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When All Is Said	By : beans Category: +. to F > Escaflowne Views: 2110 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Escaflowne, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
-- When All is Said --
Beans (beans@beans-etc.com)

Second Addressment
He's going to kill me this time, lord to god, he's going to kill me, I'm dead. . .
Miguel faltered. His feet wavered in their step and he paused, reaching a hand out to the corridor wall to brace himself and take another deep, nervous breath, not for the first time since he had started the trek down this side of the fortress.
It hadn't been a half-hour since Miguel had pulled himself from his cold solitude curled up in the back halls, still beaten and aching. He'd wanted absolutely nothing more than to crawl under his blankets and sleep away this pain. He had been making his way slowly back to the barracks when Gatty had crossed his path in the hall. The sandy-haired slayer had eyed him pitifully with a clear look that meant he hadn't known what the poor fool had done to warrant the abuse that blackened his body, but neither that he was going to pry. Instead, he had just approached him with words that had almost driven the little strength from Miguel legs: the captain was demanding to see him in his quarters. Immediately. Alone. The relayed message had almost seemed to reverberate Dilandau's fury and scathing threat in itself.
Oh god, not again. . . If the captain had held himself back enough earlier that day to still demand inflicting more punishment, then this second assault was going to be Dilandau's culmination -- and Miguel doubted there would be any mercy this time. He could feel it already, beating down on him, blackening and swelling across his skin.
It seemed somewhat foreign, however -- for punishment or otherwise, it was a rare occurrence to be summoned to Dilandau's own quarters. Only Gatty and Shesta were ever called directly to the captain's private rooms. It was a rare distinction they held as Dilandau's two second-in-commands and Miguel had always envied Shesta's privilege, constantly keeping him up nights after an audience and badgering the blond about every detail. Miguel had never been in Dilandau's chambers before himself, and he couldn't help the almost excited skip that stumbled his tread, even despite the fear prickling his neck at what would be awaiting him when he got there.
Up one floor. Branch down the third hall. Round the corner and off the far west side corridor. The captain's rooms were a considerably inane distance from the slayers' barracks.
Not close enough for anyone to hear your cries. . .
Miguel tripped again. A knot tightened in his gut and his steps became smaller. The destination arrived too quickly, and when he finally stopped at the door he stared at it for a long time, a hand outstretched to the wall bracingly. Longing, fierce and colorful, hammered his heart against his chest not at all unexpectedly, although the familiarity and elation of the long harbored emotion was dwarfed swiftly with rising panic.
Too far from the infirmary ward. . .
Closing his eyes, he ran his fingers gently down the cold metal of the door. They trembled, fluttering over the smooth surface as if each digit were battling vainly in one last groping search for something warm and solacing.
Nowhere to run.
The door slid away. Almost instantly it felt as if he was hit with a blast of stabbing cold air that sucked his l dry dry. Miguel's feet moved automatically, pulled in by themselves.
It was a wide, spacious but elegantly furnished sitting room, with a small bed chamber and bath off the side. There were no windows and the place was dark except for a familiar hum of a gas lamp in the far corner, turned down low, filling the room with a cold looking light. Under any different circumstances Miguel would have been living a dream at that moment, but instead he forced himself to keep his eyes hung low and remained far by the door as it slid closed at his heels.
Ahead of him in the center of the room was a figure sitting hunched in a high back chair. Silver sheens of hair seemed to illuminate him in the dark. The captain was staring glassily at an opened wine bottle perched beside him on a table and neglected to look up from his silent brood, although Miguel thought he saw the pale hand twitch around the arm rest when he walked in. The albino's expression looked as though he'd been drinking, but the bottle appeared hardly tasted. The red armored jacket was flung over the back of a far chair and he sat simply in a sleeveless, soft lavender shirt. Miguel had always liked that shirt. He had always thought Dilandau looked nice in the color.
There was a very long length of silence. Miguel stood absolutely still, his eyes cast down, not daring to breathe. A moment passed, and there was a dreadful, chilling break in the still air at when Dilandau muttered outloud in a voice that sounded tired, but steady and completely sincere:
"I should have just turned you over to the Strategos from the very beginning."
It was a cold, stinging remark that struck deep and hurt Miguel more than any blow he'd been dealt yet. Henchenched his hands at his sides and stared down at his feet as he felt Dilandau's scalding gaze turn slowly upon him. It seared his skin, penetrating under the hooded lids of his eyes anarinaring into Miguel's head. The slayer couldn't meet it. He didn't think he could look once more into those burning embers without breaking down.
God, he wished Dilandau would just hit him. He just wanted Dilandau to hit him so hard that he wouldn't be able to feel this atrocious pain.
Darting shaking glances from behind his dark bangs, Miguel watched nervously as the captain rose from his chair. For someone so young, he seemed to pull himself up with great effort; reluctance even. Crossing the room, the captain stopped in front of him and paused, as if waiting for something, then suddenly he swung his hand around and struck the side of Miguel's face and whipped his head back. Miguel stumbled but caught himself on his feet, grimacing fiercely at the sting that raced through his cheek, and when he turned back his eyes were forcefully pulled upwards until he met the garnet gaze straight on, heatedly and breathless.
Dilandau seemed to pale for a second and then flush, tensing. His stare appraised Miguel for a further moment before his eyes narrowed and a sneer flickered across his face.
