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Fic: (Bleach) Reflections - for SeeMe!
Title: Reflections
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
regasssa
Requestee:traitorousrat
Pairing: Szayel/Yylfordt (implied Grimmjow/Szayel)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Tentacles, non/dub-con, bondage, penetration (in more ways than one), misuse of the Lord's Prayer (I am fully accountable for this one), swearing, violence.
Prompt: genes
Summary: Szayel wants to teach Yylfordt a few things, and perhaps punish him for his betrayal
It wasn't particularly difficult to remember why Yylfordt had fled Szayel in the desert and banded up, instead, with a group of Adjuchas as equally small and weak as he was. He was going to get eaten. Very eaten. It didn't matter that they were brothers - that they had split apart from within the same Menos into two seperate beings on the transformation into Adjuchas; nor that they had wandered the sands together for centuries. What mattered was that Szayel was a parasite, a wriggling worm that only desired to eat and eat until it transformed into a dark moth of death, and that when he overcame his need to depend on Yylfordt's strength to survive, he would devour him too.
That last Adjuchas that Szayel had wound his wings around and then devoured -- opening his mouth wide and simply swallowing it whole while it tried pointlessly to fight back -- had been the last straw. Now, Yylfordt knew, Szayel could survive without him. Which meant that his usefulness was over; that the familial tie that bonded them together would be severed as Szayel absorbed him and they became one being again.
Only Yylfordt had decided that under no circumstances did he wish to join with Szayel. He had finally come to understand the monster; to know what he was, and to know that being part of that would be worse than his continuing but weaker existence.
Szayel had never forgiven him for joining Grimmjow; held it against him. If they had been one, he explained, they could have wiped the floor with the sloppy beast -- and now he was only a fraccion. Only a fraccion. His brother. What Szayel didn't understand was that only being Grimmjow's fraccion was still better than being part of him.
The scientist's voice was chill. "What did you do to yourself this time?"
"Maybe I just came to see you, brother?" Even though he knew it would bring no pleasure to Szayel to be reminded, it was in Yylfordt's nature to be pleasant; to try and heal the wounds that remained between them -- what Szayel considered to be a matter of fraternal betrayal. They were what they were now, and not even Aizen-sama could undo that.
"If that's all, then I suggest you remove yourself from my laboratory before you contaminate the experiment." Szayel's gold eyes did not even flicker in his direction, but the words themselves stung like a slap, or burned like a glare; both sensations he had grown quite used to since Szayel's transformation into this far more flexible humanoid shape.
Yylfordt lifted his hand, brushing a strand of blond hair back over his shoulder, away from his eyes. "Actually, Sexta wanted me to deliver a message to you."
Finally Szayel put down his tools, turning to look up at Yylfordt critically. So he finally had his attention?
"Well?" the Espada prompted, impatiently, his hands behind him, holding on to the edge of the table. "What's the message?"
"He said 'Same time, same place', and suggested you'd know what that meant."
Szayel's eyes narrowed behind his mask; his fists tightened their grip on the table until the white of bones showed through the thin layer of his skin. "He said that, did he?" he asked, voice grating slightly. Something was wrong -- and Yylfordt knew that being out of the loop did not make for an easy and long-lived life. As his brother pushed himself away from the table and toward him, he began to regret it even more, and he moved for the door.
"Where are you going?" Something sickly sweet lingered in Szayel's voice now, and he felt a surge of panic roar up his throat from his stomach.
"I've delivered the message," he answered, quickly, "Grimmjow will be expecting me back."
"Grimmjow," Szayel was practically purring. "When did it become 'Grimmjow', Yylfordt?"
It was rude to keep walking with Szayel pursuing him, and he turned toward him, startled at just how close his brother had got while he had been moving away. "There's no hurry, is there?" his brother pressed, and the fear turned his stomach over, filling him with that nostalgic sensation of acheing discomfort that he had so often felt around his brother.
