When Gilbert wakes up, everything is different, from the place where he passed out after a day of work, to the position, and even the temperature.
His vision was dark, but about that he did not panic. He was sure it was a blindfold since his eyelashes fluttered softly against the fabric.
However, as his mind cleared out Gilbert realised that he was bound in a most inappropriate position, on his knees, with his hands raised over his head, and the ropes tight around his wrists. A little struggle revealed no weakness in the ropes and he cursed softly under his breath.
The struggle had shown another thing, that rope was wound around his body, in an intricate fashion, knots resting over his ribs and pulling at the ropes every time he took a breath in. He was, despite the fast beating of his heart, calm and collected, thinking about what could come next.
But the room did not seem to be uninhabited. He could hear the breathing of two persons, shifting of clothes and the rubbing of fabric against fabric.
His senses were far sharper than when he was relying solely upon his sight.
A light chuckle reached his ears and Gilbert perked, trying to recognize something in that laugh, a semblance of someone’s voice, of something, anything.
Two pairs of hands attacked his body, one naked, skin on skin, and so gentle, almost inquisitive, pressing and prying at him, while the other covered in satin slid over his body with almost practiced ease. It was a wonderful contrast, of warm and slowly warming, of chaste and knowing touches, and he wondered who were his captors, his oh so gentle tormentors.
When those gloved fingers caught and tilted his head back, Gilbert did not have the time to protest, before his mouth was taken in a passionate kiss, an impatient tongue teasing at his lips, coaxing them open and all he could taste was sweetness, like cakes, and candies and he feared that maybe those lips belonged to Break. But those hands were fairly small to be Break’s sword calloused ones.
A second pair of lips joined his body, and went for a rather concealed place, his nape, to lay kisses, and he groaned softly in the other’s mouth, flushing dark and dearly wishing their hands would move, farther, to other places that brought more pleasure.
His body implored for a far better and all-encompassing feeling but everything was brought to a screeching halt when something silky wrapped down there and constricted almost painfully. Everything became hot white pleasure when a mouth, not exactly skilled, but enthusiastic nonetheless, wrapped around him and sucked deep and hard, and it was moist and hot and all too distracting.
But not distracted enough, to make him unaware of the fingers, slicked and warm, pressing almost inside, teasing and unfulfilling, yet there promising pleasurable delights.
And then his voice cracks, and that laughter rings again, smug and almost elated. And Gilbert has an inkling of a thought about who might be the one behind him, the one who so casually touches, almost accustomed to all of the imperfections of him.
But then who might be the one who is now kneeling in front of him, pleasuring him with a small mouth and loud lewd slurping and sucking sounds. Who could that be?
Blunt nails run over his outstretched arms, leaving behind what he believes are faintly red traces (a memento for tomorrow perhaps). And he shudders, because his skin is sensitive and that touch raises goose bumps and makes chills run over his spine, and with another set of nails digging on his back, Gilbert can only pray for luck and hope not to lose his mind in this all too pleasurable pain.
Then the fingers wiggling inside are no more, but they are replaced with unbearable heat, stretching him open and filling him to the brim, and when that gasp leaves the pair of lips resting just next to his ear, he knows he was right about his identity.
But every thought is shattered when that hot moist mouth is replaced with a tightly constricting fist and Gilbert curls his fingers in his palms, hissing and writhing wildly. And that fist is once again replaced, and he is suddenly buried in a tight heat, and a hand tugs his head lower, until his avid lips touch a yielding expanse of skin, in which he sinks his teeth, to muffle a scream. But his action draws a low cry from his victim and his hips move to thrust ruthlessly. And it’s glorious the fervour and the pure raw desire that they pile upon him. It suffocates him but most of all it gets him off, and when they both reach and bite on the sides of his neck, he arches and his body trembles uncontrollably and they breath hard and ragged and all that Gilbert wants is to curl up and sleep, for he had barely any sleep in days and these activities are quite strenuous on the body. But they still are going at it, his body almost limp in its bindings, and they still use him…
A splatter of liquid on the floor and the scream, so loud and high-pitched and unguarded makes him want the knowledge, who is he?
Another sound, this time quieter, a murmur of a name which strangely eludes his hearing and he pulls away, his intoxicating warmth leaving him cold and desolated.
Two arms wrap around his middle and a mouth captures his, a remembrance of their earlier activities.
When the lips reluctantly depart his, Gilbert barely had the time to take a gulp of oxygen, before he was dragged into another kiss, a hard, bruising kiss, possessive and violent. A moan escaped his throat and then the mouth retreated. Shivers passed through him when the cold metal of a blade pressed on his skin and cut the ropes.
With trembling fingers Gilbert removed the scarf, only to be met with a sight he could never believe possible.
Oz, lying in Vincent’s arms, barely keeping his emerald eyes open, looking sated and smug… And Gilbert shook his head with a smile.