for the memes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ecchis) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2016-12-19 01:53 am
ecchis) wrote in bakerstreet2016-12-19 01:53 am
taken from a prompt on rpanons
TRAPPED TOGETHER
a fuck or die smut meme
a fuck or die smut meme
You don't remember falling asleep, but now you're waking up, and it's nowhere familiar. The room is white from top to bottom, clean and sterile. There is no visible door or other means of escape. Fluorescent lights embedded in the ceiling provide the only light.
The room is mostly empty, but not entirely. A large monitor sits recessed into the wall opposite you. A chest of drawers sits on the wall to your left, and a closet in the wall to your right. You are sitting on a large, white bed, and you are not alone. Do you know this person? Are they a friend, an enemy, a lover? Or are they a complete stranger, someone you've never met before in your life. There is a strange collar around their neck, and with a start, you realize you have one on around your throat as well. Try as you might, you cannot remove it.
Whatever the case, the person you are stuck with is awakening as well, but before you two have time to so much as introduce yourselves, the monitor comes to life, and text appears on the screen.
YOU'RE FINALLY AWAKE.
THE GAMES WILL NOW BEGIN.
DO AS YOU ARE TOLD AND YOU WILL LEAVE ALIVE.
ONCE WE'RE DONE WITH YOU, THAT IS.
IGNORE YOUR ORDERS AND DIE.
DO NOT ATTEMPT TO CHEAT. WE WILL KNOW.
AND PLEASE, TRY TO HAVE FUN.
The room is mostly empty, but not entirely. A large monitor sits recessed into the wall opposite you. A chest of drawers sits on the wall to your left, and a closet in the wall to your right. You are sitting on a large, white bed, and you are not alone. Do you know this person? Are they a friend, an enemy, a lover? Or are they a complete stranger, someone you've never met before in your life. There is a strange collar around their neck, and with a start, you realize you have one on around your throat as well. Try as you might, you cannot remove it.
Whatever the case, the person you are stuck with is awakening as well, but before you two have time to so much as introduce yourselves, the monitor comes to life, and text appears on the screen.
YOU'RE FINALLY AWAKE.
THE GAMES WILL NOW BEGIN.
DO AS YOU ARE TOLD AND YOU WILL LEAVE ALIVE.
ONCE WE'RE DONE WITH YOU, THAT IS.
IGNORE YOUR ORDERS AND DIE.
DO NOT ATTEMPT TO CHEAT. WE WILL KNOW.
AND PLEASE, TRY TO HAVE FUN.
The message remains for a minute, just to make sure you both have time to read it, before fading away. Moments later, your first orders appear. Ignore them, and your collars will begin to constrict until you comply. Finish, and new orders will eventually appear. Between the chest of drawers and the closet beside the bed, everything you need is provided to you to perform, including toys, tools, special medications of various effects, and even food and drink.
Is your collar getting tighter? Better get busy. Remember, they're watching.
HOW TO PLAY
Is your collar getting tighter? Better get busy. Remember, they're watching.
HOW TO PLAY
- Comment with your character information and preferences in the subject, as usual.
- OOC communication is extremely important in this meme, the orders your characters are given are determined between the two of you. They can be tame, or they can be extreme. Plan out what you want to play ahead of time, or surprise each other, just get a feel for what each of you want! Leaving a kinks list and/or an example of what kind of orders you like in your comment is a terrific idea.
- Keep on going as long as you please! If you really want, your characters can escape after a single smooch, or they can be going at it all day long.
no subject
His brief confusion clears as Alois continues and the anxiety even lifts a bit with the certain knowledge of their next, previously unknown objective. It just wants them... to play pretend? That's all? It could have been so much worse, and who knows what the next prompt could bring, but for now they can take it relatively easy.
It is the conspicuous silence that finally turns him where he still sits upon the bed. And as his eyes meet those wide, wet ones, it is instantly apparent that the other boy does not feel the same about these instructions.
Miyuki doesn't understand.
But all it takes is Claude and he's up on his feet, eyes glued to the other boy as he hears him start to drown in his own thoughts. ]
Alois.
[ Sternly punctuated, trying to call to him though he knows Alois won't hear. This is what he wanted to be able to prevent. To be there, within reach to stop the time bomb from ticking down to zero. But he realizes as he watches, that it didn't matter how far away the other boy was to him physically. He remains the same distance away even as Miyuki steps closer — just too far for him to grasp.
He doesn't know he's begging the younger boy with his eyes not to give in, arms twitching as he draws nearer but not knowing what to do. Grab him and shake him? Slap him? What will it take... ?
Alois crumples and Miyuki darts forward the rest of the way, kneeling down and grabbing to try to turn him face up. He does not give a damn about Alois' privacy anymore — he doesn't want him to die. Miyuki calls his name again, loud and firm, shakes him before his hands frantically fumble higher to bracket the younger boy's head. ]
Listen to me!