"Why?" he asked, bravely. "Sexta will be expecting me, and there's no reason for me to..."
Szayel slapped him across the face, hard. It stung, instantly, burning all the way up his tender cheek, his teeth withdrawing from where they had cut through his delicate lip. When he looked up, Szayel was smirking at him, his eyes narrowed into dragon-like slits, promising more if he even opened his mouth the tiniest bit to question him.
"You abandoned me before, Yylfordt, and ran off to Sexta. The least you can do is stay here now, when I need you."
He swallowed down the bile that had risen up his throat at the slap, dropping his hands down to his sides in submission. It didn't do to fight with Szayel; his younger brother was stronger than him, and more ill-tempered.
"Good," Szayel smiled, wearing that unpleasant smile that made Yylfordt sure that it was not good; not in any way, shape or form. His brother's gloved hand curled around his wrist, yanking him back the way he'd come -- straight over to an empty table.
"I...don't think..."
"No. Don't think, Yylfordt. It isn't in your best interest, is it?" Szayel gave him one more sharp tug, turning him around and then shoving him back until his legs collided with the edge of the table.
"Please, brother. I don't..."
Szayel's eyes burned into his, evaporating the words in his throat so that they hissed out of his ears like steam. He closed his mouth, and Szayel's lips curled down at the edges, just slightly. "You're such a disappointment."
And that said it all, really. He was a disappointment. If he had been brave and faced his death at the jaws of his brother, they would at least have been Cuatra -- perhaps more. Splitting into two as they became Adjuchas had given them the chance to devour twice as many of the Hollows around them. But they had never joined together again, and each was weak without the other. He had turned Szayel into this -- Octava. If anything happened to him because of his lack of strength, it would be his fault. This, Szayel knew perhaps better than he did. It was the source of his hatred, and his frustration.
So he held still and let Szayel attach the chains to his wrists and ankles, let him tighten them so that they dragged him up across the table; because there was no point fighting when Szayel was like this -- and perhaps part of him deserved it for his cowardice.
"You don't even have any idea what Sexta wants from me, do you, Yylfordt?"
Surely those words shouldn't have made him feel as cold as he did? Szayel's yellow eyes, usually emitting a warm, if sometimes burning flame, now pierced him as though they were a beam of ice, and he shivered despite himself and tried to pull on the chains. In response Szayel tightened them all by one more turn of the handle, making him limbs ache, as though they were at breaking point.
"You understand now. I see."
His brother pulled away, moving to another table and rummaging in the darkness for something, leaving Yylfordt to embrace the fear that pounded in his blood, drumming an incessant beat against the back of his skull. Grimmjow...Grimmjow and Szayel? And it all made so much more sense. Why his brother was so incredibly angry with him now... If he had to submit to Grimmjow like that...
...Then it was Yylfordt's fault.
"Has Sexta ever fucked you, Forte? Do you know how it feels?"
He shook his head, hard, knowing it would only enrage Szayel further.
"Really? I thought that was how he kept all of his fraccion in line." Szayel sneered, moving back over to the table, a large bell jar held in both hands. He set it down on the edge, and Yylforte strained his neck in an effort to see into it.
"There's no need for that," his brother reprimanded. "This is just going to do the dirty job so I don't have to take my gloves off."
Do what dirty job? He tried a little harder to see, but his neck was acheing and he had to lay his head back as whatever it was was taken out of the jar. Something like fingers began to crawl up the inside of his leg underneath his hakama, but when he looked, Szayel was no longer by his side, moving back over to the other table to fetch something else.
The thing with long, slippery fingers kept crawling. It wriggled horribly across his thigh, and then one of those fingers wrapped around his cock. Around -- and then around again, and again, until the end of the impossible long, impossibly flexible finger brushed across the head of his penis, ripping a grunt from his throat.
"Did you say something?" Szayel asked, from across the room, finally returning toward him.
