𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒔 & 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒔

Strong fingers curl around the underside of her jaw. Like the force of a roaring wind, he slams the Maia back into the white marble pillar of his halls and narrows his brows as she gasps and clammers at his wrist. Those soft, pink lips of her trembling as her violet eyes flutter. Just as they do whenever she is squirming beneath him.

His rebellious Maia.

The bane of his existence.

The object of his desire.

His lips meet hers in a heated sequence. A urgent yet painfully slow dance of teeth and tongue as he controls her as he should. As her superior and King. "I loathe you." He groans into her mouth as their bodies flush into one another and their forms melt as always.

"Manwë,"

Erulissë whines against his lips. Her mouth moulding with his as her tongue submits to his fervour.

It earns her a squeeze of his fingers around her throat and the choked splutter that she rewards him with has the Vala sighing in content.

"Say it correctly." He grunts.

She tries to suck in desperate breaths, yet she can do none of the sorts by his demanding kisses and the string of air that he pulls from her lungs at will. She cannot run. Cannot protest.

"My. . ." She struggles.

"Say it."

"My King." Her desperate gasp sounds as his hips press into hers.

Manwë's lips quirk and his eyes flicker as he presses his mouth to hers still in a series of controlling, demeaning kisses.

"That's it," he mutters, engulfing her with his larger form.

"That's it. . . My precious gift. . ."

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Subtly, Ruinë steals another glance. Erulissë's already fair features were amplified by the scenery of petals and glimmers of light. The smile on her lips almost brings a similar one to Ruinë's - yet she manages to suppress it in favour of her indifferent expression, albeit barely. 

"So,'' she breaks the minutes of silence. "What has you so giddy?"

The giggle that caresses her ears faintly tints Ruinë's pale face pink, but she quickly gains control of herself and turns the entirety of her attention onto her friend. 

"It is nothing, really.'' Erulissë brushes her off with that same smile that put even the heavens to shame. 

A flutter pricks at the fire Maia's heart and she arches a brow. Her own lips tip further upwards into a widening smile and for once, she decides to pry. "That so?'' She chuckles. "Oh come on, surely you can grace me with the reason of your joy? It seems more than usual.'' 

Erulissë spares another giggle and turns to her friend with shimmery violet eyes. "Well,'' she starts. 

I never should have asked. 

"Suppose you could say I have someone on my mind.'' 

The fluttering turns into a sharp plummet into the pit of Ruinë's stomach and despite her trying her utmost hardest, she cannot stop the furrow in her brows. Thankfully, Erulissë had long since turned back to her almost-finished flower crown, obliviously leaving the other Maia to simply gaze at her with a cacophony of emotions. 

There is a stretch of silence. A long, almost uncomfortable one as Ruinë contemplates the ache spreading throughout her chest. 

Is that normal?

Why does it ache? 

She shakes the thought off. She tries to swallow the sudden thickness in her throat. She lowers her gaze back to her half-done, messy flower crown and attempts to bring her mind back to the serenity it was only just recently enjoying. 

Why is it hurting so much?

"Someone on your mind?" She curses herself for the newfound quietness of her voice. Thank Eru that the other Maia seems not to take notice. "Pray tell.'' 

"Ah, curious aren't we?" Erulissë gleams and shakes her head. "Just a Maia I have been getting to know as of late. I think you might have heard of him, actually.'' 

As Erulissë finishes her flower crown and goes on a lovesick ramble, Ruinë listens in silence. Her gaze never leaves the barely completed flower crown between her fingers. It is as though the very daisies mock her. As though the very petals laugh at her. 

It takes everything within her to maintain her usual indifferent expression and stop her ears from drooping. The happiness in Erulissë's voice does nothing but burn her throat. Sting her fëa. 

But she wills herself to listen nevertheless. 

As she raises her head in the slightest and peers at her closest friend, the woman who both made her heart flutter and crushed it into a thousand pieces, she still thinks to herself. 

She is so beautiful. 

Her gaze softens. 

Even when she loves someone else. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⊱· ❀ ·⊰

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Violet eyes are as sharp as the ice evident on her face. Smiling lips now curl into a contemptuous frown. 

Be it distaste,

Be it disgust,

Ruinë no longer can distinguish between the two. Her own expression lacks her indifference, despite desperately attempting to maintain it. Her magenta eyes shine with almost as much sorrow as they did all that time ago. On that fateful day. 

"Lissë,'' she risks, her gaze never leaving the face of her once closest friend. A relationship now soured by the ages and her own actions. 

The Maia still withholds the luxury of response from Ruinë and instead continues walking. She brushes past the other without so much a glance and steps on ahead. Leaving the woman dressed in white and sapphire. 

She knows that it will serve as nothing but to break her heart further, yet Ruinë still spares a glance over her shoulder. Solemnly watching the one who once held her heart and trust, leave her behind as those before have. As many will continue to. 

