin peeking from his half-buttoned shirt.
Kek lifted Ryo up and carried him to the bed, setting him down and kissing his chest. He moved down to the half corset cinched around Ryo's waist. He took his time unfastening the laces, licking Ryo's pale skin as it became exposed. Ryo lay back and gasped, thinking Kek seemed awfully intuitive for someone who claimed they'd never had a go at the old in and out before. When Kek freed Ryo from the final knot of his corset, he glided his hands down to Ryo's right stocking. Ryo sat up on his elbows so he could watch Kek kiss his leg while unbuttoning the garter and rolling the stocking down with slow turns of nylon. Ryo kicked off his shoes. After the first stocking, Kek worked on the second, smothering Ryo's calf with kisses. He traveled back up Ryo's body, sucking on Ryo's neck and grinding into him.
Ryo reached up, he tore the pirate's shirt open, ripping the buttons away from the fabric. Kek pulled back. "Hey, stop that."
He grinned. "Fair is fair, lovey."
Ryo tried to remove the shirt, but Kek held his hands. "Leave it be."
Ryo blinked at him for a moment, his face sunk into a sad expression when he realized why Kek wanted to keep his shirt on. "Oh, I'm sorry."
"I mean, it's not that—"
Ryo pressed a finger to Kek's lips to silence him. "It's okay. I know."
Kek's glazzies rounded with shock. He shoved Ryo's hand away. "What do you think you know?"
Ryo looked away. "You don't want me to see the scars. It's okay. I won't try to look."
Kek watched Ryo, quiet. He asked, "how did you know?"
"I've seen Marik's back. He's from your country."
"Marik? That's the name of a prince that died seven years ago."
"Not so much died as eloped with my scoundrel brother." Ryo tilted his head in thought. "So are you nobility?"
"No."
"I thought only those with a high birth got . . . marked."
Kek drew runes on Ryo's chest. His expression distracted as he considered what he should say next. "I was a priest."
"Yeah? No wonder you left. I'd jumped on the first ship leaving, too."
Kek half-smiled. His shirt slipped over one of his dark shoulders. Ryo reached up and pulled the fabric back in place. He grabbed the lapel of Kek's collar, pulling Kek down while keeping the fabric stretched across his back. Ryo returned to kissing him. "What about your trousers? Are those okay to tear off?"
Kek answered by unfastening his belt and sliding out of his slacks. Ryo reached down with one hand to teased Kek's cock, raising an amused eyebrow when he realized that Kek had been born lucky. Then he realized he'd want something slicker than saliva before they began. "Do you have any olive oil? Lard will work, if that's all you have."
"Olive oil?"
Ryo spread his legs wider and guided Kek's hand to his opening. "You know. I thought since it was your first time I'd let you . . . you know." Ryo looked concerned. "Unless you'd rather I do you. I'm good either way."
"I, uh, I don't know."
"It might be better if you do me, then." They lay tangled together for a moment in awkward silence. "So . . . grease?"
"Oh." Kek shook his head. "I have something better." He reached to the headboard, opening up a hidden compartment and pulling out a glazed, clay jar. He unscrewed the cap and handed the jar to Ryo. "Smell of it."
Curious, Ryo took the jar and sniffed the thick, cloudy oil. "That's nice," Ryo confessed, "like almonds, and – I'm not sure."
"Coconut, there are other oils, too."
"What's coconut?"
"It's like a fruit. We eat them a lot when we're out to sea."
Ryo dipped a finger into the mixture. The cloudy liquid melted at his touch, turning clear and slick on the tip of his finger. He grinned and used the oiled finger to rub against the tip of Kek's penis. Kek grunted, closing his glazzies and shivering. He dipped his thick fingers into the jar and pulled out a generous dollop of oil, greasing himself with the liquid. He took another dollop and smeared it around Ryo's opening, sticking a finger inside.
Ryo exhaled a pleasant ah as Kek curved his finger up and rubbed inside. "If this is your first time . . . how do you know to do that? And why do you have oil near your bed?"
Kek stared down, his face fiery-complected. "I-I've done this to myself."
Ryo gave a soft laugh, laying back and spreading his legs as wide as he could. Kek stared and swallowed, slipping in a second finger. "Please," Ryo whispered, "please, don't wait any longer."
Kek situated on top of Ryo. It took him a moment to position himself. Ryo felt the hard knot of his head push inside. Ryo clenched his jaw, the oil helped, but it always felt rough at first. Kek moaned as he experimented with the speed and depth of his thrusts. After a few minutes, he settled into a regular rhythm, and that's when Ryo lost himself in the experience. "Oh, oh lovey, you're good at this." Ryo whispered, curling up so he could rest his forehead against Kek's chest. He held the shirt in place on Kek's back so Kek could move freely without worrying about the shirt slipping away from his body. "Bloody hell, you're downright horror show at this!" Ryo screamed and tossed his head back, closing his glazzies so he could concentrate on the sensation of Kek's movements.
