A/N: DUN DUN DUN1! OKAY, so this chapter contains an emotionally scarring backstory ( I TRIED OMG WAHAHAH) if it's horrible, please forgive me :P anyway, moment of truth! and yes, most of you guys guessed the next character right (duh, I'm so funny for making you guys guess even if i tagged him) plus, here's a bonus: THE NEXT CHAPTER STARTS WITH THE ADVENTUREEE! HAHAHA i almost forgot about the Runes and all omg!
Thanks again to all my lovely viewers and reviewers :) It always makes my day to know that someone appreciates my writings :) Enjoy this crapter
PS: OMG HAHAH I APOLOGIZE TO ALL THE KYOTEN FANS (MYSELF INCLUDED) BECAUSE WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS THE START OF ALL UHM OTHER SHIPS (uhmmmmm "mistresses" or something?) HAHAHAHH XDDDDD (omg i can't find the words but u know what i mean )
enough of my blabber, just enjoy! :)
KYOTEN CRAP 7
Victor closes the door silently, only to be greeted by a skeptical team leader.
"It's quite rude to poke your nose into others' business, but just to enlighten you, he is in no need of assistance nor visitors whatsoever," he informs in a matter-of-fact tone.
He walks away with a tiny smirk on his face just imagining the way he left the boy, all sweaty and breathing heavily like he had undergone strenuous labor for the henchman's entertainment, and leaving Riccardo wary yet confused as well.
Victor walks away, passing by the windows that offer a wonderful view of the landscape. As he descends the flight of stairs going to the cellar, he fails to notice a quiet spy sitting amongst the autumn leaves on a tall tree. The intruder slips in quietly through the window, skittering nimbly down the left corridor, opposite to where Arion is still located, and enters the room at the end of the hallway. He takes a seat on the armchair directly opposite the door, waiting calmly even though he risked his entire life traveling in broad daylight despite the fact that he is still wanted as a fugitive.
Soft footsteps could be heard outside, drawing nearer. The door creaks open, and another character enters, not noticing the boy until he speaks up.
"Have you some spare time for a quick chat?"
At this the other swiftly turns around, shock momentarily on the face but quickly replaced by a calm demeanor upon recognizing his visitor.
"Ah, Sol. What is it that drives you to ambush me in my peaceful dwelling place?" Comes the graceful inquiry from the other party.
The carrot-top chuckles mirthfully.
"I shall go straight to business; I know that Victor is planning to overthrow Zabelle and perform the Millenia Luna Ritua. But I'm afraid that his will may not and cannot be done."
It's Vladimir's turn to laugh.
"Many days have I spent trying to change his mind, but he turns only a deaf ear. I am the first person he will ever listen to, and you are the last."
"Well," he says as he stands up and brushes off his pants, "you have no one to blame if misfortune comes your way. You have been warned."
With that, the runaway runs away again, flashing a bright smile at the boy who is left to decipher those words.
As the trespasser now known as Sol returns to his hiding place, he hears soft sobbing coming from the other hall. Curious, he takes a little detour, opening the door just a fraction to see a sniffling boy with his knees tucked to his chest, head bowed down and shadowed by mousy tresses. He looked shaken, traumatized permanently as those legs covered with some kind of sticky substance trembled all the way up to those shoulders, certain parts covered only by an oversized coat. And when those eyes poke out from underneath and see the peeper, they widen a thousand times, but Sol doesn't take off because he's mesmerized by the bright gray, shining like the stars of the dark skies of the galaxy.
"HUHH-W-who are you?!"
Arion raises his voice unlike he normally does, pulling the coat around him closer and scrambling away as the the other steadily approaches.
"Hey, shhhh, it's okay..." Sol reassures the little cherub by raising his arms in surrender, but only succeeding in provoking the boy to grab the nearby wine glass in a ready-to-strike position.
"I'm going to throw this and scream if you don't back away!" The still half-naked brunette threatens, trying to be brave but failing at it horribly because of his shaky and disoriented stature. Sol could see that.