"That's what I hate about you --" he hissed out in the dark; a strange, tired, scathing tone. "You're so god damn tenacious."
Miguel blinked. The slayer didn't even have a chance to comprehend what was happening: when leaning forward, the captain linked his hands around the slayer's neck, and then Dilandau Albatou kissed him hard.
Miguel's world exploded.

He should have had another drink.
As he closed over Miguel's lips, Dilandau's body gave a cold instinctive shudder. He felt the slayer pull back in blatant surprise at the sudden unprompted contact, gasping into his mouth; but the captain held him rigidly to the spot, refusing to allow him proper time to register exactly what was happening. He thrust past his teeth, pressing his tongue to the back palate of Miguel's mouth with a choking ferocity, making sure he had every bit of his attention.
Then as abruptly as he'd leaned in, Dilandau tore away -- breaking the kiss and pulling his head back quickly as Miguel seemed to try deftly to follow his lips. With the sudden rush of air that flooded between them once more, the brunette stumbled on his feet. The captain met Miguel's gaze hesitantly as blue eyes tried to regain focus, blinking and caught in an bewildered stare as Dilandau watched the soldier try to gain quick, labored gasps. Miguel's mouth formed a meager sound, an efforted, inaudible question and express of disbelief that shaped on his fluttering lips.
Swallowing, Dilandau drew himself up to his full height, squaring his shoulders. His mouth pulled into a tight, thin line.
"One night,"
Miguel blinked.
"I'm going to give you one night, Lavariel," Dilandau said slowly, never leaving Miguel's eyes and managing somehow to keep his voice from sounding hoarse as he tried to form the words that came out as strange and unnatural as they sounded in his head. "Satisfy whatever this sick fantasy is that you're indulging -- and then it's over -- because god, Miguel, I don't know what the hell else to do with you."
The last remark came out distinctly underlined with desperation, sounding weak to his own ears, and Dilandau's eyes flashed a dark bloody hue in the lamp light. His hands fisted at his sides as he grappled to regain ground on his crumbling composure. "You get this filth out of your head and that look out of your eyes, and then that's it. No more of this crazy shit."
Miguel seemed to stand in incredulous shock for several long moments. His mouth opened a small bit and his eyes widened, looking like they were searching Dilandau's face, inside his head for comprehension as he hung on each word. The air around them seemed to ripple with a new sort of anxious tension. The room felt suddenly too small, too confining, and the brown-haired slayer too close; Dilandau took an unconscious step back and was surprised, almost unsettled, as Miguel matched his retreat with a closing stride. The slayer came up to him slowly. His steps were light and careful as if walking across a patch of thin ice, and his eyes gave off a clouded, misty kind of expression.
Abruptly, Dilandau found himself on guard. He hadn't expected Miguel to be so bold so quickly, and he fstrastrangely unnerved that the slayer hadn't spoken at all yet. Miguel's silence itself was almost as shocking and defiant as when he then reached out slowly and suddenly Dilandau felt a hand on his arm; the electricity of the contact startling him as the boy's fingers stilled on the captain's wrist, grasping a little, like they were trying to gain tangible proof that Dilandau was really there. Wide blue eyes questioned him tentatively.
"One. Night." Dilandau repeated firmly.
There was another pause and Miguel started slightly as if almost to back away, then stood still again. One step back, two steps forward; pause once more. The boy seemed to be having a hard time breathing now. Dilandau braced himself, unwilling to be the first to move this time and waiting uneasily as Miguel leaned forward bit by bit with the pitiful determination of a field mouse.
The kiss was anything but explosive. Miguel's lips quivered and shook on every breath, and for a long time they seemed to just dance, only brushing Dilandau's mouth. Scared, nervous; waiting for a trap. Completely unbelieving. Until finally they aborted their cautiousness and molded over his mouth, moving over Dilandau's tongue with smooth velvet heat.
The sensation was uncomfortable to him and spurred an acute feeling of being out-of-place. Miguel was a good half-year older than him and stood only an inch or so under the captain's own distinctive height. Dilandau didn't like kissing someone as tall as him -- it made him feel strangely self-conscience and discontented, like an unarticulated challenge or threat to his authority.
Once again Miguel seemed surprised initially, but soon became more sure of himself this time, and unlike before, Dilandau didn't need to hold him. Instead of pulling away, Miguel leaned in more, albeit appearing to move slow and cautiously, but still coming close enough to press lightly against him. In an instant the soldier's body tensed, stilled, then sagged all at once like a puppet whose strings had been cut, falling loose against the albino like a doll.
It was an insatiably strange feeling to have Miguel so close, feel the heat radiating off his body, having his hands around his hips, and his tongue delving through his mouth. Dilandau shifted on his feet unsteadily as Miguel angled his body, straightening and curving into the captain's stance and causing Dilandau to instinctively draw back. His hands pushed away on Miguel's waist and he distinctly felt the soldier withdraw very slightly, flinching.
That hurt him, Dilandau realized. He'd almost forgotten the vicious assault he'd delivered upon the slayer earlier that day, and Miguel was still in obvious pain although seemed trying not to show it. In a strange way it felt good to cause Miguel the small discomforts; an odd sense of placement that urged Dilandau that perhaps this wasn't extending too far beyond his control and dominance.
