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Ajaw is not gentle, Kinich thinks.
Sometimes, when dawn breaks, Kinich wakes up to sunrise clawing at his face and a soft tug at his hair. The first few times he had been taken off guard — alarm bells ringing in his head at the feel of something foreign in his room, an added weight that shifted on his bed before growing closer and closer. But then he’d noticed a familiar scent; always so potent and all-encompassing. Domineering in a way that only Kinich recognized.
It hit him that it was only Ajaw. Relief poured over him. Tense shoulders slouching down, that adrenaline in his veins slowly dissipating to something soothed. Something safe.
Which was odd, because Ajaw would do anything to take his life and yet Kinich felt weirdly relaxed around him. Composed and comfortable; like a second home. Kinich would look at Ajaw and feel this strange warmth swelling in his chest. It sits there foreign, an unwelcome guest that overstays for years. Kinich never tries to unpack it — shrugs it off as it being a natural thing that happens when you’ve known someone for a while. Even more so when Ajaw sticks by so close. Where one wanders, the other follows. A shadow that lingers.
But then came the confusion. Why was Ajaw in his room? Why was he in his bed? And why was he so close, breath hot on the skin of Kinich’s nape, ticklish as it brushed over his hair?
His hand threaded through Kinich’s mane; long fingers tangling and then untangling around dark locks — and Kinich was even more baffled. Because Ajaw’s touch was gentle. So, so gentle Kinich wasn’t sure how to react. He was careful with the way he worked out the knots in Kinich’s hair. Fingers barely even there as they caressed every strand, as his knuckles only slightly grazed over the shell of Kinich’s ear. Gesturing along the line of his jaw.
It almost seemed like Ajaw was trying to etch every detail of him into memory; tracing every dip and swell of flesh, appreciating every rise and fall of his shoulder as Kinich pretended to still be asleep. As stiff as a statue, mind coming up with questions after questions because this was unlike Ajaw. Ajaw who was always mouthing off, Ajaw who was always glaring daggers at him and taking every chance he could to spout venom. Ajaw who wanted to kill him — who should want to kill him.
Yet, instead he was here, in Kinich’s room and under his covers. Chest pressed up against his back. So close Kinich could feel the warmth sapping into him, the throb of something hard poking at his hip. Kinich didn’t dare to dwell on what it was. More fixated instead on the trail of Ajaw’s lips. Fire that burned into his skin as Ajaw peppered kisses everywhere and all over. Ajaw was playing with his hair. He was softly licking along Kinich’s shoulder blades. He was nuzzling nails into his arms; gentle sharp feathers of his touch sending shivers down the base of his spine. Ajaw hooked a finger around the waistband of his pants, and Kinich felt his skin prickle. Heat that spread everywhere and pooled too hot in his stomach.
His nails scratched Kinich’s scalp, slow and deliberate, teasing and soft — and Kinich had to shut his eyes. Had to wonder why his heart stopped then stuttered. Had to try and will it to slow down. But Ajaw didn’t help. One roll of his hips after another tender and careful. His hand curling around Kinich’s waist, guiding him up and down the tent in his pants that Kinich was now sure was definitely there. It was odd: to hear Ajaw’s breathing pick up, to feel him bury his face into his shoulder. That ghost of his teeth almost digging into skin. His arms coming to wrap around him. Clinging to Kinich like an anchor to keep himself afloat.
If Ajaw noticed he was awake, he didn’t let anything slip. Either because he really didn’t notice or simply didn’t care, Kinich didn’t know.
But he waited. Ignoring the way his cock stiffened, the way his pants suddenly felt tight as Ajaw slowly, carefully chased after his high. His soft pants muffled into Kinich’s hair. Labored before they slowly returned to normal once Ajaw caught his breath. Ajaw heaved a sigh in content, but Kinich felt like he was being tortured. Spurred on by the feel of Ajaw’s cum even through the layers as it burned into his supple ass. Wet, a sticky mess glued to his flesh like filth even through their clothes.
By the time Ajaw was done, Kinich felt like he was near combusting. Almost groaning out from the intense urge to touch himself as his mind turned heady and he tried not to buck back against Ajaw for more. Waiting, instead, for Ajaw to give him one last kiss on the junction between his neck and shoulder before he quietly slipped out of his bed.
Yet, his hand paused. Almost as though hesitating and reluctant as it pressed into his pulse before Ajaw eventually pulled away. Prying himself off of Kinich. Finger by finger, nail by nail. Leaving behind only his scent lingering in the air and the warmth that still tingled from where he touched. Which was everywhere, except for where Kinich needed him most. So now Kinich was hot all over, desperate and aching for friction and release. For something to stuff him full. For Ajaw to bend him over and hold him down as he took his time making him fall apart.