Yylfordt shook his head again, trying not to strain against the shackles in case he accidentally broke his arm, and the long thing oscillated, moving its slippery finger up and down. No, it couldn't be a finger...
And then another one of them probed him, violated him, pressing inside without even giving him a second to prepare for the intrusion. He cried out, more in shock than pain, clenching his muscles in an effort to keep it out, but more of it shifted inwards, finding it easy to slide in despite his attempts to prevent it. More and more of it -- a slimy, unstoppable force of it, pulsating slightly with its own heartbeat as it drove up into him.
"Grimmjow does that with his fingers," Szayel sniffed. "Revolting beast."
The tentacle -- for now he was sure it must be a tentacle -- twisted inside of him to make room for more probing feelers to join it, putting pressure against something inside of him that sent vibrations out to the very ends of his fingers, making him jump as though he'd been electrocuted. "Fuck."
"So he taught you to swear, too?" his brother asked, seemingly untouched by his violation, watching him as though he were watching an experiment unfolding, rather than his brother being probed by some twisting tentacle monster. A flush burned up over his cheeks, and he turned his head away, not wanting to watch those gold eyes observing him with such obvious indifference.
"You should have become part of me, Forte. Then we would have had Sexta on his knees before us, begging us to fuck him."
The tentacle encircling his now growing arousal slowly untangled itself, sliding away, and the ones inside of him retreated too, as though his filling erection had been the trigger for it to pull away. He shivered as it eased out of him, leaving him empty and acheing, his breath coming in laboured gasps.
Szayel turned the pegs on his ankles the other way, releasing the strain on his limbs, allowing him to bend his knees a little to take the strain off his tailbone. And then, when he was done, he removed Fornicaras and lay it, sheath and all, on the table beside them, reaching up to take Del Toro and laying it beside his own weapon. Two brother swords, side by side. The white tie of Yylfordt's hakama was removed next, allowing Szayel to lift away the writhing ball of tentacles from within his clothing. Yylfordt tried not to look at the small Hollow as Szayel put it back into the bell jar and removed it. If he could forget all about that, he'd feel so much better...
When he returned this time, Szayel had removed his hakama and let his kimono fall open, revealing his own - previously well concealed - arousal. He was so hard to read...had he been enjoying it, all this time? No -- he had to remind himself that this was a punishment. Szayel probably had...drugs for that. He could probably give himself that kind of erection merely by wishing it so. It had nothing to do with him. The lubricant that he had applied glistened, drawing his eye, and he wasn't sure he could bring himself to look away.
Part of him knew that he should be demanding Szayel not to do it, but the part of him that wanted it; that wanted to feel what it was like to have his brother deep inside the empty space that had been left inside of him -- what it would be like to be one -- was greater and stronger and utterly breathless with need.
"Beg me, Forte."
It poured out of him as though it had been waiting to for years. Apologies and desperation, need -- lust. Szayel moved onto the table and simply sat between his loosely bound legs, watching as his brother begged, watching as he writhed with the effort to get contact, pulling at the chains, bending his knees up so that his feet were flat against the table and he could thrust into the cool but frictionless air above him. Yylfordt didn't care what kind of spectacle he was making of himself; not now. None of it mattered now except that Szayel forgive him.
The first sensation he had was of pink hair brushing across his chest, and then Szayel's teeth sank into his nipple and he screamed and moaned at the same time, body arching toward the touch even though he knew that it was pain and not pleasure that was stabbing through him. Szayel lifted his hand and pressed it to his ribs, then tore downward, not breaking the skin, but tearing his own fingernails against the stone hard hierro of his skin.
"Nii-sama...brother...please."
Something -- Szayel's penis -- brushed against him, sending flickering flames of need crawling up his spine; and he begged again, unable to understand the words he was babbling -- first in jumbled, incoherent japanese, but then in pouring waves of spanish - words on top of words - and Szayel thrust up into him remorsely, making him scream again, making him pull against the binds if only in the desperate need to let out the friction that seared through his veins like wildfire.
Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos...
Szayel pulled back, thrust into him again, and this time he stabbed against his prostrate, almost undoing him.
Santificado sea tu Nombre, venga tu reino...
The words died in his throat as his brother wrapped his fingers around his cock, tugging it firmly, leaning over him, one strained arm the only thing supporting his weight as he thrust in earnest into him. This wasn't an experiment any more...or had it ever been? This was what Szayel needed, and, Yylfordt realised, it was what he'd needed too. He wrapped his bound ankles as best as he could around the back of Szayel's thighs to hold him in place, back arching with every thrust -- as though Szayel were trying to straighten out his spine with his erection, and it was all he could do to resist.
Szayel was muttering now, spanish words, remembered from before life, and before death. From long ago when once they had been one, and yet, from where they could not remember. He could barely hear them at first, was hardly paying attention, crying out in pleasure over most of them, but it was recognisable now, growing inside of him like his orgasm, a pressure that burbled from his throat as that other pressure wound vice like around his balls and pushed against the inside of his stomach like an animal trying to escape.
Sino que líbranos del malo...
His mouth opened to speak, but it was all too much. He bellowed as he came, a half scream so much more incoherent than anything else. Szayel was silent, filling him with bursts of blazing heat, stubbornly pushing himself through his own orgasm with his teeth tightly closed together and his lips pressed over them. Those feral eyes were closed, and by the time they were both still, they had not opened again.
Szayel eased out of him without a word, sliding down beside him, pressing his nose into his neck, his eyes stil closed, and Yylfordt watched, then leant over and brushed his lips to Szayel's temple, sighing.
"Amen, nii-sama."
He closed his eyes and relaxed against him, letting sleep overcome him. Really, there was nothing to forgive.
Author:
regasssa Requestee:
traitorousrat Pairing: Szayel/Yylfordt (implied Grimmjow/Szayel)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Tentacles, non/dub-con, bondage, penetration (in more ways than one), misuse of the Lord's Prayer (I am fully accountable for this one), swearing, violence.
Prompt: genes
Summary: Szayel wants to teach Yylfordt a few things, and perhaps punish him for his betrayal
It wasn't particularly difficult to remember why Yylfordt had fled Szayel in the desert and banded up, instead, with a group of Adjuchas as equally small and weak as he was. He was going to get eaten. Very eaten. It didn't matter that they were brothers - that they had split apart from within the same Menos into two seperate beings on the transformation into Adjuchas; nor that they had wandered the sands together for centuries. What mattered was that Szayel was a parasite, a wriggling worm that only desired to eat and eat until it transformed into a dark moth of death, and that when he overcame his need to depend on Yylfordt's strength to survive, he would devour him too.
That last Adjuchas that Szayel had wound his wings around and then devoured -- opening his mouth wide and simply swallowing it whole while it tried pointlessly to fight back -- had been the last straw. Now, Yylfordt knew, Szayel could survive without him. Which meant that his usefulness was over; that the familial tie that bonded them together would be severed as Szayel absorbed him and they became one being again.
Only Yylfordt had decided that under no circumstances did he wish to join with Szayel. He had finally come to understand the monster; to know what he was, and to know that being part of that would be worse than his continuing but weaker existence.
Szayel had never forgiven him for joining Grimmjow; held it against him. If they had been one, he explained, they could have wiped the floor with the sloppy beast -- and now he was only a fraccion. Only a fraccion. His brother. What Szayel didn't understand was that only being Grimmjow's fraccion was still better than being part of him.
The scientist's voice was chill. "What did you do to yourself this time?"
"Maybe I just came to see you, brother?" Even though he knew it would bring no pleasure to Szayel to be reminded, it was in Yylfordt's nature to be pleasant; to try and heal the wounds that remained between them -- what Szayel considered to be a matter of fraternal betrayal. They were what they were now, and not even Aizen-sama could undo that.