[ Everything they've known before this room, they can't afford to think about it. Alois can't lose himself to wishful thoughts if they're to get through this. He has to stay here, with him, and Miyuki tries to make Alois look him in the face as he calls his name again. ]
no subject
His body, all the little cells rushing through him and the atoms holding him together, want him to live, and though his mind and heart won't stop clinging to Claude, his small frame fights. Knees bending, heels sliding on the floor, all pointless, but wholly desperate, anything to find the air his lungs need again. His cognizance has disintegrated into motes. His vision is dimming on the outskirts, the room surrounding Miyuki's face over his is vanishing, and he can almost hear him.
The way his mouth moves, he's saying something, but he must be talking around cotton, or someone put cotton in Alois' ears. He thinks, I'm sorry. I want to see Claude so badly. He'll come for us. I want to see him so badly. But he says nothing, can say nothing, he's a fish without water, little mouth gaping open.
Those few seconds pass. Mouth softens, legs lose their tensity—along with the rest of his body. His eyes, still on the older boy, go out of focus, obtain an inexplicable dreamy quality, before they're slowly closing. It lacks the same fight and noise as when the choking started, it's like he's going to sleep. And the clue that this is over is the collar loosening, at last, around his neck. It can be seen: the indents from it squeezing disappear, the skin itself looking as if it could practically sigh in relief, although a red ring remains from how tightly it clenched around him.
This is where things last, perhaps, too long. Thirty or forty seconds, now. The collar back in its idle state remains there, but Alois neither moves or opens his eyes.
From his end, it's without ceremony—like a mundane, everyday occurrence. Falling, albeit painfully, asleep, and then waking up. Though it's different from dozing off, or even a short nap. He's gone for those thirty or more seconds, but he feels as if, when eyelids are finally fluttering open to reveal his disoriented gaze, he's been sleeping the whole day. He's certain he was deeply dreaming, but no recollection of any dreams come to him. At this point, there's no question about his life, if there ever was, but he still barely moves, only wearily scanning his eyes across the room, and, if he's near, Miyuki, in the exhausted means of refamiliarizing himself.
A couple-few more seconds, and he'd be comatose. Even longer, and he would be dead.]
no subject
There is the mere fraction of a second where Miyuki is suddenly doused in a flood of ice, frozen up as a multitude of thoughts rush through his head. Because he doesn't know what it takes to kill someone, has never actually seen anyone die before by choking or anything else. And so there is the brief belief that, right now, he is. Is there anything left to do? Will their captor listen, if he tries to bargain? Can he appeal to them, when he doesn't even know what they're after?
Is it too late?
But his eyes unstick from the younger boy's shutting ones, enough to see that the collar has relented. Miyuki knows he's trembling now, shoulders to the tips of his fingers, and it doesn't stop. Only gets worse as he slips his hand down to feel for Alois' pulse.
It's there. It's there, and there's a lurch in his chest, this time. What makes his next inhale feel almost violent, like walls of ice breaking and crumbling. He leans in as well, quiet and still beyond the shake of his own body, with an ear near Alois' mouth and nose to listen for breath. He stays like that for a long few moments, with a mind struck blank from the shock of emotion.
But he eventually sits up, still hovering over Alois' form, a hand braced on one side as he sits at his other. His brown eyes look to the monitor's new prompt for the first time, because it's meant for him too. Because he's going to be careful, even if the other boy isn't. When his gaze comes to fall back on Alois he's awake, and Miyuki is not surprised. ]
That- [ His brows are furrowed and he frowns, but quickly tipped more into confusion than anger. Confusion for where the rest of that anger went in all the fuss. He brings his arm back to himself and sits straighter as his eyes slide vaguely over in the monitor's direction, in thought and implication, before sliding back again. ]
That was idiotic.
[ Says Miyuki, says the gang leader — both of one mind in their assessment of the captive before them. ]
Trying to kill yourself isn't going to save you. [ Won't save either of them. ]
It'd only leave a corpse for him to find.
[ For the girl's father. For the boy's... whatever this Claude is to him. ]
no subject
Fast up into a sit, prepared for it, offended because Miyuki doesn't know Claude like he does, and that he's supposed to be there now, that he's disobeying, broken the contract. Offended because, of course he's idiotic, he really thought Claude would appear, but look, no impeccable and pristine piece of shit in sight. It's too fast though for that recent bout of lack of oxygen—he gets light-headed, and the fist meant to follow doesn't, but in his brief tilting he catches sight of the screen then.
He does not have to read it in full. A few choice words sting his eyes, and he braces himself. He stares straight at Miyuki for a few seconds, not quite ready to let the offense go, and not quite ready to summon forth the girl. Miyuki's gone straight to it, and part of him does wonder if games of make-believe aren't as foreign to Miyuki as he had previously thought.
Lightly curling a hand to rest against his lips a loosely bent index finger, he clears his throat delicately, shifts to kneel more primly, and fixes the skirt of the dress while digging the hostage up.]
