Who: Kefka and Sigurd
When: The day they set out on the hunt /evening/
What: a misunderstanding and its consequences
Status: closed but the fun still goes on
"Think that was cute, do you?" he cooed sweetly, despite the animalistic rage in his eyes, "Fool. My pretty little idiot."
Sigurd saw stars from the hit still, he couldn't really tell up from down. The only thing which more or less registered was the pain and he instinctively tried to stop it, attempting to grab the other's wrist. "K-Kefka, stop- What's wrong...? Let me go!"
There was strength in his little body yet, despite the hunt, the river, and all their running--the sneering blonde had yet to wear himself out, it seemed. He looked absolutely serene as he physically dragged the officer up the slope of the muddy bank, effectively smearing that tanned flesh in the soggy earth. "You tried to drown me," he replied simply, his head bobbing side to side with every step he took, "And I do not appreciate being manhandled, Harcourt."
He stilled beside the curled heap of his leather holsters, and with a dainty grunt, rammed his knee into the officer's side, grabbed hold of his upper arm, and twisted it up behind his back. It wasn't enough to break bones or anything, but he'd played with these sorts of holds before and knew just how much pressure to apply before a limb would be broken.
Kefka reached with his free arm to grab up one of the guns, pressing the barrel against the underside of Sigurd's jaw. His voice exited, sickeningly sweet, in a tender hiss. "Give me one reason not to blow your pretty little brains out."
Sigurd blinked. Ahm... How do you reply to a question like that...? He tried to move his hands and he paled a bit, when he realized that the leather held them perfectly secure. It was frightening, the ease how Kefka managed to disarm him completely - though, it was true, the pilot didn't expect such a vicious attack.
"I was not trying to harm you," he replied finally, trying to keep his voice calm and even. "I wouldn't do that, you know it. Let me go, please. I tried to protect you, I'm sorry if I couldn't warn you properly."
Damn those guns. From the corner of his eye, Sigurd could see that it was set to kill. That WILL blow his head off, if the general decided to pull the trigger.
Wasn't he just a lovely thing when he was frightened? Soaking wet, trying to look so brave, but in that one eye of his, the General could see the fear beneath. Someone rendered him helpless. Brought him to his knees. Someone was stronger. The rush of power was absolutely delicious; this was, of course, why he enjoyed his position so much. "Aw, my poor, poor fellow," he crooned, leaning down to affectionately nuzzle against Sigurd's wet cheek. As he did so, he shifted the gun as well, gently trailing the muzzle up the curve of the other's jaw, tracing his ear, then pressing it against one temple, "But I am afraid that is just not good enough... You see, I would have accepted your apology, but you fail to see that I need no protecting. I am not your little ruffian of a crush."
With his other hand, he continued to tighten the straps of the holsters around the officer's forearms, enough so that the pain would lessen but not by much. Sigurd would have to work to free himself. Blonde ringlets bounced around his cheeks as he cocked his head at an impossible angle, his irises incredibly large around the pinpricks of his pupils. "We are going to play a game, you and I..." Then came a flit of his eyelashes, the gun staying in place as he rose to his feet. "I am going to tell you to do something, and you do exactly what I say--if you do not comply, make a mistake, or try to argue, I empty the contents of your skull on this jungle floor and leave you for the birds. Do I make myself clear?"
"Like spring water, sir." Well. There was no need to anger the blond man even more, when he was off medication _and_ holding a gun. Moreover, he was in higher rank indeed and he enjoyed playing the master. Sigurd wondered for a while about what exactly he can do while on his knees and arms bound, but he was intelligent enough to figure it out quite soon. He knew most of Kefka's various mental twists. At a time, he even benefited from them. So he decided o play along and cast his eye down.
"Good boy." He sounded genuinely surprised at the reply, a softness edging around his gaze. But only for a moment. When Sigurd dared look away from him, the blonde grimaced, drew back his free arm then slammed the back of the adjoining hand against one cheek. The sound of the slap alone sent pleasant tingles down his spine, letting them pool in his groin. "I did not tell you to look away from me. Consider this your only warning."
