Prompt: Kain/Other, with the stipulation that Kain's actually on the side of Chaos. If you're going smut, let's go for the dark stuff to balance out all the awesome crack that's been hitting the meme lately
Warning: So, I never put warnings in kink fics, but I feel this one needs them. Although not hardcore bondage or snuff, it has elements of both, and considerable amounts of humiliation and psychological pain. Needless to say, if you are a Cecil fan, I torture him here. He is not in a good place. And Dark!Kain, well. Dark!Kain is insane.
Wherever Cecil is, when he wakes up he’s cold. His perception is soup, a grey mess of pain and haze and the memory of blood, but the cold cuts through it, sinks with shuddering malice into bruised, naked flesh.
The words ‘where am I’ drift through a broken consciousness, but he doesn’t want to know. He’s terrified of what might happen to him, if he lets himself know.
One by one, Cecil’s senses remember themselves. The scent of piss and vomit rots in his nostrils. Rope burn sears bound ankles and bound wrists. In his mouth, bile ferments in soft chunks. A blindfold paints the world black.
The only comfort is the silence. Or almost silence…He believes he may have finally gone insane because he thinks he hears the air itself squeal at him. And its voice is the voice of a fiend.
“Harvey,” it cackles at it slithers over the rank, clammy skin under his arms, the intricate musculature of his quivering inner thighs, the valley between the cheeks of his ass. “Pretty puppet paladin, we have you now”
Cecil wants to scream back but refuses. He has nothing left, but he will not be ruled by demons.
Trembles race down the corded sinew of Cecil’s luminous body. The chill coaxes pink nipples to painful points and draft toys with the rotted scrap of fabric covering his decency. It whips…no…licks…at his stones so the cold is at once over him and in him and through him.
He shudders, but for some reason…Cosmos no…he hardens…the cold is somehow like a tongue, or a finger…it feels…good…
Cecil wishes he really were insane now. Because this is much, much worse.
“Do you like that?” the wind-thing’s voice whispers. And now he feels like the air has taken the shape of a hand that is pulling his cock to semi-erection. “Bastard moonchild…”
In desperation, his body jerks, seeking to writhe back into positions that it knows a body should be in. But every time Cecil moves, his shoulders stretch in their sockets, chained as they are to the wall behind him. In the small of his back, he can feel something thick and iron push his hips painfully forward, well past his bound ankles, well over his bleeding knees. But still the hand keeps moving. His cock is fully erect now, and is the obscene, thickly veined apex of his contorted frame.
He is twisted in a crescent, he finally understands. A parody of a silver-slipper moon. And the familiar weight resting atop his head is the platinum circlet of Odin.
The crown of Baron itself.
Understanding coalesces from inchoate sensation. He knows where he is again, and how he got here, and panic yanks him taut in his chains.
This is intimate perversion, a loving malice, designed to break and scar. And he knows of only one person left in this wretched world capable of it.
“Golbez,” he screams into the dark. “Has Chaos brought you so low brother?”
A low, rolling chuckle that is not Golbez answers him, and Cecil wishes beyond reason that he had stayed silent. He would know that voice anywhere, in any world, and Cecil would rather be whipped to a bloody pulp than face it here, now, like this.
And as if he is not hard enough already, the very sound of it, so deep and beloved and so very, very missed, charges through his blood and turns his cock to steel.
“You wish Cecil,” Kain Highwind answers. “You only wish.”
“K…Kain?” Cecil quavers. “You’re alive. I’d thought you slain…”
The sound of grit beneath steel boots grinds in Cecil’s ears as Kain advances on him. Eventually, he feels a steel…beak nudge the soft skin of his face. The breath that follows it is hot and wet and Cecil has missed it so much his heart lurches in his chest.
Incoherently, all he wants is to remove the blindfold. See Kain’s face again.
He should be dead. Celes killed him. Cecil saw it with his own eyes, wept over the bloodstained sword for weeks. Oh Kain, Cecil’s stomach is twisted in knots, as sickly excited as his cock. How many ways must I mourn you?