Perhaps. But, [while hand moves down, and gaze lifts,] now you've seen for yourself that I'm willing to do whatever it takes. [And the same hand moves again, this time to plant on the floor between them as girl leans in, staying on knees, free hand rising to run fingers under tie.]
I've been meaning to ask: what's the name of the cologne you wear? [Blue eyes, through the question, ascend to latch onto brown ones.]
no subject
Alois is hardly multiple older, stronger boys. Miyuki is not an undergrown runt anymore. And it is years too late for anyone to keep the prickly, ugly armor from fusing almost indistinguishably into his flesh as he counted on no one but himself to nurse the wounds on his skin and in his chest alone, in a quiet house. To keep him from closing up and putting on a smile, laugh in the most grating, irritating way, as he learned to control what he couldn't before. Until the confidence became real.
Miyuki knows how to pretend alright. Only recently has he begun to be able to stop.
He does not rush the younger boy, as he is only just recovering. When Alois does speak, he hopes those words are meant, as Alois-the-boy. That he finally realizes they cannot rely on anyone coming to save them, not even this Claude person he has such irrational (in Miyuki's opinion) faith in. They're trapped, forced. But when you're faced against something seemingly so much more powerful, you don't wait for salvation. That's when you grit your teeth the hardest and keep your eyes ever on your goal.
He hopes the willingness to fulfill his role means Alois understands that. ]
Like it? [ The gang leader's lips slip into a sly little curve, amused by the blatant flirtation. Miyuki, amused because he doesn't bother wearing cologne. It's almost comforting to have the distance provided by pretend roles, as is feeling the other boy coming around to his own perception of the situation. Perhaps things will go more smoothly now. ]
I didn't think you were close enough to pick it up. The scent's pretty subtle.
[ He leans in a hair, playful little barb on his tongue. ]
When they come off too strong... it's kind of unappealing, isn't it?
no subject
He knows how to pose, even in countenance, but the ugly truth is that he has no experience with the almost accidental subtle flirting that occurs between two courting people. His victims before were lecherous men, intentions obvious from the start. In the big house that now belongs to him, he started out bellow it, with the other boys, all of them only in enough cloth to cover between legs. The Earl Trancy liked to put him in elegant robes that fell open or were undone easily, and pinafore, and unless he was out of town on business, Alois wound up spending much of his time in the nude.
What could be coming off stronger than that?
It could easily seem a trifling thing to anyone else, but when he has to face it, it makes him even less confident of any ability or worth he might have. If he has no skill for even luring men, then not only is he damaged and dirty, but he's entirely useless.
The girl smiles faintly, over the vacancy that wants to flood Alois' eyes, and gives a tickled hum, retracting her hand, and settling back. She and Alois sit within each other neatly, hands resting on knees: a little white cat in perfect posture and careless gaze, swaying tail idly. Alois, as hostage, pretends to look around an imagined room the girl is being stowed inside.]
What a waste to wear it when you're stuck here with me. [Girl faces gang leader again, canting visage, and practically mocking on honeyed inflection:] Are you doing that badly off? Can't even get your subordinates to keep guard, huh? It's a pity, [she sighs, putting palm on floor to lounge a little more casually, small shoulder risen just so.]
no subject
[ It's true: the art of subtly is not something he cares to employ much. The mocking lilt and cock of his eyebrow are anything but. ]
Don't sell yourself short, princess. [ Delivered with a nice dollop of sarcasm on the nickname as Miyuki presses his hands to the floor at either side of himself, pushing to scoot backward to the side of the bed. ] You've been quite a handful already...
[ A veritable pain in his ass, though one he knows now he cares for the well-being of. There is a levity to his words, besides, as though they rest on a cushion of air. When he settles to lean back against the bed, one knee bent up and the other leg bent but flat on the floor underneath, his eyes go to the girl again. Travel up from skirt through the slight curve of her sitting figure, to face. ]
And you're not bad to look at, either.
[ He leans his head back a bit more, chin up and mouth crooked into a smirk. ]
no subject
He keeps the state of his character at ease comparably, but he's terribly on edge. What does Miyuki mean by having the gang leader react so? He's under no obligations to flirt, and Alois can't trust him to go that route, because he could switch gears whenever he sees fit, and not be punished for it. He's working over the question, as well, on how to extend the girl's own flirting without touching him or his clothing again. Not so immediately, at any rate. She wants to seduce for her own freedom, or it'll become her intention, the screen's instructed, so perhaps this kidnapped little idiot ought to express some concern for her deplorable father.]
—How long's it been? [False disquiet.] Have you still not heard from him?
no subject
[ It is entirely possible he's only having trouble finding the funds. Just as possible as having no intent on paying the gangster back and looking for help from other unsavory characters. Or, simply, giving up and leaving his daughter as the pound of flesh. Though the framework is there, there are also spots in the story where some leeway has been left for them.
