Schachmatt
Disclaimer: I don't own a thing.
Warning(s): possibly shaky characterisation, obscure - very obscure - imagery and references, jarring POV in brackets. Dumb typos be here too.
A/N: Written for springkink. All feedback appreciated.
...
Seishirou has always known what he wanted.
And, mark those words, he's always been someone to know exactly how to achieve his goals: a little subtle manipulating there, a bit of teasing here and sweet flattery all around has gotten Seishirou nearly everywhere. It's amazing to observe how you can wrap someone around your finger through the sheer power of words.
(Don't you think I'm sexy?)
He doesn't have emotions - not the sort that weigh heavily upon his heart - nevertheless, despite or maybe because of that, Seishirou does enjoy playing with his victims every now and then, luring them under the pretence of being interested in order to make them join him in a deadly dance that always ends with him being the last one standing.
(And it's so beautiful to watch someone fall, watch one wither away like a dying flame. Watching, watching while skin rots and, in the end, nothing is left but a blackened, grinning skull).
After all, he's the one who holds the cards in his hands - and he likes it that way.
Fuuma - the man he's supposed to obey - isn't someone he can easily toy with, but then, Seishirou thinks that it just might be worth the try. It's been a while that he's been around someone of this particular calibre and, as the saying goes, the devil is always attracted to the likes of his own.
Seishirou, as he watches Fuuma standing there proudly, impeccably dressed and with fancy sunglasses shading his eyes from an overly inquisitive sun, wonders what it would be like to try breaking this individual. No, perhaps, he'd not prove to be as promising a victim as the other Kamui, yet Seishirou believes that he can find a way to get under this man's skin.
(Make him taste just how sweet defeat can be - while walking away, grinning)
Seishirou wonders who'd emerge as victor if they both entered in a contest against one another, battling not only with their wits but all the other arsenal in their possession: observation skills that go beyond the ordinary, charm and - what's most important - no moral scruples at all.
(Like chuckling Betzelbubs putting Eden on fire).
They're outside - standing on top of a tower- while the world around them is literally going to hell. Buildings are crumbling like bits and pieces of torn-up paper; it's raining dust and ashes and, underneath them, there's just Death crawling, prawling about and pulling more people into his breath-robbing embrace.
It's pretty and mirthful sight: Seishirou's lips curve into a pleasant smile; the one he always wears:
Empty. Taunting. Bone-chilling.
"This nearly reminds me of fireworks," Seishirou says and then takes a lick of his ice-cream – which is chilling to the tongue. Seishirou closes his eyes at the sensation of tasting chocolate flavour. The taste is good and, ever the hedonist, Seishirou doesn't feel any particular need to mask the pleasure he feels in eating it. Moreover, he doesn't hide the fact that he's all up for good entertainment. Life is too shorted to not be wasted on pleasantries - and with the end of humanity approaching, Seishirou knows there's not much time left to be idle.
(You gotta die with a smile on your face and with the assurance that the last laugh really is on you).
"Hmm, yes - it's beautiful, isn't it?" Fuuma acknowledges and turns to observe Seishirou eating his ice-cream. He smirks, mind obviously conjuring up an image that has everything do with licking - and coincidentally, sucking - but very little to do with ice-cream - unless it involves a certain body part. He's eating some ice-cream himself - vanilla flavoured - and his tongue swipes over it again and again, mind still occupied with the visual imagery.
(Talented mouth working on him, tortuously licking ...)
"I'd like to have a taste of what you're having," Fuuma says all of a sudden with little ceremony. Then again, it's not like Seishirou expected anything else of him - he knows very well that Fuuma is no innocent and that there's very little that will actually faze him.
"Here," Seishirou offers graciously, smiles and takes off his sunglasses - his one eye gleaming with something that, though not passionate, is still intense – and dangerous. He's only waiting, calculating the minutes and seconds ticking away while the tension between them grows and grows, spreading its greedy claws. Fuuma knows this too – is well aware that Seishirou is just like a hawk waiting for the opportunity to strike.
So, he nods in acquiescence, calmly waiting for what Fuuma's going to do.
Fuuma doesn't take the ice-cream from Seishirou, but instead firmly clasps his hand around the older man's.
And Seishirou? Of course, he's not oblivious to what's going on - and decides to the declare the war between them for official. Although, Seishirou must admit, he really didn't expect Fuuma to make the first step. Not that it's bad - it's only more thrilling like this.
"You've got a little ice cream on your cheek - let me clean it off," Seishirou whispers and - without further ado - licks it off Fuuma's cheek, tongue slowly tracing it - drawing lazy patterns over skin that is much softer than Seishirou had expected it to be. He grins, enjoying it to the utmost; he wonders what it would be like if he'd go down on Fuuma, taking his cock into his mouth slowly, licking and teasing with the deliberate intention of making him lose his mind.
Although Fuuma is trying his best not to show how affected he is, he's breathing heavily and trembling ever so slightly. Maybe it's subtle, but Seishirou can tell - and yes, he loves it.
Fuuma just isn't as composed as he'd like to believe he is.
"You've got a bit on your mouth as well."
With that, Seishirou grabs Fuuma by the hem of his shirt and kisses him - forcedly but with no hint of aggression. It's not even passionate, just a well-conducted kiss that makes the other man yearn for more and nearly forget that he's not supposed to give in. Before Fuuma knows it, his hands are buried in Seishirou's hair, urging for more -
Seishirou kisses are very much like his killing blows - gently cruel and mocking.
It's only when Seishirou deepens the kiss, tongue diving into Fuuma's mouth that his senses return to him full-throttle - but his reactions are too slow. Seishirou has already gotten Fuuma right where he wanted.
(Cornered like a mouse, just waiting for the trap to bury the poor beast under its weight).
And, because it's so much more entertaining to enjoy your victory slowly, Seishirou breaks the kiss - just as suddenly as it started.
Fuuma can only stare at him; Seishirou smiles, looks down on the floor and shakes his head.
"Oh, look - what a shame. Your ice cream seems to have dropped," Seishirou says in a misleadingly innocent tone, appearing to be genuinely surprised that such a misfortune could have occurred. He knows that Fuuma will try to come up with a counter-strategy to defeat him, but it doesn't matter.
Because, for now, he's won.
And who knows?
Defeat might be just as sweet as victory.
--