Title: Not a Fairytale
Pairing: Kanda/Allen
Summary: The bards got it all wrong
The bards were all wrong, he thought, as he lay across the bed, chest heaving, muscles aching. It had felt weird, not always bad, but not always good either. Kanda had grunted a little, as he came, had reached out a lazy hand to jerk him off. Allen was half surprised when he came, and Kanda had fallen asleep almost immediately afterwards, snoring lightly. The earth did not move; there were no trumpets, no epiphanies, no moments of "Ah, this is the one I'm destined for," and he would have suspected Komui of slipping one of his crazy drug prototype into the water supply if there had been, because honestly, it was them, and Allen still thought Kanda was a bastard, if, he grudged, an attractive one.
He was sweaty; he wanted a long, hot shower badly, and Kanda was heavy, passed out across his chest like a brick—if bricks came in great, lanky, squinty, disgruntled packages. He hurt; neither had known what they were doing, fumbling, limbs going in every direction, as they tried to make sense of which body went where. There had never been an opportunity to think about sex; he had never really felt the need, and it never felt right, that he should take the time out for his own pleasure when the Earl was moving forward, and no one else could see what he could. Besides, with Master as his only source of information, could anyone blame him for not enthusiastically seeking sex? He didn't think so.
As for Kanda, well, ignoring the fact that Allen was there, sweaty, sore, trapped, and, he grimaced, sticky, who would want to sleep with something so grumpy? Dammit, had Komui drugged the water, after all? He prodded Kanda, but he just lay there like a lump. Allen fumed and he started to shove Kanda off the bed, and winced, lower back protesting the effort. Sighing, he gave up and settled down to sleep, Kanda's breath warm and gentle against his neck. "Next time," he muttered, "You're going to have to be on the bottom."