The criminal rests a wrist on his knee, hand twisting and fingers briefly spread in a small gesture. ]
Your Daddy's hands haven't been clean for a long time now, you know.
no subject
Slowly, taking significant care in her maneuvering, his captive slips hip down to the floor to unbend her legs. She's conscious of her skirt, keeping it in place to conceal thighs. She uncurls legs next to let them stretch long, heels going to meet, while she shifts to the wall behind her. From Alois' era, this is a rather brazen way to toy with someone, too. Men fluster over ankles; exposing so much stocking, and obviously, is really risqué, and he and girl both know it (he ought to, with his usual preference for clothes, but it's especially shameless if you're a lady). She acts as if it's nothing, doesn't even lid her snake-in-the-garden eyes at him.
No, once daintily situated, she folds her hands politely in her lap, and gives a faint worried sigh, before finally meeting his gaze once more.]
And, what will happen to him if he doesn't come up with the money? [What will happen to her. But she is a good and caring daughter. Father first.]
1/2
2/2
Just kidding~! How would he pay me back if he's dead?
[ The gangster is fairly logical, and far more greedy than he is vindictive. Besides, spilling blood tends to make things a whole lot messier, harder to keep under the radar. This was supposed to be a relatively clean way of procuring what is rightfully his. ]
To be honest, I thought taking his little girl would've been enough incentive.
[ The criminal tilts his head as he appraises her again, as though he might glean a better understanding of the relationship between father and daughter by doing so. ]
But if he doesn't pay up soon... guess I'll have to go straight for the source, next.
[ The teenager in him is also looking, through the lens of more modern conditioning. The neat angle of Alois' legs and the drape of the dress is far from scandalous to his eyes, but still holds flirtation in it, still earns a brief divergence of his attention — an automatic response he just can't help to skirts and stockings.
A modest girl is still the underlying ideal, where and when he comes from. And though Miyuki himself enjoys toying with more reactive people, who can show their passion so freely and with it, entrance the people around them... A proper lady who knows how to wield her power from behind a gentle smile, control without lifting a finger, has an undeniable appeal. ]
no subject
The hostage puckers her lips vaguely in little pout, planting her hands on the floor—fingertips pointed outward—at either side of her hips, and shifting her weight gingerly, arches the leg closest to the gangster at the knee just so. Barely lifting, letting it rest without weight against the still extended one beside it. A secret display so he can see it in new light, and angle. Window to hopefully visualized things: how it might look on a mattress with wrinkled sheets, or on the outside of his own thigh.
It seems, briefly, she's said all she feels she can say or ask about the state of things, but finally, with cheek tilted to a pitched shoulder, eyes thoughtlessly on the floor.]
You can't keep me here forever. [He knows: if Daddy never produces the ransom, even if he does go to the source.]
i forgot: there's actually mafia AU art from the mangaka. but this one's prettier....
It lessens what qualms Miyuki may have had, when his eyes follow where the criminal's go with more confident appreciation. Watching where the man's mind is led by crook of coy little finger, the teenager laughing a little inside himself like applause for the other boy's skill. How'd he learn how to tease like that... ? ]
Hm... [ He mulls it over, looking up and off to the side. ] You may be right about that.
[ At the very least, it wouldn't be of benefit to him. Especially not if she didn't want it and sought to cause trouble for him — as he has no doubt she still does. The gangster has a plan, though, eyes fixed to her and the threat like a knife in his smirk. ]
If all else fails? I'm sure I can find someone else willing to pay.
[ For her.
Probably not as much as he's owed, but hey. Can't have girlie thinking he's some softie for not wanting to kill. ]
what a good picture. a+
They all happen together: her shocked scowl, the sudden, fearful pulling up of her knees as if to hide behind them, and the, seemingly unplanned, opening of skirt.]
You wouldn't dare, [are her words, irritable and stubborn, and doesn't she sound truly beside herself? She is a lady, how dare he suggest such things, etc. And, the knees, a kind of segue to her deceitfulness, bending toward her torso in the way all young girls', and perhaps some boys' (Alois is one), legs take closer to themselves when they're frightened. Either to guard or conceal is anyone's guess.
Naturally, her skirt is risen with the tops of her thighs, the back of it still lying on the floor, but with the length, it's all precisely enough. Nothing too obscene is revealed. Only the hint of creamy skin between top of thigh-high and hem of skirt: the scales of mermaid fin glistening in dark waves, under the boat of her sailor, enough for him to know she's there, taunting, but not enough to see. Then, the cavern the skirt makes, shadow of opposite thigh that immediately melts into a shroud. Nothing can be seen at that juncture, but it doesn't have to be. For most men, it's enough to stir their wonder. Every little movement, exposing only glimmers, warm clues, the intention to get him lost in preoccupation about the beyond.]
no subject
Who do you think you're dealing with, princess? [ Does she honestly doubt he knows where to find the kinds of men willing to buy her? Nevermind whether he really would or not. Both criminal and boy move now, pitching forward to close the distance. He barely needs to be up on his feet in the fluid motion before he's on his other knee, one leg underneath him, leaning close to his captive. ]
I'm not seeing a good reason to keep you...