Her gaze lowers to a daisy greeting her from the ground. Mocking her. Taunting her. 

She is so beautiful. 

Leaning down, her fingers pluck at the delicate flower and bring it to her chest. 

Even if she hates me. 

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"P-Please. . ."

A slight groan leaves his lips as his head hangs back. His eyes glossy as he weeps for his subject. He couldn't help it. She felt so good. She was simply too beautiful. Even as she stared at him with such hate and malice. As her velvet walls squeezed around his cock.

"E-Erulissë — ngh!"

Her thumb on his nipple and rubbing so callously left him gasping for air. He, the Lord of the Winds, left breathless because of some Maia. His own subject.

"For the last time." Leaning over him, her usually gentle face scowls. "You call me Lissë. Or would you rather something else? Something more demeaning of your position right now?"

"I-I can't take it!" Manwë's whine resonates through his marble walls. His fingers curling into his palms as his wrists tug at the binds holding him down. "Let me touch you. Please," he gasps, fluttering his sapphire eyes at her.

"L-Let me touch you. . . Let me feel you ahnn ~"

His lips part and his eyes nearly roll back when her hips start grinding against his again. She's so small. So tight. She's practically sucking him in and sending him to ruin with rough touches from such soft hand.

Fingers coil around white hair and she yanks his head back, her eyes glaring down at his pathetic form. Her supposed king — here he lays. His pale, jade-like chest decorated in red claw marks. His neck wearing her bites and hickies with pride.

He is nothing in this moment.

He will forever be nothing to her.

And yet she wants him more.

"Pathetic excuse for a king." She spits, her fingers pinching and twisting at his nipple as her hips begin to rock faster. Forming an agonisingly slow rhythm that has Manwë seeing stars.

"You. . . " He breathes, trying to buck his hips faster — if only to feel her hand shoot down and claw at his skin. A warning. Which he promptly ignores. His hips piston upward, powerful and quick — fucking her back into an arching position and squelching her needy little cunt.

Erulissë cries out. It's her turn to splutter. But she quickly regains control and shoots her grip around his throat. Clamping down and hunching over him with such feral eyes.

"Y-You lost the bet, Súlimo." He speaks through clenched teeth, despite the pleasure flickering in her eyes. "I told you that you are my slut for the night."

"You are ruining me," he groaned out loudly, his head tossing back as he slows his hips down with much reluctance. "You. . . Oh just you wait. . ." He pants, face heated and brows furrowed. "When these bonds are off I will. . .ungh. . . ruin this tight little thing right in front of my maiar," he rasps. His hips piston a few more times, ramming right up into that tender spot as though to warn her.

"Oh you will scream for me. . ."

Erulissë has to bite down on her lower lip at his threat. Her hand clenches around his throat as her dark hair frames his face. She leans down, face a breath away from his.

"I'd love to see you try. . . You bastard." She chuckles, biting down on his lip and tearing through the sensitive skin. "But for now, you're mine for the evening."

She stares into his half-lidded eyes and no matter how many times she tells herself that she hates him — that she loathes Manwë Súlimo. She cannot deny their passion. Their fervent nights of strewn sheets and insults followed by numerous kisses.

Their kiss is like two stars colliding. Devastating. Ruinous. Teeth clattering, tongues twisting. She feels him tugging on his restraints — desperate to touch her and she laughs against his lips whilst mocking him by roaming her hands through his body. Showing him her control in this situation.

When she parts they are both gasping. Whispering each other's name as though it were a forbidden nectar on their tongues.

She arches her back once more and rides him as though he is nothing. As though he is not her king. And he takes it as though she isn't his subject. Their hips move in sync. Damaging. Bruising. Even their very touch burned with hate.

And even as her release tore through her and she says his name to the heavens — it's as though she is cursing it.

Oh, but he cares not. His slithered eyes watch her clench and squirt around his cock. Around the same man she claims to despise with her entire being.

He chuckles softly, his head limping back into the sheets as she claws at his chest again to get him to shut up.

"I hate you."

She reminds.

"You're beautiful."

He counters.

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"I'd say that my dwelling is far better than being the lapdog of Manwë, wouldn't you agree?" The grin he flashes leaves Lúilírë seeing red as he shoots out his hand. From his palm fires another blue array, sharp and cold like that of ice. Only to melt away in an instant when Vanimóre lazily wafts a hand and his own red aura clashes with the blue. 

"Damn,'' breathes the strategist, giving a brief, dry chuckle. "Have you missed me that much, Vanimóre? Why don't you just come quietly instead of fighting me like old times?"

"Oh, what's the issue with taking a trip down memory lane, for old time's sake? After all,'' The dark maia's eye glints and a prideful grin graces his lips. "It would be fun watching you grovel again, no?"

