Van lay with his arms against the bed

Scars in the Mirror-Consequences

or a P?WP?

Van lay with his arms against the bed. He kept the back of his head against the bed. Dilandau unlaced his shirt, as Van became all too familiar with letting him.

He felt his breath race out of his body. He couldn't pant. He sucked in worthless breaths, trying not to breath like he was frightened.

Lie down Van. If you don't move... Van shuddered on the inside, if he didn't move.

He had learned much about inaction: to still his body, to take a fall. He had learned the value of it. His small body had learned to take much more abuse then it would appear. He let himself go limp. If he put up no resistance Dilandau could not use it against him. He wouldn't even lift his arm if he didn't have to. Just lie there. It would be over and he could plan his next strike when he had a chance. Let Dilandau thrust first. He knew his strength was in his defense. Let the boy brandish his weapon, it would make the counterattack cleaner and swifter. The next attack would kill he that would steal his innocence.

Dilandau's lips brushed his. Van merely turned away, as Dilandau softly and leisurely licked and pecked his face. He wouldn't suffer the indignity of his kiss again. He had let Dilandau take too much control.

Dilandau was no longer in the heavy armor. He had not come into the room like that. He had less of the illusion of terror and menace. He was in dark colors, and the wool of his coat scratched against his skin, the bare tender skin of his chest. Dilandau's hips were wrapped over his. Van shifted without thinking to ease his discomfort

Dilandau took off his jacket, tossed it aside to some nebulous region maybe feet away from where they lay like this, locked and contorted, like the jointed structure of walls. Like the joints of a doorway, dovetailing each other.

Dilandau smelled him and moaned. Letting the essence of not being alone, this feeling wash over him. Just lying there.

Van knew he couldn't move.

The idea of sharing this moment with another became worse form and more keen a desire. Dilandau twined his hands in Van's, their gloves touching.

Van started at the idea Dilandau was pinning him. He backed away with a quick jerk. Dilandau looked sharply almost as if he had been slighted. As if he hadn't expected Van to try to pull away. Van tried to ease any feeling of panic in his heart. Don't let Dilandau smell the fear in him.

Dilandau pushed his hands back, pinning him this time for real.

"Now this would be awkward. Aren't you going to cooperate."

Van blinked coquettishly.

"I thought you wanted to have my body again? If you want to fight-"

Dilandau contorted that long spine of his, trying to face Van.

"No."

"You said submit Dilandau-sama. Never cooperate."

"Now you do everything I would ask?" Dilandau glared at him. "Without question?"

There was nothing that could protect Van from his eyes, wounding and wounded. Van closed his eye and felt Dilandau's hands along the small of his back in between him and the bed. The silver haired boy trailed his nose along the tender jugular, the fleshy swatch of neck, trembling and quivering with his pulse, underneath his strong royal muscles and proud Fanelian chin; his neck as soft and helpless as some animal.

The arenas of death, the weaknesses of his body utilized. Arousal was as close to death for Dilandau as hearts were for blood. He loved to see the softer vulnerable parts, now exposed, Van bearing his throat to him. How could he not accept?

Dilandau sat up.

"I doubt that you don't have inclinations of your own."

The gloves came off.

His hands were cool. Long white fingers. But there was a softness. He wore good gloves. This unbelievable softness, soft as lips. They slipped into his pants, and Dilandau began pulling them down.

His fingers traced along his lips, pressing until they became wet with saliva. Dilandau was not pleased by the sensation. He pulled down Van's jaw, and kiss him full mouthed, sliding his tongue in first. And that soft finger trailing down his chest.

Van arched to sit up.

Dilandau looked at him those wine colored eyes drinking him in.

"You will lie on your stomach."

He felt Dilandau's hands move from inside his pants to underneath his loincloth. The shock was accute. He had known something like this, but it had all seemed so unbelievable. And instead of getting more believable it got less. Where was he really? Could anyone have dared to even dream what Dilandau was making him suffer like this?

A shame coursed through him, in the undercurrent of sensation. It was just getting stranger and -

"Now. Move. Do it now." Dilandau said with the sterness only a warrior could muster.

Van flipped himself over. He felt the fluttering softness of the lips along his neck. His silver haired young master still tasting, judging and smelling the offering before him.

Immediately Dilandau touched his black hair as if to get a stronger grip on him. A gesture that was less than tender, but shocking nonetheless.

Van felt Dilandau adjust his hips.

"Calm now. It's not going to hurt."