[ He reaches forward and brushes the backs of his fingertips down the side of her bangs, her cheek. It's short of the fond praise of a ruffle of hair, but will have to do. Such a thing would be breaking character.
Though the sleezy little dip of his eyes he throws in fits pretty well, he thinks. ]
Unless you've got something more to offer than a pretty face.
no subject
There might be a tense air between kidnapper and victim, but in a sense, he feels the strain he probably caused in the atmosphere from his tantrum is melting. If it hasn't melted away altogether yet. Giving way to the distraction of the new people in the room. No, that's not right. Not the room, but the gangster's office, or bedchamber, or perhaps a locked off parlor, anywhere else he'd lock her and himself up in.
Brushes with death never come at a convenient time, do they? And he isn't sorry for it, exactly, because it wasn't his intention to die, but to call Claude in the loudest way possible. But, that is what he's sorry for: believing he'd come. He's had no reason to doubt it. Since he was eleven, Claude's always been there, from the most superficial tripping to the time, hooded by blanket dragging along the floor, he caught his foot in the fabric and tumbled most of the way down the grand staircase; to the time Alois, room flush with the bluebells Claude had given him, tried to give a butterfly he killed by accident a proper funeral and caught the whole thing on fire.
Reckless child, but so soft. Just before, he had wept over it, begged it to come back, "Exact revenge on me, the one who did this to you," he told it. And owed to this core softness, without this game, without Miyuki's compelling portrayal of a criminal, Claude's betrayal and having to dwell on it would only worsen him. If anything, Jim Macken would rise from the grave to smother him, kill Alois, take his own body back, but not to live in, only to continue rotting inside of it.
This is why it's nice, too, because he doesn't have to be Alois either right now. He can never return to himself exactly, and as far as he's concerned Alois is himself, that's the reality, but either way, Jim's dead. But Alois is exhausting, too. Staying yourself is exhausting. He's always wanting to get away from who-ever-he-is, unloveable and worthless, and while he had been edgy and anxious before, about how all of this pretending would play out, he's acquiring new appreciation for the costume Miyuki picked for him, hiding needy, hopelessly hopeful, stupid Alois away in the skirts of this maiden.
When gangster crowds the girl, Alois has to curb the thrill it gives him from meeting her eyes. And how he hopes he manages—eyes do enlarge a bit, but hopefully it looks apprehensive, and not like he wants to bite his lip the next second. (Which he does want to, but doesn't, of course.) The girl, fronts aside, is afraid, and when the criminal makes contact with knuckles, she wants to look down and Alois lets her, gaze falling away, nervous and demure. She even exhales a shaky sigh.
She slowly looks up to him in the next moment, obliquely, small visage still mostly angled toward the floor. Her eyelashes bat once against the tops of her cheeks in a blink, lips plush in pout, and gaze rolling in a perfect match up of youthful negligence and timidity to the corner of her eye: expressions of consideration, meaningless facial movements on their own, but tiny captivations when executed in a timely manner together.]
For being kept? [Eyes and dainty hand rising together, tiny knuckles scarcely touching against his wrist, as if she's going to brush him away.] I have nothing to offer for that. [Seamlessly, she turns the slip of her own wrist upward to skip a fingertip or two along the skin of his, sneaking fleetingly just under the edge of his sleeve. She faces him fully.] But I can think of a few things to give you for the promise of being let go.
no subject
But she doesn't relent, and the teasing of her slender fingers winds up around the length of his arm, fine hairs pricking underneath his sleeve much farther than the little peek of fingertips.
He breathes out in a purge of the inspired heat, and it becomes a reverent hush of sound. ]
Hooh... how ambitious.
[ Not a bad trait, and his esteem leaks out in the tug at the corner of his lips, his eyes meeting hers more keenly. ]
You really think you can give me something worth freedom?
[ There is challenge in the arch of his brow, half-mocking though it may be. Tantalizing as her promises are, it's difficult to believe she could persuade him into letting her go just like that when the alternatives offer less transient, quite tangible benefits.
It's Miyuki thinking it over, wondering what it would really take to sway the gangster. Objectively, if it did come down to it, selling her would make more sense, would it not? To at least get something back for the time and services her Daddy's been so unwilling to compensate the gang leader for. But if she could draw him in as well as she has been...
The man pushes his hand forward to brace flat to the wall beside her head, leaning that half-inch closer with teeth in his quiet words. Asserting to her, to himself, that he's the real predator here. ]
I'm not that easy.
[ The criminal believes himself. Miyuki has doubts! Isn't that a thing, the kidnapper falling for the captive? And he knows the man has at least a nugget of gold buried somewhere in his pitch black heart. That deep down, he's still a boy liable to get wrapped around the little finger of some sweet ingenue. That sometimes, they don't even realize it. ]
no subject
Those fingertips take sometime to retreat in full—ghosting along wrist, then the smooth, rounded edge of (actually) polished fingernails. Idly, but touch translates what can't be spoken quite well. Her smile is a placid thing for his, but her eyes glitter, Alois' eyes glitter. She and Alois both swallow as wrist gets away from them to let hand meet wall, united in their nervous-excitement. He wants to give her all that feeling strictly, deny it for himself, even privately, because if not, doesn't it make his attraction part real? Miyuki, although slightly more roguish, has the looks of someone he could easily watch forever. Not creepily, but in gentle, passive admiration, who'd steal his eyes away from something else, if they were spending time together in a completely different scenario.