His mind was devious--after all, it wasn't often that he got to see Sigurd in such a willing, submissive position. Normally, he would have been perturbed by the entire situation, as he preferred the nobility and pride of the other man over anything else. Except now. He really was beautiful no matter the circumstances.
"You gave oral sex often, did you?" he mused, now holding his hand out to gently brush his fingers across plush lips, "Or perhaps you have. How good is that tongue of yours?"
Those pale digits pressed at the seam of the officer's mouth, their sensitive tips pressing against teeth, then a bit farther in. This had the potential to expose a great weakness in the General's resolve--his fingers were by far the most sensitive parts of his body. "Come along. My other hand is tired, and my finger might slip on the trigger.."
Sigurd shook his head after the slap and his gem-blue eye flared up but the flame quieted swiftly. He wasn't in the position to really protest, and besides, he liked his friend. At the implied request, he swallowed and blushed a little bit... well, yes, a few times he had the chance to suck somebody off - and in almost every case, it was the general. The Gear officer leaned forward a bit, willingly opening his mouth. His tongue flicked against the pads of the slim little fingers and he sucked on them, his only eye half-lidded. Despite - or maybe because - the danger, he could feel that his body was getting interested as well. After all, a few minutes ago, they were kissing, enjoying each other's presence.
He was absolutely precious when he was obedient. Refusing to act like the slap had fazed him, or that he was even put off by the current circumstances--just as passive and completely unbothered as always. Then again, with a gun to his head and the steadfast threat of death lingering in the air, anyone would seem incredibly calm on the outside. Kefka didn't think too much about it, however; the buzzing between his ears grew suddenly silent at the touch of that slick muscle to his sensitive fingertips. The nerves there might as well have been connected directly to those in his groin, for at the slightest pressure around them, the general felt himself reacting instantaneously.
His body redirected blood flow to the juncture between his legs, invoking his member to gradually stiffen to its full length. Glazed blue eyes drifted lazily closed, his blonde head sliding backward so he could quietly gasp to the evening air. "..mn... you are a smart fellow, m'lord. I am certain that you are capable of figuring out what I want you to do next." Even in his blissful state, he was sure to tap the officer's temple with the barrel of his gun as a polite reminder of who was in charge.
Oookay... This felt a little... umm, let's say weird. Sigurd was not used to be reduced to a slave, who wants nothing but please his master... Thank the Guardians it was his dear friend and not somebody else. The officer leaned forward a bit, his breath tickling the sensitive skin of the engorged member, and his tongue traced the underside while the tip of his nose rubbed against the flesh. There were still water drops on Kefka's skin, the cool, clear liquid mixing with his own taste, and Sigurd liked it. After giving a good lick to the balls as well, he withdrew a bit, to press his lips against the head, teasing the slit there.
Now that his hand was free, he was able to catch his breath and silently talk himself down from that spike of pleasure, his lithe chest heaving in almost-desperation. The general hadn't much time, however; Sigurd's lips were upon him in almost an instant, knowing exactly what places to touch in order to torment the blonde further. That was the problem with forcing a close friend-sometimes-lover to his knees and demanding he suck you off--he knew what he was doing. And since he enjoyed being the one doing the pleasuring, Kefka wasn't used to oral sex very often (he didn't really like it most of the time.), so he was easily undone, his pale face breaking out into a soft blush. Slender hips pressed forward almost hesitantly, his toes curling as he sought out more of that wonderful, wonderful mouth.
Mm, Kefka was obviously loving it. Sigurd felt somewhat proud - after all, it was very pleasing to know that what you did was much appreciated. Moaning softly, the silvery-haired man opened his mouth wide, and took in from the general's length as much as he was able to. His tongue never rested, massaging the shaft with the right amount of pressure. He was getting aroused as well, his member which was previously resting in his lap lazily, framed by curls of silver was showing interest in a possible continuation now.