So he walks briskly to the other side before the confused soccer player could do anything. He gently cups the glass with his hand, pressing a finger to the brunette's lips as he carefully pries it from the elfin fingers to set it down on a nearby table. And Arion feels a hundred times worse not protecting himself knowing that he couldn't trust anyone anymore, but he just bunches up the coat in his hands, trying to think of Victor as the one who saved him instead of the one who molested him. It was too difficult.
Desperately trying to keep himself together, he turns his head away and sobs silently, wiping his arms with his eyes and withdrawing to the bed, but Sol grabs his face on impulse and forces him to look straight in his own eyes. He doesn't know why, but he feels a strange connection with this abused child. And it tugged on his heartstrings.
"Shhh, stop crying," he says as he rubs soothing circles on those chubby cheeks, flicking away the tears. "I don't know what happened here, but I know that I don't want to see you cry."
Arion shoves at his chest. He doesn't want to hear those words, not after the only person he looked up to just used him in the end. As a plaything. But Sol refused to let go.
"Listen to me. I know we just met, but I-I feel like I really want to protect you. I feel like you're trying your best to protect others too, but you're hurting yourself. Give yourself time to heal. Give me a chance to let you heal."
Those words, combined with a sincere sparkle of sympathy in those sky-colored eyes, make Arion look up with puffy eyes. He hates the fact that the stranger's right; they both know that the prisoner can't make it alone. But he wants to be loved, and he can see truth shining in those eyes.
He doesn't say anything, because words mean nothing now. And he lets Sol pull him closer into a light, comforting hug, resting his head on the other's chest as the carrot-top caresses the younger one with a tenderness unlike anything he's experienced since his parents dumped him in Tokyo all by himself.
Arion doesn't want this blissful moment to end, but the distant shuffle of footsteps could be heard coming closer and closer, like they were somewhere one floor down. And only one person came into his mind-Victor.
Arion panics, looking around for a window so that his new friend can escape.
"You have to go! Victor won't be pleased to see you here. Please, it's for your own good."
Sol nods, and turns to leave, but Arion calls out before the other could go.
"Wait! I don't know when we'll see each other again, but...what's your name?"
Sol smiles again, walking closer to the boy and squeezing his hand, taking him by surprise.
"It's Sol Daystar," he whispers and plants an innocent peck on the other's cheek.
Arion is taken aback, completely and utterly speechless beyond comprehension, fingers flying to the warm spot that sent tingles all over his spine.
"Arion Sherwind..." He whispers as he watches the other wave away with a curt nod.
Arion assumes that the escapade is a success, because when Victor comes in, nothing looks off. It's a good thing that the boy was able to shrug the coat off and leap on the bed before the other's entry. Victor looks the same, wearing the rumpled shirt with the top buttons undone carelessly and his hair slightly disheveled from their previous steamy agenda. Well maybe he changed the pants. He says nothing, walking over to the mini bar to pour some wine into the glass that the boy was holding earlier, until he stops midway. He narrows his eyes dangerously, sniffing the air again, before he tightens his grip on the glass, almost about to shatter it. Of all his senses, his sense of smell was the one he relied on the most to seek out his prey or target. And its deadly accuracy never failed him. Now, he can detect an alien scent lingering in the room, despite its weakness.
Someone's been here. And he doesn't like it, because he knows exactly who smelled like that. He hates anything trespassing his territory.
Growling venomously, he spins to face the only one who stayed in the room, obviously demanding for answers. And he sniffs the air one more time, drawing closer upon confirming its existence which was magnified as he drew closer to the bed. He stops at the bedside, staring down his catch with eyes ablaze with judgement and its due punishment. Bending down silently, he nudges the other's chin upward with his cheek, brushing against his face and inhaling the skin deeply. Both of them don't like where this is going, but Victor wants irrefutable evidence of a crime that's been committed behind his back. He flits his tongue out and licks a line, long and slow, on Arion's cheek.
There is his proof. He could smell its putrid aroma leaking through the pores, like an animal dead set on finding a fresh carcass in the wilderness. Well, a dead rat, when hidden, will always start to smell. And it didn't take long for him to find out.