Miyuki said from the start Alois isn't his type, and while it stung (and still stings), he can recognize that it makes some sense. But Miyuki comes unfairly close to his, and that's annoying alone. This simulation of behavior makes him want to fidget. It's a little scary and masculine, conjuring up someone dangerous as it should, and he's restless, and wants to die (Not really, but his melodramatic inclinations make him feel this way. He wants to swoon might be more appropriate). He knows it's all the gang leader, or is certain of it, but being affected by someone is a rarity and makes him want to fluster himself, and that's definitely not keeping in control. He can't let Miyuki's act make him fall all over himself.
During the words that follow from the gangster's mouth, the girl's hand returns to the floor, and in response, she asks, with lilting simplicity, face tilting with the question:] Oh?
[There they are: Satan gave Eve a forbidden apple, and Claude taught Alois how to turn his own eyes into similar fruit, as if they're harboring all the secrets and truths of the world. The girl's voice is warm sugar as she continues, stepping leisurely through the air toward the criminal's ears.]
That's a relief, [knees separate so she can partially extend the one she scarcely teased him with earlier. The ankle below it barely, barely nudges his leg. In the same instance, because she's leaning up to him to be only a mere couple of centimeters below his mouth, a game of chicken, her shoulders shrug up, and the knee slides against him lightly but with a bit more deliberation than any touch so far, while she finishes off,] easy men can be so dull.
[A sentiment Alois shares with her.]
no subject
But in another context, he lives for a good challenge. Savors the risk, the fight with a formidable opponent, that tension in the clash of wills. It is best not to be certain of a win until it's over, and that is the greatest thrill he knows. It's the kind of blood-pumping excitement the gangster knows as well. And though he'd like to think his heart is steel and the girl is of no threat, her delicate machinations send tendrils of excitement running up his leg and through his core, to the quicker beating in his chest.
His hum is a curl of smoke from the flame, warm with intrigue, ] Then hopefully I can satisfy you.
[ And the script goes on. The gangster... he's grabbing her by the chin, taking her up in a kiss with the confidence that he is merely using her for some easy gratification.
But Miyuki isn't moving. His expression loses the arrogance sharpening it, mask slipping to show the boy underneath whose concern has grown loud enough now to interrupt. The monitor hasn't changed yet; he does not need to look to know, with the telltale shift of light when it blinks. It isn't satisfied with how far they have gone.
It means he has to keep going. Because, as he'd said before, he'll do what he has to. They both should.
But as he stares down into the eyes of the girl, he knows the boy behind her. It's Alois, who cried and screamed when Miyuki first tried to touch him. The same boy who can hold such charming whimsy and pep in his face, his movements. Whose body struggled ineffectually under his own as he pleaded desperately with him. Whose humor slips in before Miyuki knows it and leaves the older boy helplessly tickled.
Alois, who is wounded, and unpredictable. But who looks cuter than he should in the dress that was meant as a joke.
Miyuki's free hand slips its fingers under his jaw, not hers, brushing across neck to find rest at the back, the base. Fingers curling into blond hair to cradle his head and every movement gentle with care. He angles his own head with intention, eyes asking: would it be alright?
Because, in this moment, it would be alright with Miyuki. ]
no subject
He doesn't want to think about either interaction, despite them having happened so recently. He never expected to have to do such things again, and the screaming had surprised him, too—a knee-jerk reaction. In the past, he never screamed, not once. Never said no, never tried to stop it, and this lends itself to the fixed belief that what's happened to him hasn't happened. He drew it out of them, he caused it. So, what was he screaming for?—at the time, he thought this.
The kittenish side of him and girl, in the short time it takes Miyuki to decide how to proceed, steps back for the unavoidable child. Enchanting gaze gone for something rounder and worried instead, but not until the older boy's concern has shown, this is important to note, and stuck on Miyuki in anxious waiting. They're like two lost boys in the dark and rain. The troubled older who has the unspoken responsibility of both, holding little one's hand. And, little one, who can sense the distress, who wants to do his part in helping, knowing his uselessness, who clings with fingers and shivering hope, looking up. Always looking up with those what now, what should I do, tell me what to do for you eyes.
And then Miyuki's fingers taking care as they smooth over tender neck, to go into hair and support head, and in a way, comforted, Alois softens his own gaze once more. He sees the inquiring in Miyuki's eyes, and wonders how to answer. It's all right is the answer, but how to show him. Waiting for him to make the move would be letting him keep his pride, and in his limited, but intense experience, it's preferable to Victorian men. But, to do it himself would, he hopes, really show that he's not afraid.
