Every Time You Call My Name (I Want to Punch You)

BY : branewurms
Category: +S to Z > Tactics (Takutikusu) > Tactics (Takutikusu)
Dragon prints: 2757
Disclaimer: I do not own Tactics (Takutikusu), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

a/n: Written for porn_battle on Insanejournal. Prompt: "Haru/Kan, Wings".


"Haruka... Ah! Haru-ka-ah-ahhn!"

His idiot master twists his name into a ridiculously melodramatic mewling, and he keeps calling it, over and over, each a little invocation of the name-bond. It's irritating. It's distracting. It's driving him insane and it's always. like. this.

Kantarou arches up under him, the dim light catching and refracting in his hair like stray beams of moonlight. He tosses his head back, baring the long, smooth line of his throat. The tendons in his neck pull taut, his Adam's apple moving beneath the skin as he swallows, calls out his servant's name again. "Ah, Haruka! Ha-ru-mmmph!"

"So noisy!" Haruka growls, hand clamped over his master's mouth. "Don't you ever shut up?" But his claws - his claws are extending, pressing dangerously against Kantarou's flesh, and it's like an itching just under the skin that he can't shake off, can't hold back -

He moves his hand away.

Kantarou looks up at him with his big, wet, mock-wounded eyes, pouting. "How can you say that!" he whines. "So cruel, Haruka-cha-aaan!"

Kantarou clutches at the blankets beneath them, scrabbling for purchase, and Haruka grunts in satisfaction at the result of his renewed thrusting. Anything to shut him up.

And for a few moments, Kantarou doesn't manage anything beyond a few desperate gasps and whimpers. He tosses his head back and forth, whining as he lifts his hips up into each thrust, biting down on his bottom lip. Haruka isn't sure, but he thinks he hears a half-formed "please" as Kantarou throws his arms over his shoulders, slender fingers clawing at the nape of his neck, his back, the base of his wings.

The wings had been out from the start - Kantarou, as he so often did, wanted to see them, to touch them. Haruka scoffed at the ridiculousness of it, but complied with his master's wishes. He will, of course, never admit even under threat of death to how much he likes it. To the shivers that shoot down his spine at the feel of Kantarou's fingers combing through their feathers. To the warmth that rumbles through his belly at the sight of the dark shadows they cast over his master's white skin. He would, in fact, most likely inflict severe bodily harm on anyone who might suggest he finds this other than a tiresome chore. But Kantarou always looks at his wings, eyes widening with such honest, almost childlike awe, and each time Haruka's feathers ripple with pleasure, wings flexing outward with pride -

A tengu will always be a tengu, after all.

Haruka bites down at the soft junction of throat and jaw, pounding into his master furiously. He tastes a trace of blood, and knows that later Kantarou will scold him for leaving marks; but for now the man can only call Haruka's name over and over in an uncontrollable rush, like a mantra - like a prayer - a wild, panicked sound that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with impending climax. There is never any fear, not even when these claws and these fangs press against his flesh - such delicate flesh, so easy to rend straight from the bone, so mortal...

(Stupid master.)


It cuts through him like a knife, jolting right up through the base of his spine, tingling through his fingertips and through his toes -


- and it's more than he can take, he can't hold this back much longer -


- and Kantarou is arching up and shuddering, there is liquid, molten heat spilling between them, and Haruka slams into him one last time with a vicious growl and lets himself go.

It is a while before he is even vaguely sensate again. He is lying on top of his master, face pressed into the crook of the man's neck. (He must be very heavy, he thinks; but Kantarou is not complaining.)

"Ha-ru-ka-chan," Kantarou murmurs, sing-song, stroking his fingers through the downy feathers on the underside of Haruka's wings, and Haruka thinks: I will never get any peace. "Are you still awake?"

Haruka mutters one word, and to his eternal chagrin it comes out as an endearment -


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