His breath hitched, and with a soft cry, he dropped the gun, hunched forward, and curled his hands tightly in those silvery tresses. Each intake of air caused his entire body to tremble violently, every inch of skin broken out into goose bumps. Damn him..! Damn him and his perfect mouth, his knowing tongue, those soft lips, that beautiful voice wound into so faintly audible a moan... Sigurd still managed to be so controlling, even bound and forced down on his knees like a common whore--he was gorgeous still, noble, able to find Kefka's weaknesses and quietly exploit them. And the general craved it.
But if he wasn't careful, and let himself hedonistically give in to the pleasures provided by this most obedient of men, it would mean that all of this would be over too soon. And frankly, he didn't get to see Sigurd enough to allow a premature end.
Panting softly now, he gave those locks a slight tug, as an indication to relax the pressure a little bit. "..o-off..." he choked, his voice barely above a whisper, "Now."
There was no point in being stubborn, so the Gear pilot pulled his head back, licking his lips. His breathing was quicker than normal and he stood at full attention, in almost every sense of the word. His gem-blue eye locked with Kefka's pale gaze with anticipation dancing in it, as he was waiting for the orders.
It would have been a lie to say he wasn't just a bit anxious - the petite general must have been quite deprived, and still, he managed to stop, most probably, in favor of some even more satisfying - or wicked - game.
He sank to the ground as soon as he was free, his plump mouth forcing itself roughly against the pilot's. The general was merciless, nipping and sucking on the twin tiers before him, able to taste his essence lingering despite the efforts of the tongue that had swiped across them. Words would never be able to explain just how badly the little blonde missed having his friend around--well, at least, not like his body could. One hand fisted demandingly in the other man's hair and forced his head back, exposing his tanned throat to curious, sampling suckles once his mouth finally tore itself from Sigurd's.
The other pressed two fingers back into that skilled mouth, pushing in just to the second knuckle to prevent gagging, then spreading them just slightly so the officer's tongue could thoroughly coat those small digits. Kefka Palazzo wasn't patient. He never had been. "You had best find someway to lay without your arms being uncomfortable; I would rather have your mind on who you are fucking rather than the cramp you are getting," he breathed between kisses that lowered to touch one nipple, pink tongue sliding out to press broadly against it.
"I won't be able to do that without my arms," Sigurd reasoned quietly once the fingers were out of his mouth. He shivered as that nimble little tongue flicked against his nipple. "Untie me, or sit in my lap, otherwise it would be just struggling. Sir."
He delivered a soft bite to the little bud, and then drove his shoulder against Sigurd's sternum to force him into sitting. Once the correct position had been assumed, he spread his knees, slid into the other's lap then happily resumed his previous activities. He seemed to have an affinity for marking the officer as his own; any chance he got, he left welts with his teeth, or tiny bruises that would fade within twenty-four hours or so. These temporary battle scars soon littered Sigurd's chest, acting as momentary distractions as he ruthlessly plunged his fingers inside of himself, all too eager for what was to come next. "And just why would I untie you? After you tried to drown me, even..? Siggy, you know me better.."
Their eyes made contact as he readjusted his position, pressing bare knees to the moist earth. With one hand, he held tightly to the officer's shoulder; with the other, he guided the stiff arousal below him, towards his hastily-prepared entrance. There was no doubt he'd be paying for this later, but when he was pissed off and in this much control, there was nothing better than rough sex to settle him down. "I can wait all night, Harcourt. Make some effort for me, would you?" he challenged smugly, one ashen eyebrow quirking.
The officer moaned and closed his eye for a moment instead of replying - the other's body was so tight and hot, so perfect. Explaining things wouldn't have changed the situation, so Sigurd resorted to what a good soldier had to do - he obeyed the order. His chest ached faintly from the numerous little bites but it faded quickly as he moved his hips a little, sliding deeper into that porcelain body. "Yes Sir," he breathed, and pressed his lips against Kefka's neck, to kiss and lick the fair skin, have more of that sweet taste.