He had his back turned to him so he couldn’t see anything — but he wanted to see the look on Ajaw’s face. If he’d still wear that usual derogatory grin, if he’d still have that same edge in his eyes. Pretty green hidden behind dark sunglasses. He wondered if they’d be glazed over, if they’d stare at Kinich any differently. If Ajaw’s cheeks would flush, if he would laugh and call him pathetic for whining and begging him to fuck him stupid. He wondered if Ajaw would still be gentle if he was buried deep inside, if he would still go slow, if he would still kiss him everywhere like he cared.
Kinich could have put himself out of his misery right then and there. He could have gotten on his knees, he could have tugged at Ajaw’s pants. Could have begged nice and pretty for him to take him however he wanted. Someone like Ajaw — he knew that could work. He knew Ajaw enough to know what he would like. If he stuck his tongue out and cried while he humped his own hand for Ajaw’s cock, Ajaw would surely cave. He would make fun of him for it, but he would give him what he needed. Stroked his cheek softly while he fucked his face. Laughed at him while he pulled his bangs back.
But Kinich stilled himself. Laid there in bed as Ajaw walked out his room.
The door creaked as it closed. And it was only then did Kinich finally exhaled a breath. It was only then did his hand wander. Disappearing under fabric, finding want and hardness as he cupped a hand over himself and pumped up and down as fast and rough as he could. Imagining it was Ajaw’s fingers; longer and thicker than his. That it was Ajaw’s voice, egging him on, calling him a stupid whore. That it was his lips feathering over his and his tongue lapping away his tears. Kinich shoved fingers in his mouth to stifle his whimpers — and he imagined it was Ajaw, too. Gagging him, demanding him to shut up. To just lie there and drool on his hand while he made him come.
When he finally did, it was morning. Birds chirping outside his window as warmth spurted up to his wrist. Ajaw’s name — muffled as he screamed it into his pillow.
Nowadays, Kinich is calmer. It’s been too many nights since the first one, and he’s better at keeping his cool. No more surprise, no more confusion as he simply waits for Ajaw to sneak into his room again. Always at the crack of dawn, always as silent as a mouse. Which is funny, considering how loud he is in every other case. Kinich wouldn’t know until he’s on him again. Chest to his back, cock to his ass. Grinding, panting on Kinich’s back as he buries his face into his shoulder.
Ajaw is not gentle, Kinich thinks. But his fingers would always be soft. They would always be slow. Dragging along every muscle of his arms, every flex of his back, every bit of exposed skin. His lips and tongue would follow suit, wet and warm on his body. Touching everywhere but his length as it strained against material. Every now and then, Ajaw would give in to temptation and brush nails just slightly over the wet patch on his pants. Pressing only slightly down on his tip, on the slick that leaked through. But he wouldn’t allow him anymore than that. Withdrawing after only a second of letting himself a taste.
Once again, imprinting every detail of him into memory. Once again, taking his sweet fucking time as he grabs at Kinich’s hips and motions him to meet him half-way. If it were up to Kinich, he would have pulled both of their pants down and rode him to oblivion. Would have made Ajaw spill inside, breed him full if he wanted to.
But he doesn’t. Afraid, unsure. If he, too, crosses that line, what would happen to them? Would they still be the same? Would he make it awkward? What if Ajaw stops talking to him? As much as he acts annoyed by it, he doesn’t actually mind Ajaw’s constant disparaging remarks. His angry glares, the exaggerated roll of his eyes whenever Kinich said something that disagrees with him. He doesn’t mind any of it — because it means that Ajaw is still looking at him. That he still registers him. That, even if it’s negative, a part of him still lives in him. He takes up space, and it’s more than Kinich could ask for.
Yet, is it really? Nowadays, Kinich feels greedy. He feels needy. Longing for more with each passing night. Each passing pant of his name out of Ajaw’s lips even if low and suppressed.
If there’s any solace in this, it’s in the fact that Ajaw always lingers after the act. Always that pause of his fingers, that tender caress of his lips idling around on his skin. When Ajaw pulls away, there’s always reluctance. There’s always hesitation. Like he doesn’t want to. Like he has to.
But Kinich doesn’t tug him back to bed even if every part of him screams for him to stay. Steeling his resolve, keeping himself rooted on his spot as Ajaw, once again, disappears with a creak of his door.
Come morning, everything would return to normal again. Or whatever normal is at this point. For Kinich, normalcy’s turned to everything that is Ajaw. The press of his lips into a kiss, the brush of his hand in his hair. Those moments of silence where he simply overstays just a few seconds longer. His snide, off-handed retorts. That sly grin. If Ajaw felt anything for him beyond supposed hate and lust, he doesn’t let it show.
“You woke up late again,” Ajaw says.
“I’m aware,” Kinich scoffs back.
When Ajaw slides on his bandana for him, his fingers only slightly trace along his temples before pulling away. Gentle. Always that odd gentleness despite the sharp edge in his gaze. Ajaw stares at him as he gets dressed, and Kinich never understands the look in the lines of his face. That strange confusion between soft and cruel, between love and hate.