He'll do anything.
He wonders if he can combine them, get them started in a matter of speaking, but leave room for Miyuki to take the lead if he desires, so nothing's robbed from his virility. Blue-eyes stray away, stumbling lazily down the features of Miyuki's visage, and he takes hold of a portion of the suit, some of the lapel, and reaches over the small chasm between lips to dust his against the older boy's, blinking into that quick, barely pressing touch of mouths.]
no subject
Though the difference in motivation may be difficult to see, when the outcome is nearly if not identical. He feels the faith in Alois' gaze as though the younger's hands are placed in his, ready and willing to be put to use and led. Without second thought, Miyuki assumes this weight of responsibility and is willing to lead.
It is not because he is a man (or will become one) that he does so. It is his duty here as the elder between them, and the one more level-headed besides. Being that reliable force that leads others is not at all unfamiliar to him. In the smaller scale of the batteries he's been a part of, and more recently with his appointment as captain.
If only he could be as experienced in kissing. If only he did not remember the repulsed reactions of before so well, weren't a little afraid of refusal snapping at his outstretched hand. But he's learned, at least, that when you have others depending on you, looking to you, you need to hide your weakness and show only confident strength. For those following to believe in you in the first place, and to bolster their own confidence.
So he is not afraid, but careful. Even when Alois' small approach brings a similarly small wave of relief to rush down, relaxing the tenseness in his upper back. He leans in more, eyelids falling partway as lips find Alois' to fit them together, gently, just enough to count as a kiss.
It would not be correct to say that he forgets about where they are or what they're meant to be doing, as it has been established he needs to lead and needs to be ever aware to do so. But for a moment that is set back for the immediate situation of the younger boy allowing him to kiss him. Not whether this meets the criteria, but... that it can be good for him. Trying and hoping for it to be something that the other boy is a willing part of, or at least, as closely approaching so as it can be considering their circumstances.
Even, maybe, making it feel good. It does already to him, body warm from their back and forth, in a way that makes every touch feel good and not enough. Miyuki ventures to turn the kiss into more than a perfunctory gesture, then. Presses a little more firmly, thumb brushing idly against the younger boy's scalp in coaxing motion as he holds him there for a solid second, and releases in the next.
His eyes focus on Alois' face, still so close, scanning for any signs of doubt. ]
Scared yet, sweetheart?
[ A soft murmur of a tease, Miyuki peeking out from under the skewed mask with a smile. ]
no subject
To be fair, though, he's had more reason to let his hands do mechanical but convincing work, while he lies on a grassy hillside inside himself and imagines a sky full of stars above his head. There was only one other time such sensation sought him out to bring him back. That is, one other time he found himself, despite remaining nervous and doubting, that he wanted to remain for what was happening. There have been a few accidental incidents: someone getting overzealous, violent, practically snatching him back out of himself. Basic survival driving him to stay aware because that might've been the last night, but Father, who'd always be in the corner observing, would remind the eager assaulter that he'd have him killed if he broke his favorite doll.
Right now, he's like a little glass of champagne, with tiny bubbles of stimulation slowly rising up inside of him. He wants to feel more, as well, and in half-realizing, wants to hide away; in equal parts, he feels giddy and shy, and as Miyuki establishes their mouths against each other more solidly, he thinks how nice kissing is. Like it's the first time, like he's a healthy, unhurt, normal little teenager! The timid effervescence of his whole current being causes a stutter in the return, but he does press back, his delight emitted on a hum as thumb strokes against his head, wanting to give life to the kiss, too.
The older boy draws away, and Alois' deserted, gently parted lips give slightly quickened breaths. Not breathlessness, but his budding excitement causing heart to thump more rapidly, seeking a way out. At his question, he exhales a small laugh, and guides the hostage back out of himself.]
Of what? [she asks.] Your wagging tail?
[She and Alois are moving through the question already, a motion that, even to him, especially in the frock he has on, feels shameless. But he wants so much to be closer and doesn't know how else to do it. Their position with one of his legs already on the outside of Miyuki, and the other still bent at knee between them, leaves him no choice but to carefully slip the other leg on the opposite side of the older boy, and though his intention isn't to have those lissome limbs of his open, there's no getting around it.
Despite whatever lewd image it may give off, it still permits him access to rise up to Miyuki, for the girl to rise up to her kidnapper, their skinny arms slinking over the tops of broad shoulders to extend out behind Miyuki-gangster hybrid's neck, chest to chest. Alois is bolder, relishing at the notion of kissing Miyuki, wanting to show him what he can do, what a demon taught him first-hand to ensure his gift as a good little lover, even at the tender age of ten. He doesn't forget that this isn't normal, he simply doesn't think of it at all, what with little to no experience with the normal.
