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sans coeur

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"My love," Reinhard says, caressing Kircheis' handsome, flushed face. "Mine."


"Yes," Kircheis answers, breathless, almost out of his mind with adoration, taking Reinhard's hand in his and pressing kisses to its back, the palm, each of his fingers, the inner curve of his wrist. They're both so vulnerable like this. Their hearts are beating together. Stars entwining around each other. Two boys fumbling in a clumsy kiss. Two teenagers stealing moments for themselves in the bath, long after everyone has gone to bed. Two men taking their sweet, gentle time in Reinhard's room inside his recently earned flagship. There are stars outside the window. There are galaxies in Kircheis' eyes. "Yours, Lord Reinhard," he whispers, lips tracing over the lines in Reinhard's palm. 


Reinhard takes his chin between his fingers, urges him to look up. He caresses his cheekbone with his thumb. It's such a tender touch it almost brings both of them to tears. Kircheis inhales sharply, closes his eyes, opens them. Reinhard is so beautiful. He's the only thing in the universe Kircheis wants, the only thing he has ever wanted. All of the planets and all of the titles mean nothing as the man lying next to him. 


"You're so perfect," Reinhard says, and Kircheis shivers. "Keep your hands in place, alright?"


"Yes," he answers, first of all, of course, anything Reinhard wants, but then, "Lord Reinhard -" he gasps out, but Reinhard is lowering himself down regardless, kissing down the length of Kircheis' body, and Kircheis wants to protest, that Reinhard shouldn't go below his level, that Kircheis should be the one serving him, worshipping him, but there's a mouth pressing to his inner thigh, and his thoughts are hazy, glowing in their pleasure. He forgets his words, forgets his initial intention of halfhearted protest, as a hickey forms on his thigh, a thumb gently tracing circles on the curve of his hip. 


Reinhard raises his head, idly caresses the fresh, throbbing lovemarks. "My perfect boy," he says, kissing right over Kircheis' heart. "You're so handsome, Kircheis. So beautiful. So good for me." 


Kircheis has to bite his lip and turn his face away so he won't betray the desperation building inside him in response to that. His entire body is thrumming with love and desire and want . When Reinhard wraps his lips around him, takes him in his mouth, Kircheis arches up, and he curls his hands on the bedsheets, and he stills his own hips, because he shouldn't move, he should let Reinhard do whatever he wants with him. Reinhard, however, drags the perfect heat of his mouth down and up, and looks up, and his cheeks are red, and his eyes are shining , and when Kircheis' hips buck up, it's absolutely unconscious and out of his control. He wants to apologize, wants to say something, but Reinhard is smiling, tucking a strand of his blonde hair behind his ear, and once more Kircheis' cock is wrapped by the overwhelming skill of Reinhard's mouth, and Kircheis' mind goes white, and he can't do anything other than whisper, Reinhard, and please , please, I need - 


"I'm going to come, I -," he manages to get out in a single rush of heat, and he expects for Reinhard to move away, to use his hand instead of his mouth, but instead he takes Kircheis further down his throat, and Kircheis cries out because it's so good, it's so much, it's so desperately good, and when he comes, Reinhard swallows it all with unfettered ease, used as he is to knowing all the ways in which Kircheis' body and soul work. 


King , Kircheis thinks, yes, king of my heart, body and soul. 


He's trembling with the aftershocks long after Reinhard has wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed himself up. 


"Look at me, my beloved," Reinhard says, and there's not a single bone in Kircheis' body that's not weak for this beautiful man and his softly stated orders, and he looks, and Reinhard is smiling, his gorgeous blue eyes glinting in the darkness, and he looks so in love, and Kircheis wants to cry with how perfect this moment is, how precious, how he wants to be here forever, with Reinhard looking at him with all the love in the universe. This moment, just the two of them, surrounded by stars. 


A single tear drops down Kircheis' face. Reinhard wipes it away as it falls. 


"Why are you crying?" Reinhard asks. He brushes Kircheis' hair with his fingertips. It's so tender . Kircheis wants to arch into it, he wants to -


"I want this to last forever," he says at last, and Reinhard smiles, and Kircheis is falling in love all over again, endlessly. Is there a way of not adoring this man, he wonders. Would there ever be a reality where Kircheis' entire existence isn't dedicated solely to this man and this man alone. 


No, he decides. He was handmade by the stars to love Reinhard. It's the only thing he wants. It's always the sole thing he desires. He doesn't want anything else; only that this will be permitted of him, to love. To be loved back is a miracle, renewed every day by the way Reinhard wakes him up each morning with a kiss to his face and a gentle touch to his hair. 


Reinhard smiles. "It will."


Kircheis arches up, Reinhard lowers his head, and they're kissing, and Kircheis believes him. 




Pathetic, ” Reinhard hisses as he grabs a handful of Oberstein’s hair, not a single drop of kindness amidst the poison that has been dripping from his tongue ever since they started this. The wine he was drinking before they found themselves like this, sour taste, making him cringe. “ Worthless .”