“You’re slacking,” Ajaw comments. Reaching out to press down on one bed hair. “You’re getting up by noon lately.”
Kinich slaps his hand away. Has to, or else he’ll lean in and yield. Yet he doesn’t say anything. What else is there to say — but that it’s Ajaw’s fault that he stays up just a little after Ajaw’s finished to jerk himself off? Ajaw doesn’t help him, so he has to help himself. Ajaw doesn’t play fair, so he has to balance the scales somehow.
There’s nothing. Nothing to say but Ajaw.
“Well,” Ajaw snorts. Rubbing at the spot Kinich had struck, “someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. You dare to hurt the Almighty Dragonlord K’uhul Ajaw?”
Kinich rolls his eyes. Paying no heed to that frustration pooling low in his loins as Ajaw’s eyes flutter past him again. Only briefly heated before he blinks desire away.
“Says the grump who wakes up on the wrong side of the bed every day,” Kinich retorts. It leaves him a moment too late.
“Hey!” Ajaw sputters, but follows after him as he steps out of the door. As always, a shadow that lingers. As always, forever there.
“I thought you would be cheering by now,” Kinich says. Quietly watching as the enemy collapses to the ground, a puddle of blood underneath his body as green taints into a dark splotch of brown.
Ajaw doesn’t say anything at once. Merely wiping the red off his fingers on his shirt before turning to levelling Kinich with a peculiar look. Kinich doesn’t understand it. In a glance, there’s nothing there — only a black abyss that stares back as Kinich meets his gaze. But then there’s a flash of… something. Emotion even if tempered. Raw and visceral. Concern and anger in the furrow of his brows, the slightest of fear and panic before Ajaw furiously squashes it down.
“And why would I?” Ajaw scoffs. Tugging too hard on Kinich’s bandana as he fixes it in place. Kinich doesn’t quite mind the slight pain, if only because Ajaw brushes knuckles along the side of his face. Just a little, just for a moment. The smallest taste before he retracts again. “You think I’d be happy with someone stealing what’s mine?”
Kinich’s heart jumps in his chest. But he curbs the slightest of hope before it could blossom even further. Root to branch, bud to petal. And then, it’s gone again.
“Does it matter?” Kinich asks. Wincing as Ajaw wraps bandages around his wounds. Once again, tugging too hard. Once again, that downturn of his lips like he’s actually upset. “If I’m dead, you can take over my body. Isn’t that what you wanted, Ajaw? For me to die?”
Ajaw doesn’t flinch. But his hand falters. Fingers twitching as they press only slightly on the flesh above Kinich’s bandages. Tracing the line between white and tanned skin, feeling for the muscles flexing underneath his dressing. Once again, appreciating. Once again, framing Kinich into memory.
“I don’t like sharing my prey,” Ajaw answers after a silence too tense. The air around them simmers, but Ajaw cuts through it like knife through fresh meat. “You’re mine. I won’t give you to anyone else. If you die, you’ll die by my hands.”
Kinich heaves out a laugh. It’s low. Hoarse and tired. “Will I, though?” he says. Doesn’t ask. States it like it’s a fact. “Will you kill me, Ajaw? If I ask you to end me, can you do it?”
Ajaw doesn’t respond. But Kinich can feel his mind searching for answers as he absent-mindedly loops a strand of Kinich’s hair around his finger. The pause in the way he hesitates before ghosting up the curve of his neck more than telling. His nose sniffing in the scent of blood and corpses — of Kinich, underneath all that sweat and the slightest of arousal when Ajaw trails his thumb along the shell of his ear.
By the time he’s found one, Ajaw is already leaning in. Lips too close to the hairs on his nape. Breath too hot on his flushed skin.
“Don’t ask me something you already know,” Ajaw whispers. Lips brushing him for the briefest moment. Lingering, trembling, something hushed on the sweat layering his neck. His nail presses into Kinich’s pulse only a little, and Kinich’s breath hitches in his throat.
“Ajaw,” Kinich starts. Voice unrecognizable as it breaks.
But Ajaw is off of him before he could offer anything. Warmth gone, fading like shadows by dawn.
“You’re on my shoulder,” Ajaw says. His voice pulling Kinich out of a dream as he blinks away the drowsiness from his gaze. His vision clears, just in time to see Ajaw appraising him with this odd glint in one eye.
“It’s just your shoulder,” Kinich intones. Looking straight ahead rather than at Ajaw as he stares past the ocean and at the horizon. Before he fell asleep, there were still trees. Branches that stood too tall. Now, there’s nothing and the sun is setting. The sky a pretty yellow and orange; the slightest flecks of blue and purple. It was morning when they set out. Despite that, this commission still seems to be quite a miles away.
“You haven’t been getting enough sleep,” Ajaw remarks. Studying him as Kinich rubs fingers around the sore, swollen flesh underneath his eyes. The shadow there that was once subtle now even more prominent.
