A Kiss To Remember
Disclaimer - I'm not Rowling and I don't own her characters, nor do I own the Final Fantasy characters.
Written for Lamia's Daily Speed-writing challenge
Prompt - [pairing] Scabior/Kefka
A/N: I had to go into a very dark place to write this, and I'm not proud of my creation. But here it is, some hot Scabior/Kefka romance for your reading pleasure.
Warning for violence, blood, and sexual content
There was something exciting about chasing people through the woods, the thrill of the hunt, that exhilarating rush as the wind swept through his hair. He could hear the sound of his heavy breathing, his heart racing as he doged another fireball hurled in his direction. But what made it even more exciting was that it was him he was after.
What made his heart race more than anything else was knowing it was him, that he was getting closer, that he could see his target now, the bold, red and yellow cloak rippling on the wind as he ran, cackling like a mad hyena as he glanced back over his shoulder at the Snatcher who was following him.
Kefka dodged another hex as it went sailing past his head, then raised his hand, preparing to conjure another fireball, when he was knocked flat on his back and sent sprawling on the ground as the other man lunged at him. Together they went sliding across the forest floor, the taller man on top of the shorter one. Before Kefka could open his mouth to speak, he was silenced by the Snatcher's lips meeting his, drowning out all other thoughts in his head.
Scabior knew how Kefka was, knew that if he didn't silence him as soon as he had him on the ground, he would let loose with that overly loud, obnoxious mouth of his. They'd been playing this game long enough that he knew how Kefka was. And the only place Scabior wanted him to use that mouth was in their bedroom.
He combed his fingers through Kefka's soft, blond hair, leather meeting downy feathers as his gloved hand gently tugged the smaller man's hair out of its ponytail. The delicate blond strands spilled onto the ground beneath him, the feathers drifting away on the wind. Kefka moaned against his mouth, and Scabior backed up off him slightly, smiling as he looked down at him and said, "Well 'ello, beau'iful."
There was something about this man that Kefka loved. Maybe it was his clothing, that odd combination of plaid and leather that mirrored his own unusual fashion choices. Or perhaps it was that seductive British accent, or that flaming red streak in his wild and unruly hair. Whatever it was Kefka loved him, loved the way it felt when they chased each other through the woods.
He loved knowing that, no matter how far or how fast he ran, his lover would still be right behind him. He loved knowing that there was someone in this world who, instead of running from him, ran after him, catching him by his cloak and yanking him off his feet, his breath harsh and ragged as he leaned over him, using his weight to press the smaller man against the earth. It was no different at home in bed, with Scabior being the dominant one on top of him.
Kefka could probably kill this man, using his superior magic abilities to finish him in the blink of an eye. And yet the thought never crossed his mind. He was enjoying himself far too much to think about killing this man. It was too much fun to play with him, leading him on, making Scabior think he was the weaker one.
He loved him, and yet this was all part of his sadistic game. When the time was right, he would unleash his magic, laughing as he sent Scabior running with several lashes to the ass. He would turn the tables on him, forcing him down in the dirt, down on bloody knees, to worship him as he should. He wouldn't be submissive. Not when it was his turn to do the snatching.
They'd been through this before. Scabior just never knew when it was coming, when he'd be stripped nude and forced to run through the forest, running for his life while Kefka hurled crackling bolts of electricity at him. The trees in these woods, like his body, bore the scars of Kefka's torture. Charred branches and scarred limbs, burns and bruises. But Scabior liked it this way. He thrived on the abuse, on being whipped, beaten and tied to a tree in the woods, being cut open and made to bleed at Kefka's feet.
Kefka was twisted. He knew how to take control, it was only a matter of time before their roles reversed. And when that time came, Kefka would take him, dragging him down into a very dark, erotic world of pain and pleasure. But while he might take Scabior there, entering that world together, he would always leave him there alone. And in the morning when Scabior regained consciousness, Kefka would be long gone.
