Title: Break
Rating: R
Genres: Drama
Warnings: Het. Lemon in Pt-1. Mild profanity. Implicit shonen-ai. Violence. Mentions of NCS, associated with Underage.
Pairings: Dilandau xOFC, Dragonslayers/Dilandau, others TBA(?)

Etc: Character piece. Intimacy? Want? Need?

This fic centres on Dilandau's uses for other people (yes, it says uses. Dilandau claims he's above relationships). Heavy emphasis on his relations with the Dragonslayers.

I don't know how the hell the OFC thing happened either. I hate OFCs, but not to worry it's very brief. Maybe I was smoking crack that day or something. -.-? It was supposed to be a reference to that brief encounter with Hitomi in Allen's forte, if you're curious.

I also think I made Dilandau too sane. So... OOC?

Part 1

She herself was a suffocating heat. Her touch could've easily been mistaken for a waning flame against my naked shoulder. Her dark honey-coloured hand was an exotic contrast against my colourless skin, as if the sun were reaching to touch the moon. Her caress didn't incite my passion or desire. Indeed, I felt cold and hollow. I watched her with a detached sense of fascination, though the sight of her above me vaguely sickened me.

The girl had straddled me and seemed satisfied there, rocking her bare hips back and forth rhythmically, slowly but enough to sustain arousal, at my request. She was an obedient creature. With light hair and lime-green eyes she was neither particularly beautiful nor plain. The play of shadows hid her modesty as the candle on the far side of the room flickered from a draft somewhere in the dusky room. Her hands carefully traced a few dark bruises that marred my upper torso with clinical indifference, prodding but gentle. Her concern was brief but present. Finally, she leaned down and licked my bruised shoulder mock-consolingly, before deliberately pressing her mouth hard enough on it for me to wince at the fleeting pain it brought.

She nipped at my ear. "My lord," she whispered before drawing her rouge-painted mouth away. "These aren't from another girl, are they?"

"Shut up," I managed to hiss. I was unable to focus on anything more than that burning, mounting tension I could feel coiling in my groin. I gripped her frail hips and forced myself deeper into that gathering fire inside her. It was so close but it could never be perfect, it would never be enough because she simply wasn't what I wanted.

Not yet, not yet…

"Faster," I whispered, voice deepening and breathe quickening despite my iron self-control. "Now!" I demanded hoarsely before this physical encounter could go any further. Despite my obscure threat, I knew I could not stop even if I tried. She knew this but she was submissive and much too eager to please to ignore a blatant request. Her nature was to serve and satisfy… and that seemed completely amiss.

"Di—Dilandau-sama," her voice had lightened somehow, becoming breathless and resonant, cheeks darkening with a flush brought on by pleasure, or pain, or both. It did not matter.

I closed my eyes. It's enough, I thought distractedly. My mind was on the verge of losing logical thought altogether, even if only for a short moment. I opened my eyes and felt a shock run through my body, a feeling so electric and powerful that I could do nothing but revel in the sensation of mind-numbing euphoria.

Her hair was just the right shade, eyes darkening visibly with ardent feeling—almost, almost, so close to a mirror image, that girl—and her skin had lightened to that pale honey-coloured skin I so desired to touch, to know as well as I knew my own body. I brought my hand up to touch that slender neck, feeling the vein throbbing with blood, intense and full of life.

She threw her head back, revealing her waist length hair, and the illusion was forever shattered. Perhaps I had deluded myself long enough. I felt the coldness and hollowness return to me slowly. I stared at the stranger on top of me and felt immediate repulsion at the act we had just shared.

"You're such a waste of time," I told her. "Why do I even bother?"

She smirked at me, not at all upset by my remark. "And even so, you pay me these little visits even more frequently than usual."

"You bore me," I toyed with her dangling earrings, nothing more than cheap glass-jewels glinting in the candlelight. Her perfume, I noticed absently, was made up of mixed fragrances that I couldn't identify—although I was reminded of sex and flowers. It was neither pleasant nor distasteful, just an odd combination of both. My finger mapped out a route to her abundant breast from her neck. Her skin was unbearably soft, curved… touchable. My hand froze the moment I realised what I was doing. I wasn't one to touch lingeringly, even if it was in a clinical sort of fascination, unless it is to kill, punish, or fuck. It was just easier and more efficient to keep myself apart from that kind of emotional wastage.

I felt as if I would drown if I remained here much longer. I disengaged myself from her and pushed her roughly away from me. She fell back on the twisted bed sheets and laughed, as I straightened my dishevelled hair by running my fingers through it.

"How much?" I asked indifferently, already moving to the edge of the bed to dress. I used the corner of the bed sheet to clean myself with efficient wipes. My uniform had been neatly hung on the back of a wooden chair to avoid any kind of stains or wrinkles brought on by my… indulgence. Her dress had been cast carelessly aside, where it seemed but a pile of dirty rags. I all but tore it off her. Possession had been everything in the beginning, as it usually began, before pleasure overrode the need for control. I couldn't do these things with a nobleman's daughter or that strange girl as I did with this whore; she had proved a useful distraction but a complete waste of money and time. I was certain of that.

"The usual amount, my lord," she stretched languidly over the bed as she yawned, reminding me of a filthy brown cat I saw on my way here. "May I ask why you are in a rush tonight?"

"Be satisfied with this," I threw her a couple of coins from my purse. "I wish to bathe," I answered, casting a cold glance at her. "I'd rather not smell like you."

I dressed quickly, unembarrassed by my nudity. It was a standard uniform for social engagements, which was nothing but a frivolous costume I wore at times as to be nothing more than a decorative ornament on display for the enjoyment of nobles. A rapier had also come with the uniform, but it was little more than shiny stick that was unbalanced and encrusted with jewels. While I conceded that the rapier was aesthetically pleasing, I refused to strap such an impractical extravagance anywhere near my hip. My Dragonslayers had followed my example when I strapped on a true sword instead—one that had taken lives and experienced battle.

I fastened on my sword, straightened my uniform, and put on my diadem. A calculating glance towards a half visible mirror in the corner told me that my appearance was flawless. The high collar hid any bruises that might have been as noticeable as priest in a brothel, especially since my skin is so fair. My hair was rather limp from sweat, but otherwise it looked acceptable. I pulled on my gloves, moving towards the door.

"Will you come for me again?" she asked from behind me, her voice held no fondness or any inclination of that kind. I didn't find any cause to stop to glare at her when I answered, to wilt any growing regard. If there must be a reason to grant her my respect, it would be for her ability to emotionally and physically detach herself as a human being when she did her job. If I had soldiers like that, this war would already be over.

"No," I replied emotionlessly—the voice of a man having done what he needed to do, seeing no other purpose for his remaining there.

I left, hoping that I had not lied.