“The magicite addict?” the beak is cold against his jaw. “You thought that wench capable of dispatching me? Amusing.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Kain whispers. “But I do not die so easily. And we have outstanding business, you and I…”
A pair of calloused fingers close around Cecil’s frozen-erect nipple, and he swallows a pitiful whimper. The fingers tease and pluck before they twist hard enough to break skin.
Cecil cries out in pain or pleasure or both, and through his heartbroken, aroused confusion, he forces himself to recall that this is not the Kain Highwind of his youth. Not his best friend, who sewed shut the first wounds the dark sword ever gave him… Not his comrade in arms, who stripped off his armor in the endless Baronese summer…Not his lover, who at night in the barracks soothed with his powerful cock, needs that his own wife, his own beautiful Rosa, could never fill.
He doesn’t know this Kain, he repeats to himself. This Kain is cruelty and spite incarnate, and Cecil wants to despise him…except he can’t. Won’t.
Because he loves him still. Because he only looks out of Baron’s open windows so he can search for this man on its barren horizons.
“What business Kain?” Cecil forces the question from his throat. Despite the turmoil snaking through his gut, he forces his voice to stay proud, removed. The voice of the king. “I won’t fight you.”
It’s the wind-thing that answers. “Yes Kain,” it hisses. “What business could you possibly have with this creature? You have me…”
“Perhaps Barbariccia,” Kain’s voice is a study in perfect hate. “But you are the last thing that I want.”
“But you said -” it wheedles, and if a fiend can grieve, Cecil knows that is what he hears in its voice. “You said after I saved you, after I brought him for you…”
Cecil still can’t see anything, but he hears the clink of armor has Kain takes a quick step back. In his mind’s eye, he can imagine the fingers that must be closing around Barbariccia’s throat. Choked, woman-sounding gurgles follow, and then a dull, sick crunch as flesh makes contact with a wall. Frantic thuds sound against stone and then weaken.
“I lied,” comes the sadistic growl. “You chose to believe.”
“Leave then, whore.” The words are a command, and Cecil hates himself for wanting to swallow the mouth that uttered it whole. “Or I’ll kill you myself”
A noise that sounds suspiciously like screaming follows the wind as it flees. But as Kain’s gauntleted hand yanks on his swollen cock, Cecil wonders if it is Barbariccia, or him.
He pants, and his last thought before his hips jut forward in desperate pleasure is that he is glad that Rosa is not here to see this.
“Now,” Kain’s hand continues pulling at Cecil’s cock, alternating quick twisting strokes with long, languid ones. “Where were we?”
“Stop it Kain,” Cecil’s voice is broken, but he can’t stop thrusting his cock into Kain’s fist. He is so, so hard. “Why do you do this my friend? My brother…”
For a moment the hand stills over Cecil’s throbbing manhood. And then fingernails dig into it and pleasure is replaced by blinding pain. “Because,” the beak spits. “Because I want to fuck you until you bleed. Before I kill you with my bare hands.”
“Do your worst,” Cecil replies, defiant. The pain has quelled his erection, and he feels in control again. “You’ll not succeed Kain. I don’t fear you. And I will never give in.”
Kain only chuckles. Cecil hears him spit into his hand and return it to the semi flaccid organ between his legs. Kain has barely touched it before it springs to full life again. It aches and fattens and begs. A dog at its master’s command.
Blush burns Cecil’s cheeks.
“Really?” Kain rubs a thumb over the swollen head, swiping the blossom of precum over its wide, dull crown. Cecil fights to keep his hips still. “It seems you have already. And before I am done with you,” Cecil feels spit rain against his cheek, pool into the angles of his profile. “I’ll teach you the meaning of fear…”
The hand at his cock retracts, and Cecil steels himself. The love and lust may be uncontrollable, but there are places in his soul over which he still has dominion. He will not fear Kain. He cannot fear Kain. And so he replies: “You have never been able to kill me before, friend. There’s a good man in you yet, I can feel it.”
“Live a fool, die a fool, Cecil.” The grating sound of a dagger leaving its sheath echoes in the cavern of Cecil’s ears before he feels its point press up against his abdominal muscles. He inhales sharply, and Kain chuckles as he trails the point down, down over his groin and then ever so lightly across the distended length of him. “There was never a good man in me.”