"If that's all, then I suggest you remove yourself from my laboratory before you contaminate the experiment." Szayel's gold eyes did not even flicker in his direction, but the words themselves stung like a slap, or burned like a glare; both sensations he had grown quite used to since Szayel's transformation into this far more flexible humanoid shape.
Yylfordt lifted his hand, brushing a strand of blond hair back over his shoulder, away from his eyes. "Actually, Sexta wanted me to deliver a message to you."
Finally Szayel put down his tools, turning to look up at Yylfordt critically. So he finally had his attention?
"Well?" the Espada prompted, impatiently, his hands behind him, holding on to the edge of the table. "What's the message?"
"He said 'Same time, same place', and suggested you'd know what that meant."
Szayel's eyes narrowed behind his mask; his fists tightened their grip on the table until the white of bones showed through the thin layer of his skin. "He said that, did he?" he asked, voice grating slightly. Something was wrong -- and Yylfordt knew that being out of the loop did not make for an easy and long-lived life. As his brother pushed himself away from the table and toward him, he began to regret it even more, and he moved for the door.
"Where are you going?" Something sickly sweet lingered in Szayel's voice now, and he felt a surge of panic roar up his throat from his stomach.
"I've delivered the message," he answered, quickly, "Grimmjow will be expecting me back."
"Grimmjow," Szayel was practically purring. "When did it become 'Grimmjow', Yylfordt?"
It was rude to keep walking with Szayel pursuing him, and he turned toward him, startled at just how close his brother had got while he had been moving away. "There's no hurry, is there?" his brother pressed, and the fear turned his stomach over, filling him with that nostalgic sensation of acheing discomfort that he had so often felt around his brother.
"Why?" he asked, bravely. "Sexta will be expecting me, and there's no reason for me to..."
Szayel slapped him across the face, hard. It stung, instantly, burning all the way up his tender cheek, his teeth withdrawing from where they had cut through his delicate lip. When he looked up, Szayel was smirking at him, his eyes narrowed into dragon-like slits, promising more if he even opened his mouth the tiniest bit to question him.
"You abandoned me before, Yylfordt, and ran off to Sexta. The least you can do is stay here now, when I need you."
He swallowed down the bile that had risen up his throat at the slap, dropping his hands down to his sides in submission. It didn't do to fight with Szayel; his younger brother was stronger than him, and more ill-tempered.
"Good," Szayel smiled, wearing that unpleasant smile that made Yylfordt sure that it was not good; not in any way, shape or form. His brother's gloved hand curled around his wrist, yanking him back the way he'd come -- straight over to an empty table.
"I...don't think..."
"No. Don't think, Yylfordt. It isn't in your best interest, is it?" Szayel gave him one more sharp tug, turning him around and then shoving him back until his legs collided with the edge of the table.
"Please, brother. I don't..."
Szayel's eyes burned into his, evaporating the words in his throat so that they hissed out of his ears like steam. He closed his mouth, and Szayel's lips curled down at the edges, just slightly. "You're such a disappointment."
And that said it all, really. He was a disappointment. If he had been brave and faced his death at the jaws of his brother, they would at least have been Cuatra -- perhaps more. Splitting into two as they became Adjuchas had given them the chance to devour twice as many of the Hollows around them. But they had never joined together again, and each was weak without the other. He had turned Szayel into this -- Octava. If anything happened to him because of his lack of strength, it would be his fault. This, Szayel knew perhaps better than he did. It was the source of his hatred, and his frustration.
So he held still and let Szayel attach the chains to his wrists and ankles, let him tighten them so that they dragged him up across the table; because there was no point fighting when Szayel was like this -- and perhaps part of him deserved it for his cowardice.
"You don't even have any idea what Sexta wants from me, do you, Yylfordt?"