At this Dilandau penetrated him. Van's body revolted. It jerked as far away from his intentions as it could get. His nerves must have unlodged themselves, anything to get away.

His arched back fell, he couldn't even get on his hands again as the boy drilled him with nervous thrusts. Dilandau was lost in his orgasm.

Van wasn't crying. The tears themselves forced themselves out of his body by each brutal stab. He teeth gnashed. He had long enough to take a breath before Dilandau thrust himself again, he never imagine clenching his mouth so tight. He had to try something. His body would shatter.

He placed his teeth around the knuckles of his out stretched hand. He had never bowed before. But his hand grounded him in reality.

Van trembled as Dilandau thrust again. How strange. Dilandau was not malicious as much as he was clumsy, nervous and awkward. He never thought that Dilandau could ever be like that. It seemed wrong that he could be inept at anything.

Dilandau thrust again. Van jerked and only tore at the leather on his glove. His scream reduced to a hiss and a moan, blocked by the tension and pain. Dilandau would never get the glory of watching him cry out in pain. The leather was strong and real against his teeth and his tongue. It felt thick and salty and it burned his tongue.

Van didn't realize when Dilandau stopped. The boy crashed beside him. Van crashed against the bed too. He tried to pull up on his hands.

He rolled over and saw Dilandau. The boy looked at him and smiled.

Van stared into him.

"Mmm. Van."

Dilandau touched his lips. Laying their eternal claim. That kiss.Van might have said anything if that kiss had lasted longer.

Van trembled at that. He began to worry if Dilandau had really ripped him. He noticed the red stain of blood collecting on the sheets.

"Did you know it's bad manners to leave on your gloves?" Dilandau said

Van tried to breathe.

"Take off your gloves. You can touch me."

Van wordlessly ripped them off. No he did not have golden fingers. Their insides were as pink as his, his fingers shorter. Like the hands of a child, but calloused, and battled. He wore poor gloves for a king.

Dilandau kissed his fingertips and kissed his chin.

"I want you to touch me."

"Why would I want-"

"I thought it wasn't about you want. Do it."

Van reached out his dark scaly little hands and scraped their fingertips against his chest.

Van's eyes quivered. Maybe he expected Dilandau's skin to feel like stone. It is soft and mortal. The heat growing and retreating into coolness again as the sweat sheened over their skin.

Van hissed air through his teeth.

He hated this position. He hated it with a passion, but Dilandau loved it. Face to face, straining and pushing up into Dilandau, and having to look into his mad eyes.

When he didn't have to look at Dilandau it made him horrible and disgusting. It made the whole experience only torture.

But when Dilandau looked at him it felt so different. Looking into those slightly dopey looking eyes, almost drug induced, with no malicious intent, just mad passion.

It made this demon so human, that look of complete vulnerability. It frightened Van. It also gave him too much control over Dilandau.

Dilandau came first. He always would.

Van shuddered with the fire filling him, his cock wept painfully.

Van didn't cry out. Dilandau was being so gentle grasping his chin and stroking his face. Placing two fingers in his mouth, tracing his pleasure swollen lips. Van's rage clawed out. The little stone nubs for his fingers, scratched into his back and raked across Dilandau's perfect thigh.

Dilandau trembled and moaned. "Why did you do that?" more curious than accusory.

Van clawed ferociously. He'd hurt this body. Exact the toll of blood that Dilandau had taken of him before, insensitive to him.

He wanted to hurt Dilandau, but never enough. It would never hurt enough. Not if he could even tear him apart with his hard hands and his flashing teeth. Van bit him on the cheek.

It would only work if he could tear apart his soul. But Dilandau couldn't have one. He was clawing helplessly at his body. Van trembled and bit Dilandau's cheek. He wanted to know what this silver haired demon had done to his soul. Where did he put it? There was nothing he wanted more than hurting Dilandau as much as he could. He wanted his soul back.

It was the first time Van kissed Dilandau. Dilandau had never been kissed. The world was over.

Van came soon after. His own traitorous seed coating their stomachs.

Dilandau was a little surprised at that, more than anything. Van had never come on him before. It unsettled him. He'd never been through this before either.

"I'm sorry." Van apologized weakily, trying to forget what happened. Dilandau hadn't just stolen his soul now. There was no way he could have hid it after that. He had destroyed it.

"It's okay…" Dilandau shrugged

Dilandau actually pulled Van's nails out of his back.

"They were right. When they said Fanelia was an easy conquest. I guess in more ways than one. "

Van's fingers curled around the bedsheets.