The responding thrust forced a whine from his throat, Kefka's body going rigid as that thick organ pressed deeply into him. He kept his breathing lax and slow, so his channel would allow the invading member to fit with the minimal amount of pain, but those kisses and tiny sounds made it so difficult to think beyond wanting more. He soon found himself throwing caution to the wind. This happened between them nothing like it used to, and like a starved man, he greedily took everything he could get. Pale arms circled around the back of Sigurd's neck, needing something to cling to as he forced his lower body roughly downward, taking the other all the way to the hilt. "...mn... you feel so good, Siggy.." he gasped, slowly rocking his hips back and forth.
"You too... Like always," the officer breathed and swallowed hard. It was difficult to keep his balance, to move, to give his best without his arms, hands, but he tried, honestly. "Beautiful," he murmured against the slender collarbone. "My beautiful general... My master, my incubus..." He never really thought like that before. Okay, he wasn't thinking much right now, but still... He never called Kefka 'his' before. Did something change? Maybe the stress or the jungle's magic inspired him? Sigurd didn't give a damn. His sweet little friend was here, in his lap, wrapping around him tightly, and the silvery man wanted to stay like this for long, long... forever.
Something in the recesses of his mind seemed to blink awake from a years-long slumber at those words, ears burning at the unfamiliarity of it all. Words such as these never actually escaped the officer's mouth, except in the blonde's wildest daydreams. Yes, he longed for Sigurd without even meaning to. Yes, his body craved those tanned hands upon his skin and soft lips against his own. Yes, he spent any free time wondering... what it could be like if they were, well, something. Pale blue eyes stared down from between lids at half-mast, his flushed, damp face drawn into an expression of pure bliss as he continued to move. He was certain that without his arms, remaining upright could prove to be perilous, so he held tight; with his arms wrapped around the back of the other's neck, he shifted most of his weight backwards, to balance out their rather.. rushed position.
Next time he bound Sigurd's hands, he'd have to be on his back or they wouldn't bind at all. This maneuver proved to be rather beneficial, he found... In changing to a new direction, his hips had to slide in order to keep himself steady as well-- and when they moved, the member inside of him brushed against his prostate. It was just a tease, but enough to strangle any words he might have tried to manage, replacing them with a single, quivering moan. "..a-ahhh, th-there..." he finally groaned, blonde head rolling back in rapture.
Guardians damn those restrains...! Sigurd instinctively tried to snap them, but even with his enhanced strength, he couldn't get free, it was not the best position. He gritted his teeth, his muscles rippled beneath bronze skin as he spread his thighs a bit further apart, leaning a tiny bit backwards and rising just an inch or two from his heels. The motion wasn't really graceful, but it served its purpose - the thick, dark manhood brushed against the petite general's sweet spot. "You'll kill me one day..." Sigurd hissed and he moved again, jerking his hips to release the whining tension inside. Once this is over, his muscles might be stiff, first time since years.
They were like animals. There was no other way to describe it. Maybe it was because no one else was around to hear them or see them, or because they both had to deal with the lingering thought that one of them could very well die in that place. Whatever the reason... it was raw, unbridled passion that drove him to keep moving, to not even bother trying to keep himself quiet. Who the hell needed dignity at a time like this? He was having rough sex on the forest floor, shamelessly crying out as each dizzying thrust tore all thoughts from his mind, clawing at the other male's back like a wanton whore. Wasn't that what he was, though? He took every inch of the other and loved every second of divine, perfect, mind-shattering bliss.
That comment, however, drew him out just slightly, one thought repeating itself over and over as he violently rolled his hips to meet each thrust. I can't have you. I can't have you, you bastard, and it's killing -me-... Teeth clenched tightly, voice rising to a shouted climax, he drove his nails into that tanned skin, unable to stop every muscle from spasming as the orgasm tore through him; as semen coated their stomachs and thighs, he continued moving, determined not to look away as his beloved companion found his release.