It was disconcerting though. Being touched by Miguel was at the same time both so similar and different from being touched by a handmaiden or a whore. Both a familiar but disturbingly new sensation, and he found himself toying a horrifying curiosity that kindled with each fleeting brush of finger tips and lips -- but it was smothered suddenly by a far greater, overwhelming surge of irrational fear that seared him like a hot blinding poker.
Dilandau blanched.
Jesus, what was he doing. . . This was different than slipping behind Folken's eye and joining in on Gatty and Dallet's off-duty poker games in the evenings. It wasn't like allowing Miguel and Shesta the freedom to dare the odds and screw in an empty bunk room and then neglecting to report it to the Strategos. God, he could get court martialled for this. . .
This was wrong.
For a moment he was seized by a torrent wave of fear and shame. Bristling, he barely caught himself as his body jerked as if to wrench away, but Miguel's hand around him held him with little to no force to the spot. Dilandau furiously hardened his resolve, but his head was spinning now, alive with newly awakened alarm.
He held himself rigid as Miguel kissed him softly, straining against the desire to recoil as foreign hands trailed down his arms and dropped slowly over his thin shirt. They halted just as they began to explore underneath the fabric and tensed. Very slowly, Miguel's lips broke away and he pulled back a fraction, his face flushed with heat. Dilandau met his eyes as the slayer appraised him furtively, feeling Miguel's fingers still grazing lightly over the ivory skin of his stomach, waiting for permission.
Somehow atop the confusing disarray of alarm, warmth, and alcohol, there was a vague denotation of consent. He saw Miguel blink and draw in a quick breath, as if just suddenly realizing to the extent Dilandau had meant in his offer, and with a tight moan Miguel pressed back in to kiss Dilandau again, fervently this time. His hands moved with far more aggression than before and his fingers took their privilege to caress beneath Dilandau's shirt, growing more and more bold as they mapped the fair flesh. They appeared to rush themselves as they pulled the garment up over Dilandau's head, as if afraid the invitation would be retracted at any moment.
The flurry of movement took Dilandau unprepared. He was caught in a fast in-drawn breath and all he could do was respond impassively as Miguel nudged him firmly but not forcefully up against the wall. He grimaced as the Dragonslayer cuddled in his pelvis while branding his lips with a new feverish passion, greedily stealing the heat from the albino's body.
Gods, even in the privacy of his own chambers this was more humiliating than he'd imagined. . .
Make him stop --
Dilandau's breaths came in erratic lung fills of air. He stoically avoided Miguel's ardent gaze as he allowed the slayer to slowly undress him, and took an odd, detached notice of the delicate way Miguel pared off his clothes. The brunette's hands worked skillfully and diligent; hurriedly working apart the top neck of his own jacket while his other played on the hem of Dilandau's pants, tugging and urging exposure to the crisp evening air. In the end, the only article the fingers neglected to remove was the jeweled diadem from Dilandau's brow -- as if to articulate their deeply founded respect for the power they were being privileged to touch.
The first feeling of the cold air and shadows caressing his bare legs brought another grimace and jump, and Dilandau groped the wall for purchase, screaming soundlessly into Miguel's mouth.
-- no this is wrong wrong get him off me --
The knot in his chest tightened, and Dilandau flinched when he felt Miguel seize his hands and raise them to his own half-unfastened uniform. The Dragonslayer pleaded wordlessly against his lips for the captain to take up the task and tentatively Dilandau obliged, fumbling nervously as Miguel helped lead his fingers in the chore, showing him how. Dilandau had never undressed a man; it was different than pulling apart a corset or unlacing a bodice, and he was oddly ashamed as he felt himself redden at his awkward, newfound show of inexperience.
In the wane, hissing glow of the lamp, he was caressed with an exhilarating mix of stabbing cold from being trapped up to the wall and the raw heat of Miguel's body against him. Gentle hands maneuvered over his flesh, down his waist, along his thigh, and with every new shock Dilandau instinctively fought back, pushing and hurting Miguel in return with immature, child-like logic.
-- no get him off Jesus stop stop it get off --
Touches along his bare skin sent waves of hot, uninvited sensation through the albino's limbs, and Dilandau felt a bitter stab of inward betrayal as a small involuntary moan escaped his lips without permission. He felt Miguel weaken and pull responsively inward, enraptured at the noise.
No, this wasn't fair. . . This wasn't right at all. It was abominable that he could be provoked so easily by a catalyst that was so unspeakably wrong. Dilandau could feel everything down to the merest shiver that jolted along Miguel's skin. It was a nightmare.
He made a small sound of half-hearted resistance when the brunette took his hands up in his own and circled them around his neck, as if in desperate need for Dilandau's touch, the feeling of the captain's skin on his own. The movement diminished whatever remaining space there had been between them, and enthused, Miguel pressed in further: holding him firmly to explore the curves and muscles of Dilandau's body with an eager thirst; knowing him as no other of his charges had ever dreamed.
-- make him stop this is wrong stop stop stop STOP STOP!
With a low moan Miguel pulled away and swept his lips over his lord's neck in a newborn fervor. The touch was warm and delicately grazing on his skin, leaving Dilandau trembling and gasping at a new ac war warmth and forcing him to cling to the other soldier for support in a convulsive grip. It seemed to encourage the Dragonslayer on to tenderly teethe the lobe of the albino's ear then descend down, mouthing inaudible words of desire against the hollow of his throat. Soft hands stole away his heat, and something inside Dilandau screamed at this invasion of his body. It strangled him and he clawed for breath, scrambling in the black dark behind his closed lids.