Surely those words shouldn't have made him feel as cold as he did? Szayel's yellow eyes, usually emitting a warm, if sometimes burning flame, now pierced him as though they were a beam of ice, and he shivered despite himself and tried to pull on the chains. In response Szayel tightened them all by one more turn of the handle, making him limbs ache, as though they were at breaking point.
"You understand now. I see."
His brother pulled away, moving to another table and rummaging in the darkness for something, leaving Yylfordt to embrace the fear that pounded in his blood, drumming an incessant beat against the back of his skull. Grimmjow...Grimmjow and Szayel? And it all made so much more sense. Why his brother was so incredibly angry with him now... If he had to submit to Grimmjow like that...
...Then it was Yylfordt's fault.
"Has Sexta ever fucked you, Forte? Do you know how it feels?"
He shook his head, hard, knowing it would only enrage Szayel further.
"Really? I thought that was how he kept all of his fraccion in line." Szayel sneered, moving back over to the table, a large bell jar held in both hands. He set it down on the edge, and Yylforte strained his neck in an effort to see into it.
"There's no need for that," his brother reprimanded. "This is just going to do the dirty job so I don't have to take my gloves off."
Do what dirty job? He tried a little harder to see, but his neck was acheing and he had to lay his head back as whatever it was was taken out of the jar. Something like fingers began to crawl up the inside of his leg underneath his hakama, but when he looked, Szayel was no longer by his side, moving back over to the other table to fetch something else.
The thing with long, slippery fingers kept crawling. It wriggled horribly across his thigh, and then one of those fingers wrapped around his cock. Around -- and then around again, and again, until the end of the impossible long, impossibly flexible finger brushed across the head of his penis, ripping a grunt from his throat.
"Did you say something?" Szayel asked, from across the room, finally returning toward him.
Yylfordt shook his head again, trying not to strain against the shackles in case he accidentally broke his arm, and the long thing oscillated, moving its slippery finger up and down. No, it couldn't be a finger...
And then another one of them probed him, violated him, pressing inside without even giving him a second to prepare for the intrusion. He cried out, more in shock than pain, clenching his muscles in an effort to keep it out, but more of it shifted inwards, finding it easy to slide in despite his attempts to prevent it. More and more of it -- a slimy, unstoppable force of it, pulsating slightly with its own heartbeat as it drove up into him.
"Grimmjow does that with his fingers," Szayel sniffed. "Revolting beast."
The tentacle -- for now he was sure it must be a tentacle -- twisted inside of him to make room for more probing feelers to join it, putting pressure against something inside of him that sent vibrations out to the very ends of his fingers, making him jump as though he'd been electrocuted. "Fuck."
"So he taught you to swear, too?" his brother asked, seemingly untouched by his violation, watching him as though he were watching an experiment unfolding, rather than his brother being probed by some twisting tentacle monster. A flush burned up over his cheeks, and he turned his head away, not wanting to watch those gold eyes observing him with such obvious indifference.
"You should have become part of me, Forte. Then we would have had Sexta on his knees before us, begging us to fuck him."
The tentacle encircling his now growing arousal slowly untangled itself, sliding away, and the ones inside of him retreated too, as though his filling erection had been the trigger for it to pull away. He shivered as it eased out of him, leaving him empty and acheing, his breath coming in laboured gasps.
Szayel turned the pegs on his ankles the other way, releasing the strain on his limbs, allowing him to bend his knees a little to take the strain off his tailbone. And then, when he was done, he removed Fornicaras and lay it, sheath and all, on the table beside them, reaching up to take Del Toro and laying it beside his own weapon. Two brother swords, side by side. The white tie of Yylfordt's hakama was removed next, allowing Szayel to lift away the writhing ball of tentacles from within his clothing. Yylfordt tried not to look at the small Hollow as Szayel put it back into the bell jar and removed it. If he could forget all about that, he'd feel so much better...