Cecil says nothing in reply, focusing instead on the cold point of the dagger as it dances back up over his dick to nestle into the pulsing vein at his hip flexors. He tenses, expecting Kain to break the flesh, but instead, he pulls upward, snapping the string holding the rag over his erection.
He's completely naked now, and the muscles of his thighs bunch and roll as he squirms. In the dark, Cecil can feel Kain’s eyes on him, hear him grunt approval. The dagger returns to his cock, and he feels the cool flat of it lift his stiff length, testing its weight and hardness.
"Very nice,” Kain whispers, mocking. “You always had a pretty cock, friend.”
Even though Kain’s words ring in every nerve in his body, Cecil doesn’t respond, armors himself in silence.
“And pretty eyes too,” Cecil can feel the chill of steel as Kain presses his armored form flush up against him. His throbbing cock is at a full vertical against Kain’s codpiece, and through the haze of his lurching desire he thinks he feels something…like scales?
If Cecil intends dwell on his disgust, his thoughts are stilled by the feeling of the dagger tearing his blindfold away. Sight floods his eyes, and despite all of his hard earned, battle forged control, the King of Baron gasps.
Oh Kain, he wants to weep. What have they done to you?
The armor Kain wears is darker than a nightmare. And the beak that Cecil felt on his skin closes over Kain’s beautiful, expressive face like he is being swallowed by a demon. Or is a demon.
“What,” Kain’s voice is thick with spite and lust. “You don’t like it, my liege? Pity…”
Cecil can only look away, close his eyes against the truth.
“What are you doing, m’Lord?” Kain’s gauntleted hand reaches up under Cecil’s neck and squeezes. Cecil squirms mightily beneath the grip but is undone by the friction of his cock straining against Kain’s codpiece. So even as his breath seeps away, he arches further in.
Kain. Kain. Kain. Rutting his cock against him brainlessly, it’s all Cecil can think. More. More. More. It’s all that he wants. Even now, at the doorstep of the end.
The thought is so disgusting he wants to vomit.
Spots form behind Cecil’s eyes before Kain finally lets go, steps back. Cecil splutters and sucks in air like life itself, but he is still desperate for Kain to touch him. Since Barbariccia fled the air is warmer, but every part of him remains erect. Cock and nipples jut forward lewdly, bright pink against his white, white skin.
“Pathetic,” Kain shakes his head, and the eyes of the dragon are waxy red and utterly lifeless. “Absolutely pathetic.”
Cecil struggles for control and finds enough to answer. He dares to hope he can reach through. “It’s this that’s pathetic my friend. You take what I would give you freely…it’s not too late –”
“Yes it is,” Kain cuts him off, sensual lips curling in a sneer. It’s the first show of genuine emotion Cecil has seen from him. “But it will be no matter soon enough…”
“What are you talking about?”
Kain chuckles, absently fingers the bright red guige of the black dragon lance before unhooking it from his shoulder and swirling the forked point under Cecil’s chin. “All the world bows to the King of Baron,” the point of the spear edges up, and Cecil’s long white neck cranes back painfully. As he breathes he feels the killing edge slice small, lancing cuts in the side of his face. “But you, your Majesty, will bow to me.”
“Never,” Cecil gurgles, writhing underneath the weapon. He is aware that his body is twisting, that his cock is swaying stupidly from side to side and that his stones are heavy and filled with unspilled come, but he remains resolute.
Kain doesn’t answer. Withdrawing the lance he simply shrugs and stands back. With a casual flick of his wrist, magic shimmers around him, dissolving the psychotic armor until Kain is clad only in black leather breeches that cling like a second skin to the lowest part of his narrow hips. A golden trail of hair beginning just beneath his belly button trails over iron-wrought musculature down to an unlaced drawstring that reveals the straining base of a captive cock. It’s the same color as the hair that cascades around Kain’s regal face, over his broad, powerful shoulders.
It reminds Cecil of summer, that color.
Cecil’s heart throbs. Kain is so beautiful. He had forgotten how beautiful, until now. But then Kain smiles, and the turn of his lips is nothing short of evil.
“You will,” he finally says.
Soft, fat drops of blood from the cuts on Cecil’s face dribble over elegant cheekbones like rain or tears; paint dark red damask patters over lunar white skin.