He couldn't push back anymore to hurt the boy in rebut -- not with Miguel's fingers crawling over his flesh and his lips somehow discovering more and more new little places of forbidden, unwelcomed pleasure that prickled Dilandau's skin and chilled him to the core. He shuddered once, fiercely, overwhelmed from the height he was raised to and then sent spinning downward in this dizzy, rolling wave of white heat and inadmissible thought.
Yet despite the electricity of the privilege he was being allowed, Miguel never forgot his place. He seemed to explore with a careful kind of boldness, just enough to learn what Dilandau reacted to and how, and withdrawing elsewhere when the venture was rejected -- after all, he was still one of Dilandau's men, Dilandau's charges; and as if keeping himself in check, his manner remained submissively undertoned.
The captain relished in a brief, blissful interlude as Miguel toyed with the silver dog tag hanging from around the albino's neck; slayslayer traversing Dilandau's chest and pausing amidst his rapture momentarily to gain his breath and admire the tiny engraved disc with reverencing fingers. The gesture strengthened Dilandau's weakening resolve, enforcing the former authority once more that had been perilously wg sog so quickly before in the dark. Regardless what privileges were given, what exchanges were ever made, Miguel was his -- it was a fact that Dilandau kept burned in his mind like a smoldering brand, and was the only comfort to the apprehension that laced his mind.
So when all of a sudden Miguel pulled away with an eager breath and made to drop to his knees, Dilandau's restraint fled like a terrified animal.
His eyes shot open and he bit out a loud exclamation of surprise and panic, swinging his hand forward and striking Miguel viciously hard before instantly wrenching him back to his feet. In one swift, turbulent motion, he swung him around and threw the slayer violently against the side of the wall.
Oh god, not like that. . . That's not what he'd meant. . .
Dilandau had offered Miguel one night, relenting to yield himself to him in whatever touches or intimacy he'd insisted -- but not like that. That breached a gap between intimacy and violation, and Dilandau was rare to allow his weekly whores go as far.
He stared at the other boy, eyes constricted to red points, feral and unblinking. Pinned up ast tst the wall, Miguel panted beneath Dilandau's steel restraint, his chest heaving at the albino's sudden violent response. He stared back at the captain in confusion, a heated tinge on his lips, and for the briefest second Dilandau saw the blue eyes flicker with a horribly pained look of betrayal. It made Dilandau flare inside, as if accosted at Miguel's nerve to flash him such an expression at that moment, and in an instant later the insulting gaze was passed over with fright as Dilandau dug his nails into the Dragonslayer's shoulders.
And like always, that look.landlandau's eyes widened.
Smother it. . . Smother it OFF. . .
He was only barely cognizant as his hands were suddenly at Miguel's neck, wrapped around his throat, thumbs pressuring against the ridge.
. . .snap snap snap. . .
And just as fast, Miguel pushed back against him, frantically, his hands grabbing Dilandau's wrists and wildly pressing them away, his face stricken in panic. There was barely audible, stifled cry.
Dilandau blinked and abruptly broke back. A wave of cold sweat broke out across his brow while Miguel slumped, panting. Dilandau stared at him with a drawn, vacant look, then closed his eyes. Trembling, he braced his hands against the wall on either side of shaken slayer and swore outloud, over and over again under his breath in a rapid, muttering hiss, drowning out the dark and the heat and the cold all together.
God, this was such a frigging mess. . .
A tremor shook him. He felt too hot and at the same time he was freezing, shivering and sweating from both, muddled with swirling thoughts and sensations that thoroughly disgusted him and weakened him on his legs. Irrational, unfocused instinct shrieked, ringing in his ears to break away.
One night. Just one night.
God, but he had tried to --
No. It was a matter of pride; dominance; control -- and that shifted all manner of such power unfavorably. There was not enough toleration Dilandau would ever possess to possibly grant the permission to be lead so yielding into such a depth of blind, reeling sensation; he could never lose himself to that much heat, surrender that much unnatural vulnerability. Not like this. No, promise or no promise, he refused to allow himself to be pleasured to that extent by Miguel.
Just one night.
Something churned sickly in his gut.
Rid the slayer of the musings and be done with it. A last, grappling resort -- and either way, Dilandau was left nothing but his own cursed initiative.
God, he wasn't drunk enough for this. . .
Slowly, he lowered his hands from their safe purchase to the wall, twitching and white knuckled, and he opened his eyes. The unsteady garnet stare was met with curious hesitance, and Miguel blinked nervously, his blue gaze glittering in the dim light. Dilandau's mouth had suddenly never felt so dry.
. . .should have had another drink. . .
Taking the slayer by complete surprise, Dilandau leaned in sharply of his own accord. A small, tremulous shiver of excitement immediately rolled across the brunette's skin at his touch, and Dilandau felt Miguel slack loosely and draw in a quick, feathered breath as the albino pressed him roughly up to the wall. Dilandau's grip was tight, threatening, and not at all affectionate, but nevertheless the other boy seemed to immediately accept and urge the contact, grimacing lightly but still curving into the captain's figure.