Arion is shivering again, fearing for the one he thought could be his prince, but Victor doesn't lay a finger on him.
Victor tips the chin up a little to look in those eyes, and he loves it, because he smells and sees the fear gleaming like a lighthouse in those eyes. He tickles the chin, much like an owner would do to his pet, and leaves the room again without a word.
As Sol tries through grasslands and vines, he can't stop thinking of the boy he just met. And his words.
"You have to go! Victor won't be pleased to see you here. Please, it's for your own good."
Victor. Then that could only mean that he was really intent on planning to sacrifice this heavenly gift for selfish reasons. It makes Sol even angrier. As his tightened fists bust through the overgrowth and decaying wood, his resolve to complete his mission is further strengthened.
He will stop Victor. And he will save his precious Arion.
At the house, Vladimir assembles the men. In just a glimpse he could tell that someone was missing. Along with someone as equally important.
Meanwhile, Victor is busy in the other wing that remained usually unused since their parents since away. It's not like he cared, he thought to himself as tiny tears prickled at the corner of his eyes.
It's not like he cared.
There was once an extremely wealthy man who fell in love with a beautiful maiden. He courted her everyday by giving her a different flower each day. And he never stopped until they fell in love and got married. They had a big marriage and moved into a big house. The doctor told the woman, who consulted him after minor health problems plagued her, that she was sick and was not likely to bear any children. She didn't believe him, and shortly after they had a son with hair as blue as the skies of dusk and eyes like warm smiling hazelnuts. They were so happy that they promised to love their son always. Always.
That was the stupidest thing he's ever heard in his entire life.
Years later, seven-year-old Victor is sitting by a window, playing his cello. He was practicing for his third performance, and he knew that everyone else could care less. He was to play a new song a week later, at his brother's birthday party, and all of the relatives were invited. Maybe even the whole town. But, he felt bored and lonely. All his teachers praised his brother with the same words like 'prodigy', and he could see right through his classmates who only befriended his brother for his assets. Never mind the younger one, is what their eyes said. Every time he tried to tell his parents about his problems, they'd simply shake their heads and tell him to manipulate things to his advantage instead. And it disgusted him because he knows that not only were they expecting him to take a path he didn't want behind their 'concerned' smiles, but also that his family was slowly breaking apart. Economical crisis surely didn't affect their social status, but it surely did affect their social behaviors. To everyone. And to one another.
"Mama, papa, may I ask you something?"
"Anything for our son!"
"Do you love each other?"
The question pops out of nowhere, and his parents exchange nervous glances.
"O-of course son! Why wouldn't we?"
He never asked again after that. Instead, he followed them everywhere. Or at least he thought he did. Even when he tried to do his own thing, the memory of his parents haunted him. In the morning they'd act so lovey dovey towards each other, but they don't know that their son is watching them at night when they're screaming at each other and throwing the plates and cups in the mansion. They don't know that their son couldn't sleep at night hearing his father cackling as the man forced the maids into the master's bedroom to have their rights taken away from them in order to feed their families. They don't know that their son was forced to clean his own wounds after scraping his knees kicking a ball all alone in the forest (only when Vladimir can't sneak out with him though) just because his mother was too busy making women's apparel to make him a bowl of soup.
"Hey brother, can you pass the ball?"
"Alright Victor, here it comes!"
It whizzed through the air like a firecracker, and the little boy successfully intercepts it but wobbles off balance and just as he is about to fall, a hand grabs him and steadies him.
"Hold your horses, little buddy," he says as he playfully ruffles Victor's hair, to which they both laugh and fall on the grass.
He never wanted those days to end, and that's why he hates the sunset. And he hates the day by the riverbank, the day he lost his everything; a playmate, and all the love his parents had left to spare.