Kain advances back on Cecil with slow, heavy steps, stops right in front of him. His lance is pulled over his shoulder, but an evil looking knife, the same one, Cecil surmises, that he used before is clenched in his left hand.
“Cecil,” Kain whispers, leans over the bloodied nipple he twisted earlier. “You hurt yourself. Do you want me to kiss it better?”
The hot breath on Cecil’s chest is almost more than he can bear, but he shakes his head. “Stop, Kain.”
Kain drags his knife over Cecil’s quivering flank but he doesn’t move his mouth. “Ask me to touch you Cecil.”
“No,” Cecil’s voice is pitchy and weak
Kain steps forward so that the hot muscles of his abdominal column press against Cecil’s cock, and then pushes the cold point of his knife into the soft flesh above his liver. “Don’t make this difficult, dog-King. I know you want me to touch you.”
“I…No” Cecil begins but his voice breaks. His cock is twitching like a creature with its own mind, and his nipples yearn for Kain’s tongue. He wants to refuse. He needs to refuse. But even with the knife at his guts, he is starting not to care.
If he has to die in Dissidia, perhaps it would be fine to die here, with Kain. Perhaps then, if tales of the cycles were true, he’d reawaken to a different version of the man…to that invincible Baronese summer filled with promise and the scent of oleander…
Kain twists the knife, and Cecil’s body jerks as the point pierces the skin. “I said ask me,” he spits over the nipple. The wetness slides down Cecil’s chest and he stifles a whimper as Kain continues. “Beg.”
Cecil is on the brink. Naked and bound and bloody, he’s still so hard that it hurts, and the feel of Kain’s skin against his cock is perfection, as it always was, had been since they were seventeen.
Not for the first time, Cecil curses all the memories he’s regained. If he could forget, it would be easier. If he could forget, then he would never utter the words that spill from his mouth.
“Touch me Kain,” Cecil is shattered. “Touch me.”
Now that he’s capitulated, the sudden loss as Kain takes a malicious step back is like a punch to Cecil’s gut. He struggles more in his bindings than he has since he awoke. His hips lift completely off the iron and he thrusts forward maniacally, as far as the ropes will go.
He looks down at his own cock, sees the veins that bulge from it and is humiliated and beaten but does not care.
“Please, Kain,” he knows he sounds pathetic. Pathetic and weak and so in love. “Please. I beg of you. Touch me. My friend. My love. Please.”
Kain folds his arms across a lean, battle-hard chest, and the violet eyes that gaze on him are wild and bright and insane. “Who begs me?”
“The…” Cecil pauses. He knows what Kain wants. Can see it swirling in his eyes. But he cannot speak it. Not until Kain comes closer again, brings his knife right under Cecil’s chin, breathes over his painted lips.
“Who. Begs. Me?” Kain repeats, and Cecil can feel the beloved golden locks brush over his face. He trembles, a refugee leaf in a storm.
“The King,” he blurts out, at last undone. “Gods Kain, the King begs you. Kain. Now please, please, I….”
Any further words are lost as Kain swallows Cecil’s mouth with his own. The knife clatters to the cold stone floor, and the echo is shrill and brittle and slices the air.
It’s not a kiss they’re sharing.
Kain is grunting against Cecil’s soft lips and fisting his bright white hair and pushing his thick, hot tongue down Cecil’s throat. It is more like rape than a kiss, Cecil thinks, as Kain pulls down hard on the platinum locks. But Cecil doesn’t care. If this is rape, he will be raped. Rape me Kain, he thinks, dazed with lust and resigned to die. He swirls his hips in circles, mashing his cock against the leather of Kain’s breeches.
When Kain pulls his lips away, he leaves his hand in Cecil’s hair, exposing the milky neck. Cecil quivers. His vision is obscured by the angle of his head but he waits, listens to Kain breathe.
“Kain,” Cecil blubbers.
“Silence,” Kain whispers, yanking down harder. “Speak when I tell you and not before.”
Pressing painted lips together Cecil says nothing, tries to nod, but Kain holds him in place. The muscles in his neck tense with the effort.
“Good dog,” Kain sidles closer, breathes the words into the perfect arc of Cecil’s neck before biting down hard.