So he finds him open-mouthed again, with unshy but fluttering connection, kissing decisively in one or two meaningful short bursts. And although they come with no ill-will, his lack of what should be natural puerile uncoordination, may be disturbing. He doesn't know it, though, he only wants to impress him. And, the third kiss is slower, humidified first only by their warm breath, and then Alois teasing seam of older boy's lips with tip of tongue. Youthful, and sweet, and for now, only quietly fervid.]
no subject
But he still can even when they part, the younger laughing and teasing and... kissing really is nice isn't it? Even when so chaste as that, the warm, airy feeling bounces around inside enough to make one restless, in a good way. It is so wonderfully normal by comparison to what else they've come together for here that Miyuki cannot help but smile with him and mean it.
The movement of Alois' legs reminds him of their constraints, of the looming monitor seemingly still unsatisfied, but it does not disturb him. Being closer is fine, only makes sense to facilitate more kissing — which is definitely fine. How it opens up the dress in a way unbecoming of a lady is merely incidental to that. Miyuki adjusts himself with the shift, both legs down and bent with a much smaller angle between the other boy's. His hand slips down from wall to the small of Alois' back to guide him close as he wants to be, as far as up into his lap if it suits him. The younger boy's enthusiasm to go again is plain to see and Miyuki is all too eager to allow it.
He expects a fumbling but earnest approach. Like a puppy with eyes glinting in joy of discovery, propelled by enthusiasm though woefully, charmingly lacking in finesse. And so he does not mind him initiating at all, preparing to drink in that emotion and channel it, adjust them and lead from there. He does not have much experience to draw from but he will still do as best he can.
However, there is no need. Through the happiness of their accomplished moment of normalcy creeps a feeling of unease, though the kisses come quick enough it does not fully sink in, at first. That this does not fit in with the image of their innocent exploration and what that means, as the younger boy's tongue swipes up his spine.
His kisses are too deft. And why is that? But Miyuki doesn't want to know the answer to the boy's precocious tendencies, when they might line up with his conjectures. He wants to give him that normal that he may not have had, and while the feeling of Alois' clever mouth against his is unnerving, it makes him want to do so even more.
His hand at Alois' back becomes an arm wound protectively around him, pulling him in. There was a second of pause, but Miyuki parts his lips and meets him, tastes him with but a gentle slip of tongue before slowly going in again for more. Even then, it is a question rather than an assertion. One of the things he was sure of was that he did not want to go too fast for the younger boy. But now... he has to wonder if he needs to worry at all. If, perhaps, he should rather be worrying about not having the experience to lead at all. ]
no subject
Touch says so much, even if the meaning may not be fully comprehended, there's still some whispering sense of what hand on small of back becoming arm instead on back to bring him nearer means. And instantly, he's quivering, nervousness trying to root itself, but Miyuki hasn't tried to push him away yet, hasn't puked yet, and Alois wants to convince him of his worth. In resistance of his insecurity, he tenses up, unintentionally effeminate with his small pinched up shoulders, the way this brings him up and lightly curves his back.
As if to anchor himself to Miyuki, he slides his fingers along shoulders, slowly up neck, to let them cup the older's face, at jaw corners, his own slim digits presently carding into dark hair. All the while, his little tongue teases Miyuki's, trying to persuade him into his mouth. And should he take the bait, go past the barrier of lips, he's bound to discover something else Alois doesn't think of. Not to say he never thinks of it—his favorite person gave it to him, but it's been there for so long, that like an old scar, he forgets about it from time to time. The first half-inch is soft and smooth, completely ordinary as far as tongues go. A little further back, it's inescapably, abnormally textured. Not rough per se, but it dips and rises almost like a patterned motif.
Kissing such as this won't make him think of it. Earl Trancy was dabbling in black magic long before he made this child his heir. He had many connections to other nobles who dabbled in the same. It was simple for Claude to make him think he gave this wound to the child to keep any suspicion from growing, and being evil as they were, if they felt Claude's imprint on him, none of them questioned it. But whether Miyuki's stumbled on it or not, whether he chose to indulge in more or not, if anything, they've surely been kissing with soft mouths and lightly touching tongues enough that Alois has to break away for some air.
His lashes shadow his cheeks while he catches breath, gaze lingering between them. One hand has found itself where neck slopes to shoulder, and he watches the other one play with the tie before him. He wants to make the girl say something charming and witty from his own mouth so Miyuki will hear it, but he's distantly dizzy. He hasn't quite made the connection to what he finds pleasant about the whole thing, Miyuki himself, how it's not unlike, if he had had a normal upbringing, his sexuality might be awakening for the first time. A mutually shared experience. He thinks it's all owed to an eagerness to prove himself.
He's a little flame in Miyuki's lap, who'd only just been flickering and trying to expand wildly, blazing to give him warmth, to want to keep him drawn in by what he is and what he can do. Fires are compared rightfully to passion all the time, and the fire that Alois is isn't an exception, but they forget how timorous fires can be. Irascible enough to burn down whole buildings, and sometimes, not quite dying out, but shrinking into themselves, down to a scarce glow. Which is what he is now, idly flipping tie end up and down, peeking shyly up, painfully seeking approval. In whatever form it can show itself.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
1/2
2/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)