And six months before his eighth birthday, his parents are starting to fight in front of him even at lunch time. They didn't make an effort to warm up to him anymore except when his elder brother was there, the one with the hazel eyes that everyone loved unlike the golden eyes he had that everyone feared. He was loathed so much that he had to stay indoors, resulting in his colorless complexion. Well it's not like his parents would think of taking him to his father's exhibits out of town. All they think of is sweet Vladimir. They didn't ever think of Victor's feelings when he was so proud and excited to see his father's works that he even created a homemade 'congratulations' card using the little flowers he grew in the unkempt backyard, only to look around the whole house and find out that they were gone. He was left to eat meals alone for a fortnight. Days after the incident, he quickly recovered, telling himself that it's okay and that maybe they had their reasons for not bringing him along. So instead he makes wise use of the time by preparing a little get-together when they came back. He bravely grabs his coat, slinging it around his shoulders, and brings the worn straw basket his puppy lived in before his mother threw it out because of its smell. All alone he wanders around the marketplace, gathering ingredients here and there while carrying the basket all by himself even if he didn't know his way around so well. It isn't so bad because he gets home in one piece, and most importantly, with the ingredients he needs. He has just enough time to make dinner when the rest of them arrives. Finally, maybe tonight he can hear the words his parents always showered Vladimir with, the words he always longed to hear so that he could finally step out of his brother's shadow.
But all his hopes and dreams are burned to ashes like wildfire right in front of him.
"Somebody help! Get the water, you useless wenches!" His mother shrieks desperately as she attempts to fan away the flames. She doesn't even pay attention to the little boy crying for someone, anyone as he stands trembling in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by fire on all sides, ready to eat him up alive like the roasted pigs during the town feasts. He tries to run but they block him off, sizzling and crackling in the moonlight as the debris of wood fall everywhere around him.
"Victor! Hang on!" Vladimir shouts into the fire, ready to hobble with his cane into the embers to snatch his brother before anything happens but is grabbed on the collar by a pleading mother.
"My dear son, please don't throw away your life like that!" She surrenders him to the maids who are dragging him away, even if he's screaming at the top of his lungs that it'll be okay for his little buddy.
Minutes later the pails are coming in, drowning out the fire from the stove, but the air has become so thick that the child could barely see or breathe to the point that he's dropped on his knees, scratching like crazy at his throat as he gags for air to breathe. And he shrivels up on his side, so weak and helpless that he could barely see through half-lidded eyes except for the fact that the maids were hurriedly grabbing the precious porcelain and dinnerware and other expensive things that were worth a lot. Worth a lot more than him.
He could think of nothing else as drowsiness takes him. At least, something pays enough attention to him to take him somewhere and take away his pain.
He wakes up to something warm on his face. Cracking his eyes open he sees the sun's rays about to set again. How long has it been? Days, weeks? He pushes off the blankets, but his mouth tears open in pain even if nothing comes out, because he is too concentrated on the pain spreading in his legs and torso. He sees that he is still wearing the same clothes as that day, only that he has bandages put on him, the salve freshly applied. He tries to get the cup of water at the bedside, but his fingers are too stiff to move, so he simply sits propped up by the pillows.
A curt knock is rapped on the door, and before Victor could answer, a tall apathetic man appears.
"The Master of the house wishes to see you."
With that the door slams shut, not even considerate enough to wait for an answer nor assist the handicapped boy. But he doesn't mind, all he wants is to see his parents after a long time and give them a hug with his bandaged arms. So he hurriedly jumps off the bed, crashing on the carpet but immediately getting up and hobbling painfully over to the door and pulling it open to rush downstairs to where he knows his mama and papa were waiting.
Mama.
Papa.
Why did he still call them that even when they never called him "son"? Both questions and tears rise to the surface again as he limps through the halls, but he chooses to ask himself what made his parents keep him around instead of throwing him out with the leftovers. Anything given will be returned a thousand times, so he's just patiently waiting for the time they'll love him back.
Not even the stairs were going to stop him from getting to the living room. Grasping on the railings with those charred hands he takes it two steps at a time, uncaring if he forgot to put on his shoes and if his socks got dirty. At last he's on the proper floor, and summoning all of his remaining strength, he runs as fast as he could, limping like a three-legged street dog trying to escape death by a carriage. And even before he gets to the room he couldn't help himself from calling out with his bursting heart,
"Mama, papa! You're back!"