Roaring in pain, Cecil thrashes. But the hurt fades to something like glee as he realizes that Kain is plastered into every angle of his body. Cock to cock, nipple to nipple, face to face. For a while, they silently rut into one another, and Kain’s right hand rests without malice on the sharp bone of Cecil’s left hip as if they are dancing.
Hate and love swirl in Cecil’s chest, and he can’t tell what is what except that he feels suddenly…so happy…
But then Kain pulls back, releases Cecil’s hair. And as Cecil pulls his head down to look his friend in the face he is startled at the blood that smears his lips. Cecil knows he should be horrified, but he isn’t. He thinks it almost beautiful, almost poetic. So when Kain picks up his hunting knife and steps in to cut the rope that binds Cecil’s hog-tied wrists to the wall, he sticks out his tongue, tries to lick the crimson liquid from Kain’s chin.
There is nothing Cecil won’t do now. He has defiled himself utterly.
“Disgusting,” Kain shakes his head, but he doesn’t pull away.
The sound of sawing rope fills Cecil’s senses. And he drinks in Kain’s smell as the dragoon reaches over him to snap the final cord. When he falls, there is a riot of sensation. His head snaps hard against the iron bar; sharp pain spikes from where his knees impact the ground; his shoulders scream relief as his arms settle behind his back. There is a strong stench of urea on the stone floor, and belatedly, Cecil realizes he is kneeling in his own piss. But he doesn’t care about any of that.
Cecil cares that his face is level with the drawstrings of Kain’s breeches. That his nose sets on the hump of Kain’s erection.
Desperately, Cecil lurches forward, gnashes at the strings with his teeth. Frustrated at his failure, he looks up through sweaty strands of hair at Kain’s darkened face. From this angle, Kain is all shadows. They curl into the hills and valleys of his steel-perfect body, draw curtains of blackness over his beautiful face, play autumn thief in summer gold hair.
Kain laughs a low, dark laugh as reaches down himself, unties the drawstring almost lazily and pulls the leather down just far enough down the curve of his ass to let his cock spring free.
“Bow down,” Kain commands.
“Yes,” Cecil answers.
The blunt head of the cock that pushes past Cecil’s lips is huge and hot and hard as anything Cecil has ever known. He struggles to open his jaw to accommodate it, makes gurgling noises as it slides over the flat of his tongue to hit the back of his throat.
It tastes like salt and leather and the bitter admixture of precum and sweat and unwashed man. Just like I remember, Cecil thinks, pushing past the hurt and pain of what he’s doing, trying to conjure up the Kain of his youth…
Just like I remember.
Kain has twined a heavy hand in Cecil’s hair and is swaying his hips in a slow circular motion. “Yes little kinglet,” he whispers, pulling the long, distended length of him out of Cecil’s mouth before shoving it back it again. “Take it all, suck…suck…”
Mindlessly, Cecil obeys. Bobbing his head up and down and side to side, he depresses his tongue against the bottom of his mouth and strains his jaw to the point where he feels it might break. He wants to give Kain this pleasure. Is desperate to do so, not just because his mind is destroyed by lust, but because the ghost of his rationality believes that maybe, maybe this will bring the real Kain back to him.
So he sucks harder. Feels every ridge of Kain’s cock in every part of his mouth. The length pushes past the gate of his throat and Cecil’s eyes widen as it steals his breath and his gag reflex clenches but still he keeps going.
There are slurping sounds that fill the cavern that Cecil realizes are his own.
“More, Cecil. Take more.” Kain breathes, doubling over Cecil’s head and plunging all the way in. Cecil’s nose is buried in Kain’s musky pubic hair, and he is almost vomiting out the cock, but he wants it still. Wants more and more and more. Needs it.
The sounds increase in volume and are messy and wet as ropey saliva pours from Cecil’s bottom lip.
“Mpfh,” Cecil grunts, his mouth full of cock, beautiful eyes rolled back in his head. “Mmmmm.”
Kain’s hands are a vice in Cecil’s hair, and he’s not even thrusting anymore. He’s just holding Cecil’s head still and glorying in the way that the paladin’s gag reflex spasms around his cock.