Miguel's head moved forward searchingly and Dilandau managed to avoid his lips the first time, but not the second, and once more the unfamiliar taste invaded his mouth before he was able to retreat. Reluctantly, he forced his lips in a downward trek below Miguel's jaw, barely touching the flesh but evoking enough of a distraction for that warm, terrifying mouth. He felt the slayer shiver, arch closer, and let out a chorus of soft moans rippled with ardent, insatiable pleasure as the albino grazed his skin. It was hot and spiced with sweat under Dilandau's lips. The only time he threw firmness behind the kiss was when he felt Miguel flinch very slightly as his mouth ran over a blackened bruise that the captain had beaten out with his own hands only hours before. In need of the authority; wanting to hurt Miguel back a last time before Dilandau condemned himself.
Make it fast. Be done with it.
A heart beat rang in his ears, although he wasn't completely sure whether it was Miguel's or his own. Above him, the Dragonslayer drew in a deep, awaiting breath, and Dilandau wavered for a moment --
. . .should have had another drink, should have downed the whole damn bottle. . .
-- then with crumbling resolve, he screwed his eyes closed and let himself sink to his knees.
The air was split with Miguel's choked gasp. His legs seemed to give out from under him and he crumpled half over, grabbing the captain's shoulders to brace himself, digging his fingers deep into Dilandau's skin so tightly it bruised. Through the dark silence of the room, the Dragonslayer moaned his lord's name in shivering and long awaited ecstasy.

- - - - -

What time was it. . .
Dilandau listened for the call of the hour, laying awake and alert, unmoving on the mattress. With no windows in his chambers, the only light was cast from the lamp in other room. It writhed over the floor from around the corner of the doorway, but did nothing to distinguish the night from day.
The sheets hung in loose folds over the side of the bed frame and offered little insolation from the draft that swept through the emptiness of the room. Dilandau was barely aware of the chill though. Spread out over him, Miguel slept on in silence. The slayer had long already become a dead weight on top of him, and the heat from the soldier's bare skin felt like it was scalding Dilandau's flesh. Mere thoughts of the previous evening caught and trapped the breath up through his lungs, making his chest feel as if it were collapsing inward.
The memory alone shook him. It had been fast and mercifully brief, but had felt like an eternity on his knees with Miguel's hands crawling through his hair and clutching Dilandau's shoulders with small convulsive sounds from deep in this throat. When he'd pulled away the Dragonslayer had practically collapsed to the floor, and shaken, Dilandau had taken refuge in the few meager moments away from Miguel's touch before the slayer had struggled back to his feet, out of breath and sweating.
Pulling Dilandau up, Miguel had slowly but unwaveringly maneuvered him backwards into the other room and pressed him down flat on the bed. He'd trailed fluttering kisses gingerly along Dilandau's mouth and let his tongue dart out to sample his own flavor that had lingered on the captain's lips, sweeping his hands down his waist, up the inside of his leg. Cinnamon brown hair had mixed with thin silver strands, and at that moment Dilandau had gone rigidly cold, as if just realizing at that very instant of what he'd obligated himself to.
Desperately, he'd tried to push back in a weak effort of resistance, but the brunette had taken gentle force to persistently press him back down. Dilandau had never felt so defenseless in all his life like he had trapped beneath the slayer's eyes and lost in the terror of Miguel's fingers as they had worked his body through; twisting deep and without explanation, seeming unintentionally cruel in their violation of his body.
Singing gently of pending discomfort and laced promises that it would pass, the Dragonslayer had kissed Dilandau thoroughly once more, fiercely, as if almost in apology: it had been a tender gesture born out of an attempt to comfort and calm, though regrettably lost on the captain. As Miguel had grabbed his hips, Dilandau had swore outloud and in a rush of blind, terrified panic he'd gone to push Miguel away; not caring about promises and forgetting all obligations, only desperate to be done with what was happening that very second. But the albino had acted too slow and before huld uld rush to shove Miguel away at the last moment, Dilandau's body had bucked at a startling explosion of new, terrifying sensations that had sent him spiraling and his hands grappling for an anchor.
Miguel had been exceedingly slow and gentle, barely rumpling the bed sheets -- although his compassion had gone completely unnoticed or appreciated. There had been nothing the slayer could have done that would have had registered as kindness in Dilandau's lost comprehension. It had been so horrifyingly unfamiliar. Flushes of cold and heat had wracked his mind and sent him spinning. A hoarse noise had risen from the depths of his throat, and above him Miguel had only whispered soothing tones and petted him as Dilandau had writhed in the assault, feeling like something inside him had exploded. His body had arched up of its own violation, craving the warmth and touch, while his insides had felt as if they were dislodging themselves, trying desperately to get away.
He would have given anything at that moment to have had been able to tear away from Miguel's sweating skin tangled all around him, away from Miguel's crystalline eyes that had bored into his skull with so much unbelievable softness. Anything, to have had stopped from letting himself enjoy something so unspeakably wrong.
Dilandau remembered vaguely of Miguel hovering over him unmoving for several minutes afterwards, perhaps saying something, or touching him, he couldn't recall -- until finally the slayer had fallen asleep. Left alone toht iht in the dark, Dilandau had been unable to think about anything other than the soreness and throbbing and terrifying warmth. He'd let his eyes close for a single moment against his will and the next thing he remembered was waking up with no idea how long he had slept. The only clock was in the adjoining sitting room, and so Dilandau laid awake, staring at the ceiling and holding his breath in fear of missing the announcing chimes that would finally call end to this nightmare.