When he returned this time, Szayel had removed his hakama and let his kimono fall open, revealing his own - previously well concealed - arousal. He was so hard to read...had he been enjoying it, all this time? No -- he had to remind himself that this was a punishment. Szayel probably had...drugs for that. He could probably give himself that kind of erection merely by wishing it so. It had nothing to do with him. The lubricant that he had applied glistened, drawing his eye, and he wasn't sure he could bring himself to look away.
Part of him knew that he should be demanding Szayel not to do it, but the part of him that wanted it; that wanted to feel what it was like to have his brother deep inside the empty space that had been left inside of him -- what it would be like to be one -- was greater and stronger and utterly breathless with need.
"Beg me, Forte."
It poured out of him as though it had been waiting to for years. Apologies and desperation, need -- lust. Szayel moved onto the table and simply sat between his loosely bound legs, watching as his brother begged, watching as he writhed with the effort to get contact, pulling at the chains, bending his knees up so that his feet were flat against the table and he could thrust into the cool but frictionless air above him. Yylfordt didn't care what kind of spectacle he was making of himself; not now. None of it mattered now except that Szayel forgive him.
The first sensation he had was of pink hair brushing across his chest, and then Szayel's teeth sank into his nipple and he screamed and moaned at the same time, body arching toward the touch even though he knew that it was pain and not pleasure that was stabbing through him. Szayel lifted his hand and pressed it to his ribs, then tore downward, not breaking the skin, but tearing his own fingernails against the stone hard hierro of his skin.
"Nii-sama...brother...please."
Something -- Szayel's penis -- brushed against him, sending flickering flames of need crawling up his spine; and he begged again, unable to understand the words he was babbling -- first in jumbled, incoherent japanese, but then in pouring waves of spanish - words on top of words - and Szayel thrust up into him remorsely, making him scream again, making him pull against the binds if only in the desperate need to let out the friction that seared through his veins like wildfire.
Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos...
Szayel pulled back, thrust into him again, and this time he stabbed against his prostrate, almost undoing him.
Santificado sea tu Nombre, venga tu reino...
The words died in his throat as his brother wrapped his fingers around his cock, tugging it firmly, leaning over him, one strained arm the only thing supporting his weight as he thrust in earnest into him. This wasn't an experiment any more...or had it ever been? This was what Szayel needed, and, Yylfordt realised, it was what he'd needed too. He wrapped his bound ankles as best as he could around the back of Szayel's thighs to hold him in place, back arching with every thrust -- as though Szayel were trying to straighten out his spine with his erection, and it was all he could do to resist.
Szayel was muttering now, spanish words, remembered from before life, and before death. From long ago when once they had been one, and yet, from where they could not remember. He could barely hear them at first, was hardly paying attention, crying out in pleasure over most of them, but it was recognisable now, growing inside of him like his orgasm, a pressure that burbled from his throat as that other pressure wound vice like around his balls and pushed against the inside of his stomach like an animal trying to escape.
Sino que líbranos del malo...
His mouth opened to speak, but it was all too much. He bellowed as he came, a half scream so much more incoherent than anything else. Szayel was silent, filling him with bursts of blazing heat, stubbornly pushing himself through his own orgasm with his teeth tightly closed together and his lips pressed over them. Those feral eyes were closed, and by the time they were both still, they had not opened again.
Szayel eased out of him without a word, sliding down beside him, pressing his nose into his neck, his eyes stil closed, and Yylfordt watched, then leant over and brushed his lips to Szayel's temple, sighing.
"Amen, nii-sama."
He closed his eyes and relaxed against him, letting sleep overcome him. Really, there was nothing to forgive.
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<3
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Spanish is such a sexy language :O
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terriblegetting better :Db I ♥ French - it's so pretty!But the Spanish worked so well here. I mean, GUH
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*snuggles*
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I hope that my writing of sex will one day be as good as yours XD