His

Title: His

Genre: Kyou Kara Maou

Rating/Warning: NC-17, rape, violence, language, angst

Characters/Pairing: Gwendal/Gunter (one-sided) Maou/Gunter

Beta-reader: MEEE! ;P …in other words expect wrong spellings and bad grammar.

Feedback: PLEASE!

Summary: Who does Gunter belong to? Who does Gunter want to belong to?

AU Notes: READ THE RATING/WARNING!! This is a “one-sided” love story with Gwendal & Gunter, I don’t know what made me write these two in such a depressing manner, but it just happened. >.>;;

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Pain. Anger. Hate. Cold. So incredibly cold.

Gwendal despised these feelings, yet he felt them all at once every time when…he went to what would someday become his death.

The screams. The crying. Gwendal’s own weakness.

He could do nothing. He was not strong enough. Not strong enough to protect him.
Not strong enough to love him. Just…not strong enough.

Just sitting here, by his desk, signing papers and listening to the cries, the sobs, the pleading, the screams. The awful screams.

If Gwendal would get the chance, he would never make him scream. He would make him laugh, sing, sigh…moan.

A scream. Again. And such pain in that scream, tearing through his soul and body.

And once again he fiercely hates their king.

Their God.

Slowly Gwendal rises, straighten out his jacket in a nervous manner. And then he does what he always does as those screams become more and more painful.

He walks slowly to his door and open it.

Conrad stands in his usual spot, and looks at him with suffering eyes as he walks towards the door.

That big, elegant, fucking door.

-Gwendal. Brother. Don’t. Don’t do this to yourself. You…we can’t help him. Conrad pleads with him.

-I know. I’m fine. I… He shouldn’t be in there alone. He shouldn’t suffer alone.

-Gwendal… He loves him.

-I know! Gwendal almost roars making Conrad flinch.

-That doesn’t make it right for our…Majesty to harm him. Gwendal mumbles.

-…go on. Just…make sure you don’t…”disturb” them. Conrad says the word disturb with awkwardness and then steps aside to let Gwendal pass.

Gwendal closes his eyes for a moment, to relish in the peaceful moment of totally blackness. Because he knows that the next time he’ll close his eyes he’ll see them. He’ll se him suffer.

Sobs. Crying. Creaking bed. His voice.

Gwendal opens his eyes and turns the door knob.

The smell hits him. The smell of him. The smell of sex. The smell of…blood.

Gritting his teeth Gwendal carefully moves towards the bed.

There are white curtains around the bed, and he sees only shadows of figures, moving together.

One violently thrusts, grunts and tears at the other’s hair.

…the other. Him. He lies there, and even though Gwendal can’t fully see him he knows he is so amazingly beautiful when he's in pain.

Even when he lays on a bed being violently taken, with tears streaming down his face and blood pouring from his nose and from his most secret place.

Gwendal sinks to his knees besides the bed, and he keeps his eyes carefully averted from the figures on the bed as the one on top stops his movements.

A snarl.

And a hand shots out from behind the curtain and grabs his throat, making Gwendal gasp both is surprise and in pain.
The hand pulls him almost onto the bed, and there he comes face to face with his hate.

Their God. The one and only Maou.

Gwendal still keeps his eyes averted as the God hisses in his face and those burning eyes stares down on him, just begging him to make one mistake.

And then...

-P-please..! D-don’t hurt h-him. Please master… I asked him t-to come. I should be p-punished, not him! Please…master…

Such pitiful whimpering.

The first time Gwendal laid his eyes on Gunter he could never imagine that such pitiful sounds could come from him.

Oh how wrong he was. About everything.

The hand tightens for a moment and then abruptly lets go.

A slap echoing in the bed chamber, a yelp and then a scream as the Maou starts thrusting into Gunter again, more violently then before.

Gwendal wants to think he is helping Gunter as he sits by the bed and slips his hand into Gunter’s, squeezing hard.

Oh God he wants to believe he is saving him.

But he knows that by just showing up he has caused Gunter even more pain. Given him more reasons to scream, to sob, to cry, to plead with the Maou to stop.

He squeezes the hand harder, but the hand never squeezes back.

It feels like he’s sitting there for hours. And maybe he is?

Listening to Gunter’s voice growing hoarser until he can’t get another sound out, while the Maou gets more and more loud with his grunts and moans.

Then…finally. It stops.
It ends, with a punishing last thrust and a loud moan/snarl and a choke.

It…stops.

The Maou rises, pulls out, and more blood flows.

A careful knock, the Maou grunting in answer and Conrad slips carefully into the room, bowing respectfully towards their fucking God.
The Maou stretches lazily and then bows down to kiss his Gunter on the forehead with a mocking sneer.

And then he turns to slump forward into Conrad’s waiting arms.

And now…he’s a child. An innocent boy with a big heart and warm eyes, sleeping soundly in Conrad’s arms.

A fucking child.

Gwendal stares a moment at the boy. He isn’t strong anymore. The king is a child again.
And Gwendal could easily kill him. Cut his head of, break his neck.

Kill him.

Conrad stares right back at Gwendal. Their eyes meet for a moment, one very tense moment.

Then Gwendal feels his hand being squeezed back, and he forgets about the rapist God/monster/king/child/MONSTER.

Conrad lifts the child fully into his arms and walks out.

Gwendal crawls up into the bed and pulls Gunter to his chest, holding him hard.

Crying. Such pitiful crying.

But it isn’t Gunter who’s crying. And it isn’t Gunter who’s being held anymore.

The first time Gwendal laid his eyes on Gunter he could never imagine that Gunter would be able to make such pitiful sounds come out from him.

Gunter bends down, kisses Gwendal’s damp cheeks, whispering soothing words, and yet not so soothing.

"It’s okay. Gwendal. We love each other. We like it rough. I like it rough. I make him do this."

Lies.

Gwendal takes a deep breath. He pushes himself up and in a swift movement he lifts Gunter off of the bed, ignoring the painful whimper, and heads towards the bathroom.

There he fills the tub, never letting go of the slender and seemingly fragile man in his arms.
And then he cleans him. Thoroughly.

But it’s not Gunter who feels the need to be cleaned. But he lets himself be scrubbed raw, quietly he accepts another sort of abuse from someone he loves.

Finally. Gwendal is pleased.

He kisses a smooth naked shoulder. And then he lifts his loved one into his arms, drying him carefully with a soft towel.

He treats Gunter’s wounds. Every wound. The black eye isn’t much to be done with, he could get something cold from the kitchen but…he is tired.

Then he stands up with Gunter silently getting comfortable in his arms once again. He walks out of the bathroom, then out of the bedroom, and then the short distance to his own bedroom.

There he kicks the door shut, and slowly walks to the bed where he puts down his light charge.

A tense moment. Gunter is naked. Worn. Vulnerable.

No. Never. Gwendal is not him. Monster.

Gwendal undresses slowly, then lifts the covers and slips in, pulling a motionless Gunter with him
Holding him against his chest. Stroking his oh-so-soft hair. Whispering.

My love.

And Gunter knows. He knows Gwendal will someday become his death.