It was rapidly nearing; Sigurd's chest heaved as he tried to breathe... it was difficult and the slight oxygen-deprivation just enhanced the feeling. His mouth was open, deep groans breaking forth from the back of his slender throat. The one gem-blue eye was half-lidded, the officer fought to keep it at least a bit open. "Kefka... Guardians... yes..." The breaking point was so near, so damn near, and Sigurd gritted his teeth and thrust forward and he screamed as the tsunami finally crushed down on him with pain and pleasure alike, shattering his vision to billions of bright white sparkles. With a beast's grunt, he jerked his hips a few times them fall back to sit on the ground and tried to not sprawl out bonelessly. His body trembled from the exhaustion, and everything was spinning. Beads of sweat ran down on his dark back and Sigurd finally closed his eye. "Love you." He wasn't even sure he said the words or just thought them, breathing being his first priority at the moment.
Now that the homicidal part of his brain had settled down in post-orgasmic bliss, the gentler, softer side of the weary general finally emerged, quietly guiding his hands to loosen the holsters around Sigurd's forearms. In only three movements, the things were undone and fell to the ground with a 'clink'. He was exhausted, unable to concern himself with more than a few basic things, such as using his palms to rub circulation back into the officer's previously-bound limbs and lifting his hips to ease the pressure on the his companion's legs. "...you are talking nonsense, Harcourt..." he murmured, his lips pressing tiny kisses to Sigurd's sweat-slicked brow. Practicality had kicked in--people said all sorts of things in times like these. "Come now... you need to rest."
The blonde climbed from his lap, keeping both arms wrapped loosely around the other to keep him from falling over. "On your feet..."
"Sure, Sure... I'm alright, don't worry." Sigurd felt blissfully exhausted but he was a First Class, and the mako neutralized any poison or fatigue in him quickly. He straightened, scowled a bit at the mud smeared on his side then promptly wrapped his arms around Kefka and kissed him like there would be no tomorrow.
Well, this was certainly interesting. If he even wanted to push back, he was too tired to make any effort against the sudden embrace. His lips moved delicately across the other's mouth, soft and sweet, and the kiss remained just as chaste as could be. He had a tendency to... rile himself up if Sigurd slid his tongue inside his mouth, and frankly, he was too tired to go at it again. After a few brief moments, he pulled back, face betraying nothing that would tell the other just how fast his heart was racing. By then, it was darkening anyway, so his girlish blush was hidden as well. "Just as romantic as always, m'lord..." He tapped his index finger against the seam of the officer's lips, head cocking playfully to the side as he gestured toward their tree-shelter. "Our marvelous treetop hotel bed awaits... off you go."
"After I scraped the mud off of myself," Sigurd insisted. "And let me make this clear: I was not trying to hurt you; some huge bird thought we'll be his dinner and launched at us, I didn't want its talons to scrape you. Second, I hardly ever talk nonsense. And third, you're the best lover in the whole three cities. Honestly." He placed a kiss on the forehead of the smaller man. "Go ahead and wait for me, I'll be there in a minute."
Sex in the wilderness must have re-energized the man or something; he was talkative, pleasant, and... strangely open. Kefka was absolutely dumbfounded by this change in demeanor. As long as he'd known him, Sigurd had never blatantly said anything that exposed what he truly thought. He was introverted, collected, and thoughtful, never breaking his facade of objectivism so long as he was around others (aside from that brat Bartholomew). ... He needed his pills. That was the only explanation he could gather to reason with his own reaction--no witty remark, no devil-may-care attitude... just quaint acceptance. "Mn.. oh, yes.. So very sorry about that, then..." he murmured as he turned and began to pull himself into the tree. Settled on his side, he continued to think, wrapping his arms around his naked body out of habit. Certainly... Sigurd didn't really... love him, did he?