“I could kill you here,” Kain’s voice is rumbling thunder, and terror knifes through the desire as his hands drift under Cecil’s delicate jaw, to a position they both know he could leverage to break his neck. But the fingers are strangely caressing. “But…your mouth…and to fuck you…one more time…”
Yes, Cecil thinks. Oh yes.
Cecil coughs and spit dribbles from his chin. He can’t breathe anymore, and the world is going still…so still…Oh Kain…
At the last second before Cecil loses consciousness, Kain finally withdraws. Lines of saliva trail from Cecil’s mouth to Kain’s cock, drip from Kain’s cock to the stone floor. And as Cecil pulls air into his mouth and through his broken throat, he cannot help but be enchanted by it.
“What are looking at dog-King?” Kain asks. He is standing over Cecil now, with his arms crossed, proud cock glistening over a cradle of black leather.
He is domineering, imposing, beautiful.
“You,” Cecil manages, forcing the admission through broken lips. He knows he is going to die, so he may as well not die a liar. “I love you Kain. And I am so very, very sorry.”
For a moment, Kain is silent, watching Cecil watch him before he drops to his knees and locks their gazes. Cecil expects Kain to slap him, but he doesn’t, choosing instead to curl fingers around his throat.
“I’ve no time for your lies, Cecil.”
Cecil still can’t quite speak right. His throat is raw and nearly prolapsed. “They’re not lies. I love you Kain. I’ve always loved you.”
“Shut up,” Kain’s fingers tighten. “Shut up.”
“It’s true,” Cecil croaks. “You…were the one…who left…”
Abruptly, Kain slaps Cecil hard across the face and his violet eyes swirl with violence. It looks like he’s about to speak, but then he laughs, reaches behind Cecil to untie his ankles. “You’ll be silent soon enough.”
Standing up, Kain backs away and that same hateful smile paints his face. “Now Come here. Come to me.”
Without argument, Cecil edges forward on his knees. With his arms tied behind his back, he’s unbalanced and only makes it a few inches before falling on his face. But still he pushes forward, tired and beaten. He scrapes along the stone floor until his face is at Kain’s feet and his ass is in the air, the point of some obscene triangle.
“Good enough,” Kain mutters, walking around behind him and coming to his knees. Cecil hears Kain lick his fingers noisily before pressing their dripping wetness to the rim of his ass. A long finger slides in, pushing the sphincter aside. A brief flash of pain registers in Cecil’s nerves, followed by a quick surge of pleasure.
Another finger follows. A third. And they screw and twist and turn until Cecil feels darts of pleasure spike through the pain.
“Ngh,” Cecil groans, pushing and bobbing his ass backwards against the digits, impaling himself on them. “Ngh…Kain, please…your cock…”
Kain’s voice is husky when it answers. And when Cecil closes his eyes, he thinks he can almost hear his old friend there. “Your dying wish, my King?”
“Yes, Kain. Yes.”
The fingers withdraw, replaced by the thick head of Kain’s cock. “Very well,” whispers Baron’s black dragoon as he rams himself home in one brutal stroke. “Very well.”
Cecil howls in triumph. This. Cosmos. Chaos. Every other god - this. He has been so desperate for so long, the feel of Kain’s massive cock spreading him wide nearly undoes him. His tongue slides out of his mouth, tastes the grit on the floor. It’s disgusting but it doesn’t matter. Kain is in him again. His massive cock is filling him. His wiry pubic hairs are slamming against the spread cheeks of his ass.
Using whatever strength he has left in his legs, Cecil strains backwards until his back is flush with Kain’s straining chest and Kain is thrusting up, wildly, out of control. His cock stands straight and tall and white against his abdomen, shaking with the force of Kain’s movement.
“Kain,” Cecil whines, arching his back and ass in quick, jerky movements so he rides the thrusts as they come. “Oh gods. Please. I beg…I beg…”
Cecil is so insane with pleasure, he doesn’t notice Kain’s deadly left hand return to his throat for the third time. And when he does, he doesn’t care because his right hand is coming around his front to pull and yank and squeeze his desperate cock.
Yes, it would be okay to die this way, Cecil thinks. And then Kain begins pumping him without abandon, and Cecil can’t even feel the tears as they slide down his face.