Hard to sleep with you around, is what Kinich wants to say. But he doesn’t. Instead, all he does is tug at a loose strand on his shirt.
“You can push me off it’s uncomfortable,” he says as he feels Ajaw shift ever so slightly. Seemingly awkward, seemingly flustered as he heaves out a fatigued sigh as though in discomfort. For a moment, Kinich wonders how long he’s been asleep. Even worse, how long he’s been napping on Ajaw’s shoulder. He doesn’t know why Ajaw let him — or, well, he does. But now isn’t the time to address that.
“If I do, you’ll fall off Toto,” Ajaw laughs. Obnoxious as ever as he gestures a nod at the ground. But then he’s soft again. Lines too foreign, emotions that don’t sit right on his face. “You can go back to sleep if you want. I’ll stay awake just in case.”
Kinich squints his eyes at him. Suspicious. Ignoring the way his heart thunders against his ribcage. “You’re being nice. That’s not like you,” he comments. “What’s the catch?”
Ajaw fixes him with a glare. “You know what, I take it back. I’ll push you off the moment I see you close your eyes, Kinich. Then your body really will be mine.”
There’s a pause as Kinich seems to consider that for a moment. And then: “You won’t,” he decides. Sarcastic, but also unsure.
“What if I do?” Ajaw crosses his arms. “You don’t think I will?”
Kinich looks him over then. Looks past his supposed nonchalance — past the mask that slips, day by day, bit by bit. Whittled away with each second they spend together. Sunset orange claws at Ajaw’s face; the shadows of his lashes a darker shade than usual on his cheeks as Ajaw seemingly flushes a little under his stare. Once again, awkward. Once again, flustered. If he notices Kinich brushing his knuckles over his, he doesn’t say anything.
“You won’t,” Kinich says, again. This time, with more certainty. This time, with more feeling.
Kinich weighs the pros and cons to everything he does.
There are risks to everything in this world as much as there are benefits. If he wants to reap the utmost of them, he has to make sure to ask for appropriate compensation. After all, it’s only fair — in life, there’s a balance. Without balance, there’s nothing of value. If the scales tip too heavy on one side, he doesn’t bother.
Well. His gaze dips to his friends. A smile tilting up his lips as he catches a glimpse of Mualani helping Kachina with her training again. Lumine sits beside him, carefully laying out her plan for their next joined commission as Paimon hovers over her head. In some cases, he supposes, the costs don’t quite matter. He tends to run a tight ship, but with friends, he’s more accomodating with the costs for his assistance.
“Is it okay if I ask for your help again, Kinich?” Lumine asks, brows creasing in guilt. “I don’t know who else to go to. Usually, I’d handle it myself, but… well, I’m not fairly familiar with Saurians yet.”
“It’s more than fine, Lumine,” Kinich reassures her. Eyeing as Paimon drifts to the food on the table in a far off distance. Lumine follows his gaze — letting slip a sigh as Paimon drools over the many dishes again. “I know Saurians more than anyone. If it’s my help that you need, then you only need to ask.”
Lumine perks up at that. “Right,” she says brightly. “I can’t thank you enough.” Her attention is redirected to elsewhere as Paimon calls out to her. When she turns to look at Kinich again, there’s a smile. The briefest of gratitude in golden gaze. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning then? We can go over the plan again before we head out if you want.”
“Anything’s fine by me,” Kinich says. A soft chuckle rumbling through his chest as Lumine rushes after Paimon just in time to stop her from wolfing down on the food without everyone else.
He feels Ajaw’s presence even before the crunch of grass under his feet. His nose catching his scent, the familiar weight of him on the space beside him as he doesn’t even spare him a glance. Doesn’t have to. He can tell Ajaw’s steps from a mile away. Can feel his anger even before he grits his teeth, before venom spews between tight lips.
“You’re awfully buddy-buddy with her,” Ajaw scoffs. Kinich detects the briefest of jealousy before he stifles it. He looks up at him, but Ajaw refuses to meet his gaze.
“She’s just a friend,” Kinich explains, feeling like he has to. Ajaw frowns, and Kinich frowns with him. Unsure why he’s even worried.
“A friend,” Ajaw echoes. Mouth hanging open only slightly as though there’s an unspoken question. Am I also just a friend, his eyes seem to ask. But he doesn’t verbalize it, and Kinich doesn’t prod. Instead, he lets him as Ajaw leans in to cup a hand over his cheek.
“You’re straying too far from me,” Ajaw murmurs. Thumb mapping his cheek before pressing down just a little. The smallest of displeasure in the thin line on his lips. Of possessiveness as he digs his nail only briefly into supple skin. His gaze glints — a touch of something feral before Ajaws subdues it again.
Kinich’s heart quickens. Even so, he can’t help but test his boundaries. Moth to fire, sarcasm to sarcasm as he lets out a laugh. “Is that a bad thing?”
