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Nov 16, 2019 8:49 PM
sky is a bad dm
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"–bright fucking prophets–"

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"–abandoned to you, prince, redeemer–"

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He still doesn’t trust his tongue. 

I’m sorry, he signs to Cato. I’ll only be a minute. 

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"You're – fine – Kyo, will you just fucking –"

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"No."

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He breathes through the pain. Reaches up towards Kyo, extending a hand: please, help me, pray with me, this deserves a better prayer than I can offer.

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He falls to his knees, pulls Yvan in away from Z, rests their foreheads together as he clings to him.

"Hand of mercy, infante, we live by your will and breathe at your call and by your touch we know that we are blessed and bound to the wheel–"

His fingers wind into the chain hanging on Yvan's chest.

"–and in agony we see your love and we are released to you, we are opened to you, and we beg for absolution–"

He pulls.

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He freezes with pain before he cries out with it, just for a moment, like a ball thrown in the air which hangs a moment at the top of its arc before it falls.

The pull, against the burns, is blinding in its pain, transfiguring; his vision goes white for the space of a breath, and when he can see again the world is swimming.

It's good that he's braced against Kyo; he wouldn't be able to stay upright, otherwise. As it is, he can't stop the flow of tears anymore, has to cling to Kyo with both hands to keep from covering himself defensively.

(Of course Kyo gave him more pain. Yvan reached out to him in prayer, and Kyo is the hand of Skäli. He couldn't possibly have expected anything else.)

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He takes Yvan's face in his hands, and kisses him, shuddering, radiant with power.

For just a moment, Yvan receives a gift.

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Oh.

No, this is transfiguration. Pain become pleasure become pain again, agonizing in its sweetness, something entirely new sprung from dark ancient places in his mind.

He gasps -- shudders -- weeps -- kisses and kisses and kisses Kyo, hungrier for it than he's ever been for anything --

-- is, very visibly, affected by the experience.

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He can feel the power blooming in his chest, thrumming in his bones, setting his nerves alight.

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It shines on Kyo's skin and passes between them in crackling, shimmering waves, sparking when the stud in Kyo's tongue touches his own, lightning and starlight and the heat of steam.

A hand brushes the front of his pants.

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Yvan cries out — inhuman, ecstatic, sobbing — and arches into the hand, leans desperately into the kiss, seeks out the lightning. 

One of his hands has found its way to his own annulus, one to Kyo’s. Both are pulling. 

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He moans, openly, quiet but deeply enraptured, arches against the pull on the chain.

The hand withdraws and then there's hips sliding against his, teeth in his lip, nails on his back – and then blades, abruptly, with another crackling surge of power, the tips of metal claws dragging through his skin.

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(It's impossible to look away.)

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(No matter how you try.)

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(No matter how you wish you wanted to.)

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He'd moan if he weren't too busy screaming.

He still can't stop kissing Kyo, like he wants to steal every blessing from his lips, like it's life and something more than life. His hips move frantically; his hands run over his body and Kyo's, seeking places to hurt, digging into pressure points and pulling hair and raking nails over skin and choking.

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He writhes against him, flushed, gasping half-prayers into his mouth. It's hot, they're both burning like they're consumed with fever, there's sweat starting to drip down Kyo's forehead and stain his shirt.

One of the claws digs into Yvan's hip, slits the side of his pants just enough to slide inside, the points grazing his thigh.

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Yvan, slipping rapidly past the capacity for independent action, clings again to Kyo, his tears mingling with Kyo's tears, his sweat mingling with Kyo's sweat.

He shudders violently under the painful, bloody touch; presses closer, closer; begins, helpless, to beg.

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He pulls back enough to speak, almost too quietly to hear, a round of prayers in an unfamiliar tongue, voice trembling but never breaking.

His fingers close around Yvan's cock.

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"Please," he gasps, and he might be praying or begging, or there might not be a difference. "Please, please," and his own fingers close around Kyo's, shifting his grip, guiding the claws inwards.

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Kyo finishes the round.

He stops holding his fingers apart, lets Yvan push the blades into his own flesh, whispering the refrain into his ear.

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He's wracked with the agony and ecstasy as it pushes him over, screaming his voice away, spilling not-only-blood over Kyo's hand.

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He withdraws his dripping hand, holds it up above him, before lowering it to kiss his palm.

His eyes are turned up to the sky.

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