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A Castle of Silence and Bones
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007.
take it and drink it, my dear
(A promise to treat you like a queen, so long as you never wake from this dream)
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After he pulls out completely, he notices that his arms are trembling--either that, or his sight. He stops one or the other, clutching Yao's fingers between his own, tightly, before letting go altogether. Yao's eyes are still closed, though the pallor of his face is slowly going away; a good sign, if there ever was one.
It's alright, Kiku forces himself to think; forces himself to leave the bed.
Just as soon as he's buttoned the entirety of his uniform again, a hand, warm and still sticky with sweat, reaches out, and wraps loosely about his wrist. He freezes altogether, and it takes a beat before he swivels his head around, almost expecting an entirely different person to be on the bed. Yao has cracked his eyes open, he sees the orbs to be dull, albeit aware. He wants to question, wants to pull his hand away, because that is how you break someone, wants to go away, because he'll not be able to sleep at all with those eyes trained on him.
"Nii-sama," Yao pleads, and Kiku feels a shiver race its way through the course of his body.
"What is it?" he responds, because this isn't a dream and--his voice betrays nothing (it has not done so for over a decade).
"I'm lonely," the other whispers, in his tongue, and as ingenious a piece of engineering as the drug that brought Yao into this sort of state is, Kiku can only think of how unguarded, how beautiful, how tragic, the elder nation is--like this. But those need not be the thoughts of a conqueror, or a winner, and so, he smiles, indulgent, once more.
Yao rises to meet him, looping arms-over-shoulders and knees pressing forth. His breathes are flighty; uneven, and the moonlight that manages to crawl through the risings of the castle cast the two of them in a sordid light. It matters not, Kiku thinks, marvelling over how well Yao simply fits into him, how easily the other acquiesces now.
This time is the second time; he wants to keep count--and why not. It is different in that Yao is the one actively participating, in that Yao is the one kissing and entangling fingers and legs and tongues, in that Yao is the one without any clothing, in both the beginning and end. And though it is Yao initiating, inciting, this time, everytime his hips brush just that close enough, Kiku realizes that he is the one hard. Before the war, he would have flushed, would have been shamed, as such thoughts. But before the war, he would've never been able to have Yao. Today--now, he is different, better, far better than all the Asian and Axis nations alike. But he is kind too, kind enough to not kill all of his brothers and sister; kind enough to allow Yao freedom in the largest room of the grandest palace still standing.
And even now, he is kind.
Smoothly, he cups the other's cheek, kisses it lightly, and shoves Yao against the backing of the bed. With his knees, he manages to part the other's legs, and he does not bother to trail kisses, only pushes Yao further up so that he can situate himself properly. Kiku hears a noise of surprise, and then feels the other tremble and quake, and though he's still not hard, he will be soon.
Confidence--it's what he has now, that he did not have before.
"You're beautiful," he murmurs, running his bare hands along the other's hips, waist, thighs, because he wants to hear Yao moan, wants to feel his shake; again and again. His mouth slowly kisses the tip of Yao's member, and he delights in the twitch he manages to elicit from the other. Slowly, slowly, he licks a line up, down, around the hardening organ, and he's aching but he doesn't care when Yao cries, completing his rise with a withering scream.
It is the most beautiful thing he has ever heard, Kiku thinks later.
He doesn't quite finish, but comes very close to it, especially when Yao collapses, fingers taut and tight about the starched-and-dry uniform. Kiku can feel the other's deep, aching breathes, and he wraps his arms about Yao, sucking him off completely before untangling the two of them. He thinks he cannot sleep, will-not-sleep, when he's covering the other with a thicker blanket, taking in the even breaths and tear-stained face.
Kiku dreams of the army--his army, that night. He's paraded with them, gone to the 'detainment centers' and the 'operating laboratories' as well. The emperor is sometimes beside him, sometimes not, and the earth itself trembles when bomb after bomb, plane after plane, and human and human, go off. It is glorious, and it is just, because Japan will not be conquered, and therefore, must conquer all else.
The next day, with the sun right through the arches and streaming into the room, he wakes with a panic because Yao is not there.
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