Gods, if he had to continue to lay here for hours still. . .
Miguel's head was cuddled under Dilandau's chin and his breath hot on his chest. The soldier's brown hair, strewn and tussled, tickled his jaw when the boy breathed. Sometime during the night one of Miguel's hands had slipped around Dilandau's waist and was now a minor discomfort as it pressed up, cradling the small of his back, while the other had managed to entwine itself in the captain's own. Dilandau could feel the steady beat of Miguel's heart vibrating down through his chest and shaking him to the core. Every breath, every pulse, every tremor and shift -- god, Dilandau could feel everything.
He tried not to breath and his mouth became dry. Miguel's flavor still lingered unwelcome on his lips -- it was a cruel, lasting reminder of what Dilandau had allowed himself to do and he closed his eyes and tried to forget the sound of Miguel breathing his name in rippling moans. It screamed in his ear, barreling against the back of his head and raising shivers over his skin.
Jesus, he had to get out of this bed -- get him off --
Suddenly, the weight on top of him shifted. Dilandau opened his eyes and came face to face with a blue cobalt gaze. For a moment, Miguel stared at him as if trying to remember where he was, then his eyes widened and a brief second ofr par passed over his face. There was a tension, an almost fearful recoil, and then as if the memories of earlier seemed to wash over him, Dilandau felt Miguel relax and loosen, his eyes misting over.
A silence hung thick in the dark for a long time, and Dilandau was seized by a cold sweat when Miguel reached out and slowly ran a hand down over his face. He closed his eyes again and tried to sink deeper into the pillow as the slayer grazed his fingers along his skin, tracing his jaw and reimmersing himself in exploring the curves of his neck. Eventually, Miguel leaned in to coax his lips into a kiss that Dilandau shared but did not return.
For a while Miguel just laid there and touched him in a soft, light sort of way, trailing feather kisses along his face and delicately down his nose, never speaking a word. It was the silence that killed him. It was deafening. Dilandau shifted nervously in the blankets as the brunette cuddled up over his chest, staring at him with glimmering eyes that Dilandau refused to meet, keeping his eyes closed or fixed at the ceiling. He tried to refrain from curbing upwards in crave of the touch when Miguel's lips played behind his ear and tickled the hair on the soft part of his neck -- the contact was brushing, sensual, almost playful in a way that made the captain's head swim with strange colors. This kind of tender, intimate affection was completely foreign and unwelcome to him, and like earlier that night, Dilandau grew plaintively bitter once more at his body's eager acquiescence to the sensation.
A breath rose sharply in his throat and Dilandau went rigid as he felt Miguel's knee slide down the inside of his leg, and he was gripped by chilling horror that prickled his skin at the thought of the slayer deciding he could go for another round. Immediately his breath picked up in anxious gasps, and without a second thought oritanitance, his hands flew up to shove Miguel away in a frantic resolve to end it all right there and then, promise or no promise; but just then the silence was torn by the piercing chime of the clock in the next room.
Dilandau froze. He felt Miguel's fingers stop dead on his chest, and the blue gaze dilated as the tone split through the dark like a cold blade.
. . .one. . .
. . .two. . .
. . .three. . .
. . .four. . .
A flood of desperate apprehension traced Dilandau's spine. Neither he or Miguel dared to breathe as the rings carried around the corner of the doorway on the dark.
Five.
The chimes fell silent on the final call. Dilandau felt like he'd been slammed into a wall, the air knocked from his lungs and making him lay motionless for a second to catch his breath. Dawn had broke outside. If he were to step outside his chambers the early daylight would be shining through the port windows in the corridor.
Dilandau blinked and met the drawn stare of the other soldier above him with an ebbing, fiery gaze. Miguel's eyes widened. The hold around Dilandau's fingers tightened, and before he could react the boy leaned down and suddenly Miguel was kissing him again.
His manner was more firm than it had been earlier, laced with an uncontrolled fervor and almost fierce desperation as he closed his lips over Dilandau's mouth in a wordless, frantic plead that bruised the captain's lips in its articulateness. Miguel pressed his body down against his lord's, pulling Dilandau's torso upwards with the hand around his waist. The albino flushed, then in a split moment of comprehension, his eyes narrowed.
NO. NO MORE.
It was a solid, unadulterated command that raged inwardly through his head, and it was all that he needed. With a low growl in the back of his throat, Dilandau pressed back down against the mattress, turning his head and breaking the kiss in one clear, wordless, and absolute rejection. Miguel stared down at him, panting and trembling as Dilandau's mouth pulled into a thin line. The captain braced his hands against the other boy's chest, and with a firm, resolute movement, he pushed Miguel off from on top of him and slowly slid out of the bed.
For a second when he stood up he felt dizzy and stumbled slightly on the floor, wavering a little on his legs as they were brushed with the open air. The awkwardness was a small price though, in return for the grand relief of having nothing around him and to be touched by absolutely nothing except the chill. Dilandau breathed deeply, listening as the soldier behind tried to catch his breath, and he felt Miguel's eyes bore into the back of his head. For the first time since his arrival hours ago the night before, the slayer's voice broke through the darkness in a small, frail tone.