"There are baths down the hall. You do know how to take a shower?"

"Showa?" Van muttered. He could feel Dilandau shift. Was he breathless? Was his heart racing? Did blood sting from those scratches? He was probably even worse.

Van sat up.

"Miguel will help you." Dilandau said, nearly wheezing to stand up. This had been exhausting, but beautiful.

Van leaned over and smacked him.

Dilandau reeled back at this. Van slammed him against the bed with his hands around his throat.

"You die you filthy monster." Van said.

Dilandau looked up at him surprised. He had never expected that. How long would it take before the vicious creature beneath him would die. Van squeezed his throat. He knew he was not strong enough to crush his throat. He tried to squeeze the air out. He stared at the boy dying when...

"Let go of him."

Van looked up.

Miguel was at the front door with the strange bolster, pointed at him.

"This is loaded. Put your hands up or so help me I'll shoot. And I don't miss."

Van stood up holding his hands

"If you ever hurt him...." Miguel's eyes twitched. He wasn't very good at saying things that expressed his feelings. There was nothing he could describe that would seem horrible enough to do it.

Miguel lowered the bolster and pinned the would-be assasin against the wall.

"Miguel." Dilandau's voice was sharp. "Put him down."

"Dilandau-sama he tried to kill you, I can't-" But Miguel let him fall.

"Help Van learn how to take a shower. I will be leaving now."

Miguel lowered his head. "Of course Dilandau-sama."

Dallet pulled a stray hair chocolate hair off of Guimel's face. Sitting in bed looking down at his lover.

"Wake up you."

Guimel's eyes popped open. Too bad it would have been sexy to see him flutter those eyes open to there green beauty, with pale lashes.

"Did those two stop yet?"

"Yes. I think they have."

Guimel smiled. Dallet's naughty little eyes shone on him.

"I think we couldn't compete."

"We didn't have to." Guimel smiled rubbing his leg against Dallet's softly. "Who'd want to carry on and wail and bite like two dirty farm cats. I can think of better ways to use my mouth."

Guimel kissed him.

"Who do you think it was?"

"What?"

Dallet grinned. "Who do you think it was last night? Some of the new ones?" Guimel groaned. Dallet could be so tedious

"But then we wouldn't have heard them, would we?"

"Miguel was on duty."

"I wonder if it was Chesta?"

"Chesta doesn't believe in sex." Guimel said.

"I bet if Chesta ever let go of all his passion, his screams would crash the ship. He's so repressed."

"Don't be silly. Next thing you'll say it was Dilandau-sama." Guimel said tartly

Dallet laughed at that.

"Well who ever it was I doubt he won't appear without a few bites and scratches on him."

"You're right. Clever ram."

Guimel made a sheepy noise. He snuggled into Dallet even closer and kissed his jaw, working his tongue down to his ear lobe.

"My look at you. I meant biting not chewing." Dallet said.

"Do you want me to bite?" the blonde asked.

"Just keep it up. Whatever..." Dallet sighed in ecstacy. "You want."

"I wonder how Gatti will try to explain how he got all those scratches. I'll bet it was Chesta. He'll turn blue when he finds out we heard him." Guimel said. Dallet smiled. Guimel knew how to say anything and make it erotic.

"Well. I bet Chesta burst open the door and ripped off his clothes."

Dallet smiled ripping the sheet away off Guimel's body. "Like that."

"Of course."

Guimel yanked Dallet on top of him and their little re-enactment fell apart into soft and aroused chuckles.

Commander Folken could have appeared any moment. They tried not to think about it. There could be little doubt what the Strategos would think about such love. Maybe it was easier for men like Folken to deny these emotions they for each other as hormones or youthful vigor. The generals, Madoushi, and S-iden bureaucrats, those who had been so removed from the violence and death. Those men who did not know what it was like to pilot an Alseides, to roam around. raining fire on a village.

It was easy for them to scoff it. Even hate them for their inclinations. Dallet found there was a horror in their lovemaking, the need to be tender and gentle, to produce some beautiful kind of pleasure.

Guimel's darkened chambers it was still not morning. It was still too dark to see.

They stood in the center of the room, only touching lips and fingers, that kind of sweet maddening thing that Guimel did so well. In the absolute darkness they had found each other's lips.

Dallet smiled.

But it was Guimel who pounced, ramming himself into Dallet towards the bed. With that surprising and flawless wrestling form. Guimel could tackle a great aurok in one swoop. He could knock over anything. It felt like a head butt.