Ajaw’s eyes narrow into slits. “Don’t forget who owns you,” he warns him. Kinich makes to sound a retort — but it falls short. His brain melting as Ajaw traces a finger over the outline of his lips. Gentle, so gentle his chest aches. Empty cavity, a space only Ajaw could fill.
“I haven’t,” is all Kinich says. What else is there to say?
When Ajaw pulls away, there’s a speck of Dendro on his cheek. The barest of Ajaw’s imprint before a gust of wind flutters past and it carries the mark with it.
Ajaw is different tonight.
He’s more feverish in the way he rocks his hips into him. His cock hot against Kinich’s ass, pulsing and flexing, terribly hard as Ajaw bites into his shoulder and pants out his name.
Usually, he’d try to keep it down. Usually, he’d muffle it in either Kinich’s hair or his back. But now he’s grunting out Kinich, Kinich, Kinich like it’s a prayer. One cacophonous sound after another — building into a crescendo as he loses his pace and everything after is frantic and uncoordinated. Messy, primal like an animal. The dig of his claws into Kinich’s sides, the fangs scraping up his neck, the buck of his waist as he tucks his leg in between Kinich’s and pulls him impossibly closer. As though he’s trying to meld them into one, as though it’s not enough to have Kinich in his arms, pressed flushed against his form. He has to carve him open. Has to climb into his chest and snuggle up to his heart forever.
“Kinich,” Ajaw moans, and Kinich goes still. If Ajaw sensed it, he didn’t mind it. Not that Kinich think he did — with the way he keeps grinding up his ass like this, it doesn’t even seem like he’s aware of his own surroundings. Too engrossed in his own pleasure, too enthralled by everything that is Kinich as he laps at the trickle of blood down his shoulder blades. Tongue soft as it lolls along the indents of his fangs on now spoiled canvas. Soothing, wet against the sting left behind.
Ajaw is different tonight. He is not kind. He is not gentle — and for once, Kinich actually believes that.
His palm is actually on him this time. Fingers cupping him through his pants, pushing him up his palm every time he brutally bucks into Kinich’s ass. He squeezes every time there’s friction, rolls his hand around in circles and presses down too firm. Rough — he’s rough as he strokes him fervently like he’s trying to make him break apart just like this.
Even so, Ajaw does not grant himself, and by extension, Kinich, any further. Fondling the outline of him through fabric rather than sliding his fingers inside. Clenching around him rather than fisting his cock up and down. Once again, the smallest of taste. Once again, too much but too little all at once. He breathes out Kinich’s name, sniffs him in — and then, comes to completion. Yet, he doesn’t allow Kinich the same reprieve. Letting go the instant he unravels. That burst of heat through layers again before Kinich is left to stew in his own lack of release.
“Kinich,” Ajaw says again. This time, softer. This time, gentle again as he slants his lips over the curve of Kinich’s ear. Kissing along the slope of his jaw and grasping his chin before Kinich feels him draw apart again. Out of his space, out of his fingers that twitch. Itching to touch, to taste, to cling as Ajaw, once again, slips out of bed and gives him nothing in return.
Like clockwork, the door shuts close behind him in a loud creak.
“Kinich,” Ajaw calls out to him as he slides the door open.
It’s slow — that creak as it scratches the floor. Cracking open just in time for Kinich to see Ajaw’s gaze shimmering in the shadows. His face only dimly lit by the moonlight blue peeking through his curtains as every other detail of him is covered in darkness. His features, oddly sharp and oddly resolute; something lying in wait to pounce as he looks Kinich in the eye.
“Ajaw,” Kinich remarks, confused as he props himself up slightly off the bed. He hadn’t been expecting him until dawn. “What are you doing here?”
Ajaw doesn’t answer him at once. Sparing a self-indulgent glance at his legs poking out from under the sheets before he dips his gaze to Kinich’s again.
“Let me sleep with you tonight,” Ajaw demands. As always, bossy. As always, obnoxious. But Kinich flushes — cheeks a glowing pink as his brain contemplates another alternative to that line of sentence. He shakes his head. Chastising himself before shrugging off the inappropriate thoughts sneaking into mind.
“Why the sudden interest in sharing a bed?” Kinich asks, but doesn’t deny him as he scoots over to grant him easier access. Ajaw pulls up the covers to slide into bed before flopping his head on Kinich’s pillow. Stare unblinking and intense as it digs into Kinich’s face.
“No reason,” he says. A dismissive wave of his hand that seems uncaring. But his ankle brushes up Kinich’s calf, his arm hooks around his waist — and he suddenly doesn’t seem all that unaffected as he brushes Kinich’s bangs away. “I just felt like it. The traveler says that this sort of thing brings people closer. I was wondering if I could tolerate you more if I did this. I might as well, considering it’d be a while before you actually drop dead.”
Kinich doesn’t flinch. He’s used to this — used to Ajaw making off-handed remarks about his death, even more so used to him actively trying to get rid of him. If Ajaw actually wanted him killed, he would have done so a long time ago. Instead, he walks on this tightrope and drags Kinich along for the ride. Friends, but not quite. Foes, but not quite. Lovers, but not quite. Everything but nothing, always something in between.