"Lord Dilandau. . ."
"Go back to your quarters, Miguel," Dilandau said firmly, crossing a short way into the other room; he was in the slayer's sight still, but it felt satisfying being able to establish just the small distance.
Still a little unbalanced, he bent over to pull on his pants where they laid discarded on the floor, moving slow and trying to ignore the slight shake in his hands. He slid his shirt over his head and pushed the silver fringe out of his eyes, then snatched up the clothes that remained, stepped shortly once more into other room and tossed the uniform onto the bed; never meeting Miguel's gaze for more than a fraction of second, but long enough to catch the plaintive, mixed emotion in the blue eyes as they stared after him.
The floor was cold under his feet as Dilandau crossed the length of the sitting room. The gas lamp in the corner was still burning low from last night. He faltered every moment or so, finding it a strangely uncomfortable maneuver, walking; something so effortless and ordinary suddenly seemed so hard, taking a step straining. Limbs and muscles opposed the motion, arguing with complaints of unfamiliar tightness and soreness.
There was a rustle of clothing and the floor boards creaked in the room behind. Dilandau turned his head and watched Miguel stagger slowly out of the bedroom dressed with his jacket draped over his arm. The Dragonslayer approached slowly and stopped a few steps away from him, wavering slightly. He appeared both flushed and pale at the same time, and he stared at Dilandau with a glassy, empty look. Dilandau took an almost hesitant step back from him and then dropped his eyes and crossed his arms. He shook his head carefully.
"No more of this crazy shit, Miguel," His voice was thin and underlined with a distinct threat. Quiet, as if fearful of being overheard.
Miguel downcast his eyes and his face became veiled beneath layers of shadows from the dim light. When he spoke, his voice was soft and hollow.
"Was it really that awful?"
Dilandau's temple twitched. Something tightened in his gut and he knit his brow. Miguel looked up slowly and Dilandau met his eyes with a silent answer, and through the dark he saw Miguel wince at the coldness of the unspoken words. The Dragonslayer nodded slowly, his expression pained, and grimaced as he gave a very forced half-smile that flickered on and off his face. He looked almost apologetic.
There was an uncomfortable length of silence as Miguel stared at him jadedly, his knuckles white-tipped and strained. Then suddenly in a single stride, the soldier closed whatever respectable distance there had been between them, and once again Dilandau found himself facing the Dragonslayer with mere inches between. Surprised, he drew back fast and stumbled as he backed right up against the wall, his eyes narrowing as Miguel raised a hand towards the side of his face. Dilandau's arm shot out instinctively, seizing the soldier's wrist and curling his fingers around tightly as he stared Miguel down with a nervous, but warning garnet gaze.
For a second, Miguel predictably faltered. Then his expression seemed to harden and with a determined, longing look that flashed across his eyes, he dared to push against the albino's restraint. Dilandau flinched as the fingers grazed his face. He squirmed anxiously at the touch, reddening slightly, and as he went to shove the Dragonslayer back Miguel took him by surprise by pressing in and kissing his mouth lightly. Free from obligation this time, Dilandau let out a short, startled exclamation and instantly his hand whipped around and slapped Miguel squarely on the face, hard. The slayer staggered, cradling his blistered cheek, and the captain shoved him away and wiped his invaded lips with the back of his hand, seething at the offense.
"Go back to your quarters, Miguel," he said again. There was no room for objection.
"Yes sir."
Dilandau's hand pressed back on the door gage and the entry slid open with a hiss. There was a momentary illumination of the room from the light in the outside corridor, and he stared down at the floor as Miguel walked out without a word. The door slid shut behind him and the room fell dark again.

- - - - -

In the first bunk room off the north hall, a lone Dragonslayer waited in the dark. Shesta sat at the foot of his bed, his feet dangling over the edge of the top bunk, his hands clasped over his knees. The other four young soldiers that shared the room had already headed down to the mess hall. The tiny blond slayer had remained behind.
He wrung his hands and stared at the clock mounted across the room. It was past seven already.
Last night he'd laid awake in his bunk and waited for the sound of Miguel's steps to enter the room and slide into the bunk beneath him, but the brunette slayer had never come in. Shesta had woke in the morning at the very first rays of wane light filtering through the window ports and leaned over the side of his bunk at the bed below. Miguel hadn't been there and his sheets had been undisturbed. Miguel had never come to bed.
A crease of unsettling distress had raced up Shesta's spine. The others hadn't given the chestnut slayer's absence much heed though; Dallet had only waggled his eyebrows, tossing a comment that Miguel must have had "a busy night", and smirked in a suggestive way that hadn't helped ease Shesta's anxiety at all.
He'd only seen Miguel briefly last night; just glimpsing him as he'd seen him part with Gatty on one of the lower decks. Shesta had seen the bruises that had blackened the brunette's face, the blood on his lip, the stagger in his step; Shesta had known what had provoked it, and he'd known when Miguel had turned and headed slowly up the corridor where he'd been going.
It scared him. The blond slayer read hod how serious the situation had become, but he had no idea for how long and how far the captain would be able to retain his fragile control over the matter -- or what Dilandau would do when he finally reached the end of his temperance.
