but then there was a star danced—

Rating: Explicit Categories: Other Fandom: The Arcana (Visual Novel) Relationships: Julian Devorak/Sinclair (Apprentice) Characters: Julian Devorak, Sinclair (Apprentice) Summary:

Sinclair dresses Julian up to their liking. Then uses him to their liking.

Language: English Words: 2,442 Chapters: 1/1 Additional Notes: for @bloodlot‘s MC, who kills me every day

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His instinct is to gasp at the sudden cincture of his waist, clawing uselessly at the surface of the vanity, scraping flakes of paint beneath his nails. But the ingress of air is wrenched expeditiously from his lungs, scraping his throat raw as Sinclair jerks the laces of the corset taut and ties them with a quick hand. His thighs unravel, useless. Knees buckle beneath him, and Julian pitches further into the anchor of the vanity’s edge, holding himself up with a stubborn disgrace. His breaths come shallow as the stricture of the black brocade tightens further, leaving him nearly breathless by design.

Julian peers over the peak of his shoulder to watch Sinclair behind him, only to be met with the bunt of their forehead to his temple. A preamble to teeth that sink into the swell of his cheek, holding him in place as their hand sinuates around the length of his throat like a portent. A warning. A herald.

And when their lithe, purloiner’s fingers give a slow, indolent squeeze upon the column of his throat, perfectly poised to the points beneath his jaw, Julian’s breath hitches inelegantly, half between a sigh and surprise. But he melts with the obedience of a most delicate deliquescence, fitting himself against the length of the statuesque magician behind him, every curve and bend of his body conformed to them. As pliable, as yielding as sun-warmed clay.

He reaches behind to fist his slender fingers through heavy, snow-white hair, drawing them as close as he can, longing for the heat of that silken mouth at that delicate skin beneath the bell of his ear. But Sin wrenches his hand from where it knots artfully in their pale hair, and slams it down upon the surface of the vanity. “Hands on the table,” they instruct, their breath warm upon the shell of his ear. “And don’t move them until I say so.”