But what he’s not used to is Ajaw openly staring at him like he’s precious. Not even a second spared to break eye contact as his gaze warms into something Kinich can only recognize as want and affection. His fingers kissing his knuckles and the back of his hand before slipping in between his. Filling empty gaps, fitting just right like puzzle pieces.
“Ajaw,” Kinich warns. But Ajaw only shakes his head.
“Kinich,” Ajaw laughs. Pulling him back down and against him as he tugs Kinich to his chest. His heart seemingly stuttering under Kinich’s fingertips. “Don’t think about it,” he says. “Go to sleep.”
Go to sleep, Ajaw had said.
If only it were that simple. Lucky bastard fell asleep within five minutes, but what about him?
Kinich is restless, heart pounding and blood roaring in his ears as his brain fogs into nothing but lust. It’s hard to keep his composure when Ajaw is so close, breath heaving in and out over his ear, arms encasing him in a tight embrace. Almost protective, especially with his legs thrown over his like he’s trying to keep him there. Dragon to treasure; bound to him forever. If he could shackle him to him, Kinich wonders if Ajaw would.
“Kinich,” Ajaw whispers in his sleep. Low, but not low enough that Kinich can’t hear. Especially when he mutters it into his neck. Burns it into his skin, lets him remember the flutter of his lips. Ajaw wraps a leg around his hip and pulls him closer. Closer and closer until he feels the shape of him digging into his ass again. Yet he’s unmoving. Stiff except for the steady rise and fall of his chest, the quiet exhales and inhales.
“Kinich,” Ajaw murmurs, again. Breath still hot, lips kissing his shoulder in his sleep. It’s almost on purpose, the way he grazes the edge of his fangs over sweat-matted flesh. His hand raking along the expanse of his stomach before dipping underneath his shirt. Nails dragging up his chest.
Kinich knows better, but he can’t help it. His body moves on its own accord — his hand feathering down his side before slipping under his pants. Finding his cock, jerking up and down in a slow, but firm pace. Aroused by the feel of Ajaw’s breath tickling his ear, by the feel of him at times pushing up his ass as though in instinct. Kinich wonders what he’s dreaming about. If he’s even dreaming at all. Do Saurians even dream? Does Ajaw dream?
But the thoughts dwindle. Turning into a jumbled mess as Kinich finds his own tip and thumbs around it before flicking at the slit. Gathering his pre-cum around his fingers before slewing to the base then back to the head of his length again. Shuddering, pleasure rocketing through him in waves as he tries to keep his sounds at bay, yet to no avail.
He thinks of Ajaw, thinks of his lips wrapped around him, thinks of those glaring eyes looking up at him as he takes him in to the back of his throat. Thinks of Ajaw touching him, fingers on his cock, his dick up his ass. Laughing at his expense, getting off to his tears. Telling him that he’s miserable, that he’s nothing but his pet. Brought to kneel and bent over his lap. If Ajaw demands him to sing him worship, he would. If he wants him to degrade himself, he would. Whatever Ajaw asks for, he’d give it to him. Just. Please —
“You’re loud,” Ajaw says, a laugh in his tone. He freezes, fingers halting on their tracks — but doesn’t pull them away. Rendered immobile from Ajaw’s voice as he trails claws along the curve of his neck. “To think I expected you to spare me the same grace of being quiet. I was quiet for you, wasn’t I?” He takes a pause. Kinich feels him smile on his shoulder as he plants a kiss there. “Well. Save for that one time, anyway.”
“You —" Kinich tries, but his throat is dry. He swallows hard, a cog clicking in his brain as everything finally falls into place. He knew. And yet, he pretended not to. Why? To toy with him?
“Did you have fun teasing me?” Kinich growls, suddenly exasperated as he looks back on the months he’s spent frustrated and stewing in his own urges that were left unsated. Ajaw expels a laugh, and the sound is breathy. Choppy, just the slightest of smug confidence — and that’s all the answer he needs. Kinich shuts his eyes close, eyebrows frowned in annoyance and want. “You’re an asshole.”
“I could say the same to you,” Ajaw remarks.
For a moment, Kinich is befuddled — until he hears Ajaw spit into his own hand before sneaking it under his pants. Palming his ass before slipping fingers in between his cheeks. Looking for a hole to sink into before his fingers find muscles already contracting for him as though waiting for more. He pokes one around his entrance, circling around and then burying inside. Inch by inch, bit by bit. Slowly, so Kinich can feel and appreciate every dragged out second. It’s warm; Ajaw’s hand is warm and wet, his saliva sticky as it drips down the crack of his ass.
“Good thing you’re a cute little thing, aren’t you,” Ajaw laughs. Raising an eyebrow at him as Kinich turns to look back at him with a glare.