The last time was the worst. Scabior had been magically bound to a tree, his wrists tied together and pinned above his head, stripped bare with his clothing left behind, scattered somewhere on the forest floor. Blood oozed from the corner of his mouth, his bottom lip swollen and his right eye blackened. Burns covered his left thigh, trailing upwards across his lower back, and he was bleeding from over a dozen wounds.
Kefka walked up to him, laughing quietly to himself as he watched the Snatcher bleed, the warm drops of crimson fluid falling to the ground at his feet, pooling beneath him in growing puddles on the earth. He plucked one of the feathers from his ponytail, and let it glide across the Snatcher's bare chest, over his wounds and bruises, caressing his scars, causing Scabior to release a pained groan of longing, straining against his bonds as he felt a stirring in his loins.
"No, Scabior," said Kefka, teasing him like he always did. "You can look, but you can't touch."
Scabior looked down at him, his body trembling as Kefka reached up, his hands on Scabior's chest, his blood red fingernails digging into his wounds like steel claws, as he raked his nails across the cuts and gashes, trailing blood down his chest.
He could hear the Snatcher hiss with pain as he clawed at the open wounds, digging in deeper, then licking at the warm trails of blood that flowed freely across his flesh. Scabior's breathing hitched, shuddering as he felt Kefka's tongue tracing patterns in the blood across his chest, moaning as he felt his hot breath on his neck, silenced when their lips met, tasting his own blood on his lover's lips.
Kefka deepened the kiss, their tongues wrapped in sticky sweet scarlet warmth, with one hand behind Scabior's head. He was both hunter and the hunted, predator and prey. He was a demon, and yet when he backed away, leaving Scabior breathless as their eyes met in the darkness of the shadowy woods, the Snatcher looked at him like he was his salvation.
Scabior did this for him, enduring this pain, surviving this endless torment for his god. He couldn't refuse him even if he tried, for he was lost to the spell within those bright blue eyes, captivated by that cruel smile, unable to turn away, even if it meant he may one day die in the arms of the man who loved him.
The Snatcher sank towards the ground, his knees buckling from pain and blood loss. The chains around his wrists clanked, holding him up as he collapsed before this sadistic man.
"You know what I want you to do, Scabior," Kefka sneered.
Scabior's head was bowed, his chest heaving as blood poured from a gash in his forehead, spilling into his eyes and clouding his vision. If he looked up, he knew what he would see. He knew what he had to do before he was set free. But his strength was failing, and he didn't know if he had it in him to do what Kefka wanted.
"Scabior!"
He heard Kefka's high pitched voice call his name, and felt his partner's fingers in his hair, seizing a handful of his tangled locks and yanking his head back, forcing him to look at him.
"You're not listening to me," said Kefka, the warning present in his tone despite how calm he was. It was a warning Scabior couldn't ignore, for he knew what horrors Kefka would inflict upon him if he did.
He leaned forward slightly, taking Kefka in his mouth and lightly sucking him. Scabior was rewarded with a cry of pleasure when he heard him call his name, his hand knotting in Scabior's hair at the back of his neck as he thrust himself down the Snatcher's throat.
He loved listening to delicious noises Scabior made, as he pulled his hair, as he forced himself deeper down his throat, the muffled sounds of pleasure coupled with Scabior's attempt to hold back the remnants of his evening meal, gagging as he felt the rush of fluid slither down his throat when Kefka reached his climax.
Kefka pulled out and backed away, his breathing ragged, grinning at the bleeding man before him. There were milky threads of white fluid trickling from the corner of Scabior's mouth, mingling with the blood that spilled from his many wounds. Scabior swallowed the fluid and said, "Did I do good tonight?"
"Yes, Scabior," said Kefka, stroking the Snatcher's hair like he was a prized pet. "Very good." He then drove his knee into Scabior's stomach, forcing the wind out of him as Scabior doubled over in pain, his head bowed before the crazed Magitek Knight. Kefka clasped his hands together before striking Scabior in the side of the head, hitting him with enough force to render him unconscious.
Kefka smiled, taking in the sight of Scabior's unconscious body, hanging from the chains around his wrists that kept him bound to the tree. "I'll see you in the morning," he said, before leaving the unconscious Snatcher to hang from the tree until sunrise.