Oberstein is already too deep into it to answer anything other than a breathless, “Yes, Your Majesty,” and the title that he says so easily weighs heavily on Reinhard’s core, makes him grit his teeth and pull harder, rougher. Oberstein is high up on his knees, head thrown back, but Reinhard doesn’t loose his grip for even a second, fingers wrapped tight around the hair on his nape, pressing hard against the soft place at the back of his skull, so he won’t let Oberstein strain for even a small amount of whatever comfort he can find. There’s no restraint when he’s feeling like this - torn apart and ragged and awful, as if the very blood that courses through his veins is made of distilled cruelty. 


Like this, it's perfect, Oberstein thinks - he has grown used to standing while Reinhard is sitting on his throne, and that is also decent, being next to him, hands clasped behind his back, while the eternal beauty of his kaiser leans back on the seat he rightfully conquered for himself. That is also good, to see Reinhard and his striking gorgeous image thriving in the place they both created for him and for him alone; but this, Oberstein on his knees, Reinhard in his throne, his flagship, amidst the stars. It's where they both belong. 


It wasn't like this with Kircheis, and Oberstein knows - with Kircheis, it was the two of them on a bed, level with each other, often Reinhard finding himself under, his back to a stronger chest, a stronger, kinder heartbeat, arms wrapped around the divine curve of his waist, pulling him close. They were equal, in both love and mutual adoration; Kircheis got the gentle words, the caresses, the kisses. Sometimes, Reinhard wakes up in the middle of the night screaming desperately for Kircheis to come back, come back to me, don't die, Kircheis, please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please . Oberstein does nothing. It's not his place. He hasn't earned that. He won't ever earn the right to even so much as lay down on His Majesty's bed. The few intercourses they've had on a mattress have happened in Oberstein's own, simpler room, so that Reinhard can leave as soon as they're done. 


The first time Reinhard slapped him, it was after his observation of it was either the universe or Kircheis . It wouldn't be the last. 


He hits him now, just for the pleasure of letting out his irritation with Oberstein, with himself, with everything. Reinhard is so quick to anger, and so slow to let it go - he lingers so often in his own seething, burning rage. It's Oberstein's duty as his second to handle it. It's his duty to stay on his knees and feel the cutting pain of a backhand slap across his face. Backhand: the type of slap for a whore. His lower lip catches at his teeth, and it bleeds, and Reinhard doesn't give the manifestation of hurt anything other than a scoff. 


"You're never enough," he growls, and undoes his pants with one hand, keeps the other in Oberstein's hair. He has complained about it before. Too silky, he said. Too dark. The white streaks amidst the black make their owner look uncanny. Oberstein closes his eyes. He knows Reinhard hates the artificial glint of them, the emotionless depth of technology that makes up for the empty sockets of Oberstein's sight. "You never give me what I want, no matter how many times I use you. Useless whore. You're not even good enough to give me pleasure."


He knows. They both know. Oberstein will never be enough. The man Reinhard wants is dead, and not all the power in the universe can bring him back. 


They’ve had sex countless times ever since Kircheis died, and they haven’t ever kissed. 


It's alright, Oberstein figures, in his dozed up haze of sexual desire. He wants Reinhard so badly it burns and cuts through every single one of his veins and he'll take whatever he can get. He had never before, in his life, wanted anyone as desperately and intensely as he wants Reinhard. The angelic perfection of his face, the shining dark blue of his eyes, the long blonde lashes. The murderous intelligence underneath all of it. Oberstein thought the highest honor for himself was to be able to help Reinhard achieve his goals - simply existing next to this man would be enough. To be on his knees, with Reinhard's foot pressing against his crotch and his hand mercilessly tight in his hair, this is more than he should be allowed. He is so painfully grateful. If he had real eyes, he would be crying. But he keeps his eyes closed - his king only ever makes use of him like that, on his knees, mouth open, willing to take whatever verbal abuse is given him. 


He leans into it. He leans into the insults, the humiliation. He hadn't ever known he would feel so much want coursing through his body in response to the harsh, awful words that pour out of Reinhard's gorgeous lips. Slut. Whore. Worthless. Pathetic . He shivers, unconsciously moves closer, but Reinhard forces him back to his place, and Oberstein gasps, and he can hear Reinhard's responding scoff as much as he's not allowed to see it. His mouth is still bitter with the aftertaste of Reinhard's come on top of his tongue. 


When he comes, he comes hard , inside his pants, a humiliating, painfully obvious mess, while Reinhard, in turn, hasn't so much as allowed a strand of his hair to get out of place. 


"Get out of here," Reinhard says. 


"Yes, Your Majesty," Oberstein answers immediately, forces himself up on shaking legs. He needs to go back to his room, and shower, and get changed, all within less than fifteen minutes, because Reinhard will need him by his side again as soon as possible, because they have a universe to rule, they have so much to do. These interludes aren't anything but that - interludes, a break from work, from everything that must be done. He's walking towards the exit when Reinhard says, "This will not happen again," as he always does, every single time they do this, and Oberstein doesn't need to look back to know his kaiser has his hand firmly wrapped around his locket, the one he keeps around his neck with a lock of Kircheis' fierce red hair. 


"Of course, Your Majesty," Oberstein says, and his voice is perfectly level again, and he leaves Reinhard alone to handle his ghosts. There's nothing else he can do for him.