“What are you doing?” Kinich asks, voice stern before that, too, melts into a whine when Ajaw curls his finger to angle at his prostate. Ajaw rolls his eyes, but amusement glints in his gaze. Seemingly finding it silly that Kinich even had to ask.
“Helping you,” but still, Ajaw answers. Pressing his palm into one side of Kinich’s hips to keep him still when he threatens to squirm free.
“Helping me,” Kinich scoffs. Yet, the bite in his voice loses its intended effect when his cock throbs in his hand. Slick oozing from the slit and lower still to his knuckles as his mind feels hazy and his knees buckle. Hips involuntarily bucking back against Ajaw’s wrist as he motions long digits in and out.
“Mm-hmm,” Ajaw hums into his hair. Smiling, laughing again. “So go ahead. Don’t stop on my account.”
Kinich jolts. “You’re crazy,” he says, low and breathless. Although, he doesn’t know what it says about him that a part of him actually enjoys this — and the nights prior. Even so, he feels like he has to cling to a shred of shame. Just an ounce of pride. If only because this is Ajaw. Ajaw who always fights him tooth and nail over everything, Ajaw who always has something to say. If he gives in too easily, he knows Ajaw won’t let him live it down.
And so, he presses his eyes shut. “You can’t expect me to jerk off in front of you,” he says, willing his voice firm.
Silence. Seconds tick by, but Ajaw is silent.
Then, he clicks his tongue. An exasperated sigh and then a groan. Kinich feels Ajaw pursing his lips before drawing his finger out of his ass. The sudden movement prompting Kinich to bite down on his tongue — suppressing a whine at the loss of pressure. Rust on his tongue and blood in his mouth as he catches the sound of Ajaw rustling around. Disappointment filling him only for a moment before he feels Ajaw’s knees sinking around either sides of his waist. A weight straddling his lap.
“What’s the big deal?” Ajaw scoffs. Hand catching his wrist and guiding Kinich up and down his cock. Kinich breaks free a whimper; caught off guard by the quick rhythm Ajaw sets as he hears the wet slide of his palm along his length. His hand slapping against his balls. “We’ve seen each other naked before. We’ve taken baths together. I’ve humped your ass and came to you ‘sleeping’ a bunch of times. How is this any different?”
There’s a lot of differences, Kinich wants to say. For one, he can’t act like he’s blissfully unaware anymore. Which means he’s vulnerable — susceptible to Ajaw as he moulds him into whatever he chooses. He’d have to look Ajaw in the eye, he’d have to actually be in the moment. Then, he’d want to freeze it forever. Hope this could go on and on and on until they’re both spent. Until Ajaw is Kinich, and Kinich is Ajaw, and Kinich doesn’t know where he begins and Ajaw ends.
It’s too much. Just the mere thought of it is too much.
“Kinich.” Ajaw pulls his bangs back. “Look at me.”
And Kinich does. Despite himself, Kinich does. Snapping his eyes open, obedient to a fault as he meets Ajaw’s hungry gaze. He doesn’t know what it was — if it was the raw emotion in his voice, if it was the finger drifting down his cheek. Gentle, so gentle his stomach churns and his chest feels tight.
But he’s gone the minute he stares at Ajaw. The minute he catches the lust in them, the love in them palpable and unadulterated even as he tries to hide it. That edge in his Ajaw’s eyes has softened — and Kinich wonders when it started. When did Ajaw start looking at him like this; like he’s invaluable and his and his alone?
“Touch yourself for me,” Ajaw demands. His voice soft. Sweet in a way that doesn’t suit him. Affectionate in a way that knocks the air out of Kinich’s lungs. “Make me proud.” He skims his thumb along the line of Kinich’s jaw, pausing, slow and teasing in his trail as he takes his sweet time. Makes Kinich feel every moment, remember every aching and warm path. And then, he finds his lips. Parting them slightly ajar, sinking a nail into supple skin. “Make yourself feel good for me. Be good and come for me.”
Kinich feels like he’s floating. His mind a daze, his nose greedily taking in Ajaw’s scent. Drunk on nothing but him as he startles. Almost bucks into his own hand.
“Ajaw,” he chokes, tears already welling up in his eyes.
But Ajaw ignores that. Hushing reassurance into his cheek before wiping away at the bits of tears threatening to fall free. Gentle, until he’s not. Gentle, until he’s digging nails into his face and cupping his chin too hard. Tipping his head up, forcing him to look at him when he tries to look away again.
Ajaw glares, and Kinich keens. Fear a delicious thrill down the base of his spine.
“Are you gonna be a good boy for me, Kinich?” he asks. Voice low and dangerous, eyes a fevered heat as he leans in too close. Breath too hot on his lips, gaze never breaking his. His nail lingering close to his pulse. Pressing, burying into soft flesh. “Or are you just as useless awake as you are asleep?”
That sends his mind spiraling into the gutter. His eyes rolling to the back of his head and his body shaking just from Ajaw’s words alone. Even so, he frowns. Even so, he doesn’t want to back down. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.