Dallet saw stars as the colors of his mind colored the kiss.

"Sorry." Guimel said quickly.

"Just keep that hard head to yourself."

Their eyes sliding up and down the entire lengths of their bodies.

Dallet's unbroken olive tinted skin warm and cool like the color of steam and flame. His skin was fire tinted pale. His long dark hair flowed over his neck. It was shorter now than it had been before, only to his shoulders. Dallet brushed it back, over his ears. It took several seconds to realize his ears had a strange puckered shape. It would be just enough to prickle his vanity. Probably this was the reason why he wore his hair like that. Shining and free.

But they were only looking. Only looking at the boy in front of him.

Guimel sweet and pink, his kinky blond curls softened slightly by attention and balm. His eyes were sparkling. His hair was so soft. Dallet wanted to rub it along his body. It was the washed fleece of a lamb.

But they were only watching. Letting the energy of their eyes course over each other. Let their eyes overwhelm them over the textures and intricacies of their lover's body. Letting their brains whir and boil imagining what they would like to touch, and what would they like to touch them.

They were hungry. Dallet wondered what Guimel's stomach would taste like. Guimel was desperate to ruffle and massage and curry that glorious dark hair.

Eventually Guimel moved in first. His hair is like water, it's always so cool to the touch, so smooth. I wonder if silk feels like this. Dallet scurried down to kiss that taut abdomen, over the plates and bones over his heart. Guimel ran his hands through his hair. Sweet tension.

Guimel pulled back on lover's head, forcing him to look up.

"You taste wonderful." Dallet chuckled, trying to work his mouth.

"Your mouth feels good." Guimel said, lifting his head for a kiss.

"Just tell me where to work it. And I will."

"I don't know."

"How about I just… find out?" Dallet smiled and traced his lips over his nipple.

Guimel let out a spontaneous moan. The dark haired boy knew that was a sign to continue.

"That feels nice."

He maintained a holding pattern over his nipple.

"Oh Dallet."

Dallet continued down back over his stomach. His cock jumped up the attention.

But his moans died down as he explored. Dallet nibbled on his hip. He panted.

"That feels like heaven."

Dallet was attracted to the perfect pink curve of his buttocks. He took a saucy bite.

"Gods. That's different."

"Really?" Dallet smiled.

"I like that. Try a little lower."

He suckled onto his thigh. Guimel let out a cry that sounded suspiciously like a bleat. His little ram was excited when he played with him there. He grinned. He trailed his tongue warm with wet little trails of saliva. Guimel could barely breathe. His mouth in an intense gasping smile.

"Oh Dallet."

Dallet rimmed him, delicate tongue floating the intense pleasure in every direction

"You got to relax." Dallet replaced his tongue with his finger.

"How can I relax? You're so perfect, it's so goooood." He moaned petutlantly. "Just don't…"

Dallet inserted a second finger.

"MMMM."

Dallet pumped Guimel's cock. Guimel came onto his hand, wet hot seed over his thighs.

"Whoa."

"That's good, isn't it?" Dallet smiled.

"I'm sorry I couldn't hold out for you." Guimel said.

"I'll know what to try next time."

"Let me try." Guimel said.

"Do you really want to? I don't…"

But already Guimel was working away on exploring Dallet.

He was irresistibly attracted to his member. God's it was strange. Weeping stars of cum. Guimel flicked the first bits of precum into his mouth. They tasted nutty and bitter at the same time.

Few times in his life he had executed such power over another person. Dallet was so desperate, so wanton, as if he were denied he might explode. He had done his best trying to be gentle with him. It would be no dishonor to try to pleasure him.

Guimel puckered his lips over Dallet's virgin cock. It didn't look like it would be that hard sucking and squeezing his tongue along his length. His cock was still made out of flesh it was all too obvious. Fondled and massaged by his tongue. It turned to steel against his tongue.

Dallet was much less noisy, half conscious with the pleasure. The words he spoke melted into air on his tongue. His member swelled against the back of his throat. Guimel had to withdraw. Dallet's face shrunk back a little ashamed.

Guimel continued, he could probably get a lot of practice for this with his own thumb or those awfully pehra sausages they served in the mess hall. They were about the same width. He smirked.

He came into his mouth. Guimel drank in the strange flavor, like nuts and fish and a little soap. It tasted so strange and special. He wondered about his own taste.

They sat curled into each other. Both tired at their play. Luxuriating over each other's bodies.