The clock ticked off the quarter hour. Shesta dutifully tried to convince himself that it was nothing; that Miguel had simply fallen asleep in a hall somewhere or perhaps decided to assist the night sentry on the first deck last minute -- but Shesta knew better. Miguel was far too predictable, and Shesta himself would have been informed if he had taken an extra shift. More so, Miguel would have at least seen to searching the blond out and sharing if he would be absent, so as not to make Shesta fret. He'd always been very reliable in assuring him that way.
But last night Miguel had never come to him with a forewarning, and the tension had built in the back of Shesta's head through the night and early morning. The clock ticked the time away and he leaned over and buried his face in his hands, but just then there was a soft hiss of the door sliding away, and Shesta threw his head up as Miguel walked into the room.
He should have been relieved; he should have run to Miguel and kissed him; at the very least, the cold knot of tension in Shesta's chest should have loosened finally at the return of the other soldier. Instead, the knot tightened as the slayer entered the room.
Miguel's jacket hung from his arm and his brown hair fell strewn over his eyes which stared numbly across to room in a blank, glassy gaze. The way he moved as he walked in caused Shesta's mind to lace with a dreadful apprehension. Carefully, Shesta hopped down off his bunk although made no move to cross the floor. He stared at Miguel penetratingly.
"Where have you been?" he finally spoke, his voice very small and quiet, the words escaping his mouth on a breath.
Miguel blinked, as if just realizing Shesta was in the room. His eyes were glazed and cast with a cloudy sheen.
"Sitting. . ." he murmured softly after a long momentokinoking unfocused and swaying a little on his feet. Shesta waited but Miguel didn't offer any more explanation.
"You never came in last night. . ." he pressed, swallowing nervously and trying not to sound accusing. "Where were you?"
"Lord Dilandau . . . summoned me to his quarters. . ."
"I know. I saw you heading down the west corridor," Shesta paused a moment and pressed his lips into a thin line, discontentedly aware of the distance in the other slayer's voice. "Why didn't you come to your bunk last night, Miguel?"
Miguel was silent for a long time. His mouth parted, hovering on unspoken words, and the knot in Shesta's chest wrenched as he waited out the silence. It 't e't even look like Miguel's crystal blue eyes were meeting Shesta's gaze, instead staring right through him.
"I made love to Lord Dilandau last night."
Shesta couldn't have been more rocked had Miguel struck him. The words hardly articulated in his head, slamming through his ears with a force that felt like someone had punched him in the gut. In an abrupt instant, the air was driven from his lungs and his body went cold.
". . .w-- what?"
Miguel blinked again numbly and wavered. "He hit me. . ." He spoke very slowly and hushed, his words carefully shaped as if he was trying hard to remember something. "And then he kissed me and . . . said I could have one night." His expression remained blank and Shesta could feel his heart beating in his ears. Miguel's voice turned to a murmur, as if he were speaking to himself under his breath. "One night to end it, and then it had to be over. . ."
He didn't elaborate further. It didn't matter. He didn't need to.
Time felt like it had jolted to a violent stop. Shesta gaped and stumbled slightly, his heart wrenching as each breath tore with ravage down his throat.
"I -- I don't believe you --" he stammered in a stifled whisper.
"If you kissed me you'd taste him," Miguel whispered, and for a moment Shesta saw actual emotion flicker in his eyes. A tip of red darted between his mouth, moistening his lips. "He tastes like dry wine. . ."
An ache swelled in Shesta's chest, and he shook his head numbly. "No -- I don't believe you, Miguel. . ."
Miguel stared at him hollowly, his face unreadable. Then in a quick, stumbling stride, he crossed the distance between them and Shesta could not bare to pull himself away as the slayer reached out, took his head in his hands, and kissed him deeply. The tiny slayer's hands grappled for support as he swooned, clinging to the other soldier's shirt as his senses flooded with the brunette's wonderful taste and the feeling of his tongue exploring the warm depths of his mouth in sweet perfection. When Miguel pulled back finally, the blond sagged.
"Dry wine. . ." Miguel murmured again, drawing in a long breath and closing his eyes.
Shesta blinked, breathing heavily and his eyes slightly misted. His mouth lingered with Miguel's fleeting, familiar flavor -- and now in its depths, something disturbingly new.
"Like dry wine. . ." he whispered in a shaking breath, and his voice cracked. Gritting his teeth against swelling emotion as Miguel caressed his cheek, Shesta wrenched back a helpless sound as he saw Miguel's beautiful, blue eyes dance with exhilaration.
"And if you kissed him, you'd taste me in his mouth. . ." Miguel breathed, leaning close to his ear as if to whisper some splendid secret as his pitch rose, sounding almost in rapture while Shesta could only choke at the words. "On his tongue. All the way down his throat. Inside him. . ."
With a deep, quaking breath, Miguel's shoulders arched and he leaned his head down against Shesta's brow as if terribly jaded; like the smoldering memory itself was too splendidly much. The blond's mind rang with the sound of shattering glass, tinkling in Shesta's ears and falling in precious shards at his feet.
He felt weak. Beneath him, he felt his legs buckle and he collapsed down upon the edge of the bed behind him with the other Dragonslayer falling along. Miguel sank against him with a deep sigh and Shesta enfolded him carefully in his arms, cradling him until the other boy had fallen asleep. Pressing him close, the blond stared emptily across the bunk room in silence, biting his lip as he began to tremble.
Holding his perfect world in his arms, Shesta cried.
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