“Fuck off,” Kinich bites back. But then Ajaw leans down to kiss him — and his fight wavers. Dissolving into a choppy mewl muffled by Ajaw’s lips as his hand moves on its own. Primal, instinctive. His fingers gripping tight and sliding hard and fast along his cock. Then, slow and measured. Going along whatever pace Ajaw feels like as his fist remains circled around Kinich’s wrist. Dancing him to his whim, tugging at him like a puppet master pulling at his strings.
“You know what you’re gonna do?” Ajaw asks, tongue lapping at the drool trickling down his chin. Breathy laugh like feathers on his skin.
Kinich somehow finds it in him to still pin him with a glare. “I’m not gonna follow your orders,” he barks.
Yet, it’s futile. He’s a helpless rabbit in the face of Ajaw as his resistance gets stripped away with each brush of his knuckles down the details of his face. With each kisses peppered into his cheeks and on his lips. With each time Ajaw looks at him, and all he sees is love. Everything stutters on its axis, and Kinich doesn’t know anything anymore. He only knows Ajaw. He only perceives Ajaw. He only beholds Ajaw.
So it’s no wonder when he leans in the moment Ajaw cups a hand over his cheek. Nuzzling his nose into his wrist, sighing in content at the warmth sapping into him.
“You will,” Ajaw says. Knowing. Once again, gentle. “You’ll fuck your hand for me. You’ll go as fast or as slow as I tell you to. And you’ll look me in the eye the entire time.” He smiles, and his eyes flicker. Something in his gaze that is feral and animalistic, raw and visceral. “Then you’ll thank me when I let you come. You’ll say my name. You’ll cry out for me, and tell me you’re mine. And you’ll like it — every second of it.”
After all this time, listening comes easy. Kinich is nothing but Ajaw’s, and Ajaw’s is nothing but Kinich’s as he puts on a show for him. Performing — slow and gentle, fast and hard. Pumping himself in any pace Ajaw wants. He tells him to stop, and he does. Hand stilling, fingers frozen in place even if he teeters on an edge and brinks on release.
“Don’t come yet,” Ajaw says, and Kinich makes a strangled noise.
“Ajaw,” he whimpers. Voice hoarse after how many hours of screaming. After how many times of being deprived. He’s lost count of the eighth time. “Please. I wanna come. Let me come.”
But Ajaw simply hums. That gentle brush of his finger on his lips again. “Let go of your cock for me,” he commands. “Move your hand out of the way.”
Kinich blinks through tears. Whining, knees twitching and toes curling as the heat in his belly reaches a fevered pitch. It hurts, everything hurts at this point and all he wants to do is fall. Break apart for Ajaw and only Ajaw.
“Please,” he begs.
“Let go,” but Ajaw demands the same thing.
So he does. Albeit reluctantly. Crying as he wonders how long Ajaw plans to drag out this torture.
But his frustration lingers only briefly. Replaced with an ecstatic moan the instant Ajaw replaces his hand with his. His longer, thicker fingers a hotter warmth around his cock as he pumps him once, twice, and then —
“Now,” Ajaw breathes. The sound heavy, “come for me.”
He gives Kinich one last jerk of his wrist before time slows and everything cuts into white. When Kinich shatters, he does everything Ajaw asked for. Thanks him, says his name, tells him he’s his. Over and over again until he’s nothing but a babbling mess. Over and over again until he overrides his high.
“Atta boy,” Ajaw praises. Lips coming to rest on his. As always, gentle.
Come morning, Ajaw is already awake. Come morning, the other side of his bed is still warm. An arm still wrapped around his waist.
“You woke up late again,” Ajaw says. His voice a laugh.
“Whose fault do you think that is?” Kinich finally says. Ajaw shrugs, rolling his eyes at him like the obnoxious asshole he is as always. But Kinich doesn’t mind it. Can even forgive it, he thinks, especially when Ajaw leans in and places a chaste kiss on his hairline.
Even so, Ajaw is still not gentle, Kinich thinks. That look of devotion in his gaze, that soft feather of his finger on his skin. His smile, saccharine sweet. His laugh, oddly sated. Kinich’s stomach twists and turns, and his chest swells and tightens. His heart stopping then stuttering into a start again. Once again, drunk. Once again, Ajaw’s.
This is not gentle. This is cruel. To stare at him and treat him like he’s precious when he knows the cost of falling in love. Especially for a bond like theirs. This story will not end well — one of them will get hurt by the end of it. And yet.
Kinich buries his face into Ajaw’s chest.
“Let’s stay in bed for a bit,” Kinich says. Soft.
“Well, aren’t you needy,” Ajaw laughs. Softer.
Ajaw pulls the covers up to his chin, and brings him ever so closer into his arms. Where everything feels safe, where everything feels comfortable and right. This is fine, Kinich decides. For now, this should be okay. He can think of the rest later.