Panting and moaning, Cecil is so close. Kain’s cock is twitching in his ass. Kain’s hand is fondling his balls. And there is nothing Cecil wants more than for this to last forever…for Kain to keep on fucking him until they both pass out…
“You make a poor cunt,” Kain spits into Cecil’s ear, tightens his grip around Cecil’s throat. “But you’re good enough to come in…good enough…”
Air slides from Cecil’s lungs and blackness descends in his eyes, but he summons enough breath to speak. “Come in me then. Come.”
“Yes.” Kain’s voice is choked, but his fingers tighten around Cecil’s cock before he forces him back down to the ground. Changing the angle slightly, Kain brings his foot right up to Cecil’s face and shoves his cock in downward, ramming Cecil’s little gland with everything he has. And even though his grip looses just slightly, his hand never leaves Cecil’s throat
“I will,” Kain says brokenly, speeding up. “Come in you now. Kill you now. Come…”
And then Cecil feels it, Kain’s cock exploding inside of him, and Kain’s hand yanking him so hard it almost hurts. Except it doesn’t. Except it makes Cecil scream like he has lost his mind.
“Kain!” he screeches, bucking his hips down into Kain’s fist, and then up into Kain’s cock.
And as Kain arches into him one last, magnificent time, Cecil finally feels himself explode, ropes and ropes of come spraying everywhere beneath him, his every nerve shimmering and gleaming like stars.
The world has stopped on its axis, and even though Cecil knows it’s the end he keeps moving, wiggling his ass against Kain’s still spewing cock, his own just finally drained of come.
When Cecil finally relaxes, he sighs, content. Yes. He is satisfied with the feel of this man on top of him. Satisfied to end it this way.
It’s then that Cecil feels the fist at his neck close around his larynx in earnest and the dying world of Dissidia fades from his sight.
“I do…love you Kain…” he hears himself say.
Cecil is prepared for nothingness. He expects it. But for some reason it never comes. Instead, a golden spot that seems to grow in his perception the farther and farther he slips from consciousness fills his eyes. It’s almost, he thinks, like summer.
When Kain finally withdraws, he does so expectantly. Cecil is unconscious before him, and he waits, waits for the surge of triumph to flood his body - better and stronger than any release.
Kain has waited for this moment for so long, and as he picks up his dagger, pulls his breeches the six inches back over his cock, he smiles in anticipation. Glory will come in a second, he is sure of it.
But then there’s nothing, nothing at all. Kain simply feels…empty. Drained of come. Drained of hate. Just drained.
“I do…love you Kain…” The words whisper in the corridors of his mind, close their soft, cherishing fingers around his heart. He steels himself. It’s nothing, he reprimands. Sentimental nonsense from years and worlds and dimensions ago. It means nothing to him now.
But then why does he hesitate?
Kneeling down, Kain puts his knee into the small of Cecil’s back and decides to toy with him. Taking the knife, he shears off Cecil’s beautiful platinum hair until there is nothing left but piebald patches of it. He feels nothing. Slowly, he pulls the heavy circlet of Odin off of Cecil’s head, sends it crashing against a stone wall. Still nothing. More nothing.
Enough, he commands himself. End this.
And so, Kain lifts Cecil’s head by the remaining hair, presses the blade up against the fluttering pulse, pushes and then…can’t. His fingers tremble and betray hi
It’s then that the horrifying truth crests over his mind.
He doesn’t know how, and he doesn’t know why, but Cecil has won again. He can’t push the dagger knife home. Something stays his hand. Futility perhaps. Or perhaps…
No. No. Not that. He had thought himself over..,the love…
For the first time this night, Kain screams. The hatred is back, but it’s directed at himself.
“You have never been able to kill me before friend.” And it’s true. He has failed at everything he as ever attempted. By the grace of his homeland and his father, he was granted good blood, steady bones, strong flesh, and Kain suddenly knows has wasted them all.
On what, he doesn’t know.
Disgusted with himself, Kain gets up, throws the knife away to join the crown of Baron in some discarded corner. He shrugs his shoulders and the black armor shimmers around him once more, concealing all evidence of the wetness that has pooled in lustrous violet eyes.
Turning his back to his sins, Kain Highwind walks away.