As he says those words he finally gets to the room, trying to leap the rest of the way to hug them and never let go, but ending up stumbling pitifully at their feet, twisting his foot a little bit more than he should. He cries out and looks up to them, an unspoken need for help in those golden eyes that have seen too much but have known too little, but is met with only the same marrow-biting coldness of the winter as neither make a move to help him. He was confused; are these really his parents?
"Mama, papa, I-"
"-SILENCE YOURSELF, YOU USELESS BRAT!"
The woman shrieks, throwing her ashtray in his direction which barely misses. His insides are filled with fear and he turns to the other one for help even if he knows that there's even less of a likelihood that the husband would disagree with an angry wife. And everything just dies deep inside as the man's frown turns into a condescending grimace, expression ablaze with judgement.
"Your mother and I...are VERY DISAPPOINTED!" His voice raises horribly beyond decibels could measure as he pulls out his leather belt and flings it at the child with practiced accuracy and strength. And it slaps across his flesh under the clothes like a hot whiplash, annoyingly numb at first then stinging and piercing a thousand times worse as the fibers open minutely all at once to spew out blood, on his back and on his arms, even on his legs despite the fabric. And Victor just begs for them to stop, saying the words sorry over and over and over and over again and again and again until he couldn't move at all because everything just felt so faraway, so faraway like his stubborn soul was already dying, because those marks didn't hurt his body as much as it hurt his heart and his trust.
And when his 'father' was finally contented, his 'mother' also evaluates the motionless pile of flesh and bones she's nurtured in her womb like it's a pile of filthy rags.
"He almost tried to kill my baby Vladimir. Take him away before he stains my carpets," she tells her husband who agrees. If there's one thing that could bring them together, it was his brother. He himself was merely the bane of happiness.
Gruffly, he is hoisted by the collar, towed along to the end of the wing near the maid's quarters and even farther into the storage rooms. A latch is opened and a candle lighted, and the man descends, throwing the child on the floor without sparing a second glance.
"Your mother always wanted a girl," he says at the top of the stairs without looking back, knowing that the abused victim was listening. "She spent all her time making dresses when she found out she was pregnant. But you came along. You even ruined your perfect brother. All because of your stupid football and your stupid mistakes. Now her work and sacrifices for Vladimir is wasted."
With that the heavy door bangs shut, the little flame flickering once before dying. And he is left alone in the dark, and for the longest time, he cries himself to sleep until his tears are completely dried up.
Victor abruptly stops, feet grazing the carpeting he could remember so vividly from his childhood as he lay lifeless in the man's arms like he was tonight's dinner. All the pain, the anguish, the jealousy and the hurt that welled up inside him were still there, gnawing away at him little by little as he grew up in the dingy basement, locked away like he was a shame to the bloodline, like he was the world's most grotesque freak in a carny festival waiting to be put in the spotlight so people could get a good laugh out of him. He wasn't even treated like a human anymore, living off of the leftovers (if there were any) and the clothes the maids sent him. He grew up, free of the expectations of parents, free from the intrigues of family members.
"Hey Vladimir! What happened to our other cousin? What's his name again?..." He heard someone say one day through the thin ceiling during a celebration in his house where he was neither invited nor informed.
"It's none of your business." With that his brother leaves.
And minutes later, just as he assumed, the door opens and his brother comes in, carrying more clothes, blankets, candles, and books.
"Hey there little buddy," he says as he puts down his cane and sits beside the other one. "It's pretty boring up there you know. You're lucky you don't have to smile at anyone."
Those words stabbed him like a knife because he wanted to smile and change the world, but it did everything to change his smile.
When there is no reply, his brother simply understands and pats him on the back.
"I guess you're not in the mood today. I'll see you later then." He hugs his brother before quickly returning upstairs.
When he is left alone again, he silently puts on his shoes and picks up his ball, going to the other side of the large expanse that no one ever dared to clean nor venture, to where a flight of stairs was attached to the wall. He ascends, pushing open the doors to bask in the sunlight's path made visible by dust and lint. And he runs across the field, the wind in his hair as he practices all alone by himself.
He suddenly slams his fist on the wall, trying to stop his body from convulsing. The memories hurt like hell. And until now, not even in the one hundred and twenty-nine years that passed since his parents died, did he ever hear the words he needed to hear.
I love you.
I'm proud of you.
He slides down the wall, covering his face with his hands. Even if the world hated him so much to curse him by taking away the ones he loved, by cursing him so that he could no longer sleep to escape this twisted reality, he never wanted to be the monster his parents were. Especially not towards a boy who did nothing to him even for the sake of his brother.
No, he didn't want to hurt Arion. He wanted to believe that he was still a good person deep inside, he didn't want the things people said to come true because he's sold his conscience to the devil. No, he was better than this.
But every time he tries to push his temptations to the back of his mind, he just can't get enough of those perfect skinny curves and those addicting moans like they were candy. And it angered him even more to know that Sol, that filthy bastard who treated his brother like a scapegoat, touched his most prized possession like that. That disgusting outlaw defiled his precious baby doll, his precious little bitch. And he, being given nothing, owns only a few things, but is very possessive of them. He will make that bastard pay. And he will claim that sweet angel, make him remember every time he wakes to the morning sun, that he belongs to no one else but his dearest Master, that he will do as his Master pleases, that he will succumb to no one but Victor to prove his fidelity as the henchman's faithful slut.
And the saddest part is, that very sickness of his, that unsatisfactory thirst for revenge, is what makes everyone think that he is a monster. Even when he thinks he's not.
Returning once again to the bedroom, he finally has his priorities straightened. He has just told his brother to send them to the stables to pick horses to their liking. Now, no one is in the building save for the two who still have unfinished business.
Arion just watches the other boy walk up to him, hands behind his back to hide whatever he had retrieved like it was a birthday present.
"Close your eyes," he says in a mockingly sweet tone, grabbing those chocolate strands harshly to pull them back. As he does, he snaps the heavy, rusted metal on the boy's neck, a perfect fit as it presses a little too tight against the skin. After it is locked securely in place, the only protrusion is a metal ring, not too small, not too big, but enough for the owner's chain. The newly-hailed "pet" immediately claws at the foreign article, trying to pull it off, but it scratched against his skin and made him feel so tired.
"Please-Victor-it's too tight-! I-I can't...breathe properly!" He implores the other for consideration, to which he is answered with only a whisk of another item in his face which turns out to be the partnered lanyard for his newest accessory.
The chain is linked, and before anything else is said Victor jerks Arion off the bed with no mercy, laughing in amusement as the other one is barely crawling and more of slugging on the ground as the henchman drags him in front of a full body mirror in a corner of the room.
"Do you see that?" He whispers into the other's ear, forcing him to gaze long and hard at his own naked reflection, mirroring not only his various scars and bruises on his hips and shoulders from where he bumped into things while practicing, but the weaknesses and pathetic stature he had. Yet he couldn't take his eyes off his pure form, bared for the vampire to see, bared for him to see, bared for all to see, because he looks so perfect, so right to be leashed by the man kneeling behind him, staring up and down the nude body as well with eyes burning with lust, letting his hands snake around from behind and settle on parts too close to the inappropriate regions which were already molested prior. Arion stares, all eyes and ears attentive as the fingers lightly stroke the petite organ, desperately begging to be given rest, and he voices his plea, tears starting to stream down his face even in front of the abusive captor.
"Please stop..." He whimpers, hands protecting his parts, but they are immediately slapped away, grabbed by the wrists and tied behind the back using the long leash pulled so harshly by its manipulator, and Victor grabs the groin in his hand with ease, fondling it, touching it, rubbing it just right and it drove Arion nuts like he was a dog getting tickled on the stomach, tongue all stuck out and cheeks all red from panting. He twists his arms in every angle but they're bound behind his back that's arching even further, leaning right into the crook of his abuser's neck where it fit so right, breathing against that pale skin and embedding that strange scent into his memory. Simply the skim of a finger pad on the organ felt more fulfilling on a different level from anything soccer could bring, and he twitches violently, shuddering, moaning as he whispers his name unwillingly. His fingers squeeze tight, tighter, tighter in those sweaty palms as his body temperature skyrockets like crazy, sweat rolling down his exhausted form which only made Victor crave his exciting reactions even more. Arion is sickened to the core yet he, he who hated this exploitation of his purity, hated this violation of his rights, sings aloud his notes of praise and satisfaction as his pounding erection climaxes beautifully on those dirty hands. And his indescribably pleasured expression triggers his so-called lover to rip off the demeaning collar and sink his teeth lightly on the base of that mouth-watering throat, deluging his oral cavity with a taste surpassing the rarest of wines because the boy's blood was indeed the purest of all things pure and holy, rejuvenating him like it was the fountain of youth. Arion screams and moans and begs and submits all at once, uttering the name that was not spoken until now, the name that would make him grovel and kiss thy master's feet.
Victor wasn't the noisy type but this treat was too damn delicious to make him keep quiet. He's no longer a civilized Englishman when he gets a sip of that elixir of the gods, a glimpse of a paradise all for himself, making all these noises of contentment and he can't help but slurp it all, greedily consuming everything pouring in generously. He doesn't realize that he's biting harder just to keep his control in check, digging his teeth into the flesh like a nail hammering into wood. It could be taken out easily but it would leave deep scars, permanent marks, and he liked it that way because it was like a stamp to show that Arion belonged to only one person. And that was him.
"Arion," he breathes out as he liberates the aching neck, heavy and lascivious, words dripping with poisonous aphrodisiac that's overriding Arion's system. The dizzy minor wanted to scream as loud as he could a while back, but he's lost his voice and he can't feel his throat, reminiscing only of how painful but oddly pleasurable it felt in his hazy post-orgasmic moments.
"Victor..." He croaks out desperately, reaching out to cup the man's cheek, but is only denied access as the other snarls threateningly. He immediately leashes the other once more, robbing the other of the little breath he could grasp.
"Rule-breakers deserve punishment," the voice replies, husky and grating on the nerves in a way that still got the already dead cat curious. Victor licks the trail of blood leaking from the overt love bite. It tingles his skin, like a butterfly on his bare chest. Even if the hands dancing all over his skinny body smear his seed everywhere, it doesn't go unnoticed as that extraordinarily talented tongue laps up every bodily fluid from the chest up to his own sticky fingers like ice drop candies. Holy mother of all mackerels. He isn't sure if he wants to be an angel if heaven would hurt as much as this. He stays still, rubbing his cheek at the base of Victor's neck, relaxing into the arms that were wide open. He could feel his eyelids dropping heavily, his vision obscured by cerulean strands but he's fighting to stay awake. Who knows what Victor might do to his unconscious body.
"I..." He clutches on his neck, trying to ease the soreness. He feels himself being lifted off the ground and he struggles, tossing and turning, but is only greeted with a light caress on his shoulders. Cradled so lovingly in the arms of a strict disciplinarian, he trembles in fear, trying harder and harder but failing faster as he wrinkles the ruined button-up in his hands.
"Get some rest...you must recover from such a burden being placed upon you," Victor advises, with the same concern laced in his voice like the first time Arion met him. It was so sweet to hear such care again that the boy couldn't resist smiling one of those innocent and heartfelt smiles even if the mood swing was so ambivalent that it was frightening.
"Okay," he replies, slowly letting his grip go loose as he is laid carefully on the bed. To Victor, he seemed like a life-sized doll as he stayed perfectly still, wallowing in the realm of sleep. So without warning nor the slightest notion as to why he did it, he kisses his little plaything chastely on the forehead. One thing he was sure about, however, was that the brunette didn't know about it. And as he stared at the sleeping angel, he was also sure that maybe his pure little heart could forgive a monster like him and teach him how to love again.
Maybe.
A/N: YOU GUESSED IT RIGHT- IT'S SHINDO EVERYBODY! YAYYYY! WOOHOOO! (GIVES U COOKIE)omg HAHHHAHAHAH XDD