As though his restraint was snapped, Lúilírë rushes forward at the speed of lightning, stealing one of the many swords from the armoury's wall and engaging in a swift. Merciless stand-off with the other. 

Left, right, duck, dodge. Vanimóre expertly evades. Hands behind his back and gleaming with that damn cocky smile. Air rushes past his head. Metal tool. Shards of ice clash onto his walls. Still, he avoids each hit of the sword. Every strike of blue sent his way. 

"Losing your touch aren't you?"

"And yet you're the one evading. Scared?"

"Of you?'' Vanimóre croons, spinning behind the maia and dodging the flash of azure sent to his head. His boot makes contact with Lúilírë's back. Knocking him forward and erupting a grunt. "Now, how could I fear my dear old bastard peacock? 'specially when he now fights like a pigeon.''

Lúilírë gracefully recovers, and metal clammers against the ground. Flutters of white fill the air and in his grasp are his pale war fans. "As much as I'd love to play around with you, you've grown to bore me as of late.'' His icy stare clear as day. Yet it brings nothing but an amused look to the other's face.

"Ah, so we're getting serious ~ " from behind red robes a similar weapon appears and Vanimóre pointedly wafts his own fan towards himself in an elegant display. One crimson in colour and adorned in silver, yet deadly nonetheless. 

"I have one too. Why not learn a new trick?"

"Bastard,'' is all Lúilírë seethes, eyes glinting with frustration as he rushes forward once more. Crimson and sapphire clash and merge. Flashes of those colours emanate throughout the room as the two commence their feud. Matching one another beat for beat. A symphony both knew the like the back of their hand. A dance that neither missed a step of.

For every attack, a dodge was already calculated. Air rushes past their ears. Clammers of the weapons around them that hit the floor. Clattering of fans colliding. Orchestrating a song that has not been sung for ages. Blue and red paint the chamber. Blurs of figures mixing with their intense song of fëa. 

"And here I thought you'd bring me some fun!" Vanimóre howls with laughter, carelessly stepping through the mess of his armoury. Avoiding the slew of sharp strikes sent his way. 

"Likewise. Seems you've barely improved.''

"Pha! Says the one who still cannot wield a sword.'' 

"Perhaps I'll show you how talented I've become when I shove it up your -''

"Vanimóre?"

The maia in question falters in step, barely evading the attack of ice sent his way as his eyes dart to the entrance of the chamber. Thankfully, the familiar voice throws Lúilírë off as well. Who nearly drops his fans altogether and stares at the figure with eyes agape. 

Standing at the entrance was a tall man, adorned in elegant ebony robes weaved by only the finest material and embroidered with crimson jewels. Dark hair frames his face, perfectly set upon his shoulders and let loose, extending past his waist. In those raven locks are small flowers braided in. His neck and wrists are also graced with jewellery, crimson and silver like that on his robes. Yet what was most eye-catching was the silver band around his ring finger.

"Darling,'' 

Vanimóre calls out, voice null of all previous venomous amusement. It sends chills down Lúilírë's spine. And for a moment he questions whether his eyes deceive him. Leading his lips to part and question in breathless disbelief.

"Navëquen?"

The nervous look given to him by the new presence tells him that his assumption was correct and he freezes in spot. Whether by his own will or the circling of red aura abruptly tightening around his very being as Vanimóre drops his facade and ends the game of cat and mouse. 

"Did I wake you?" He asks in a hushed voice, the back of his hand caressing his lover's face who leans in all too eagerly. "I heard the noise and grew worried, doll,'' Navëquen murmurs softly. "I thought that there might have been another upheaval. . . you never tell me when these things happen after all.'' The other chuckles, "only because I would rather my prince not stressing his hairs grey.'' His pale lips brush against Navëquen's temple who cannot help but faintly smile.

This only further surprises Lúilírë who finally gains sense and struggles in his new bounds. What was the use of Vanimóre indulging the fight if his power levels now evidently over-exceeded Lúilírë's? The maia doesn't bother asking, as that would admit his own weakness. Instead he hones all of his attention on the couple, his gaze brimming with disbelief. Had their relationship not gone sour aeons ago? Had Vanimóre not lost Navëquen's trust completely? Furthermore, had Navëquen not gone missing after he was sent on a mission on behalf of the Doomsman all that time - 

His eyes snap open wider as realisation turns his blood cold. Even so, despite this affectionate display before him and all the arrows pointing towards the obvious answer, Lúilírë still clears his throat to gain their attention. And dares to ask with a shaky voice,

"What. . . are you doing here?"

Navëquen eyes the maia, his expression unreadable for but a moment. Soon his fingers curl into Vanimóre's robes, who instinctively loops arms around his waist. With a frown on his lips and a newfound coldness in his voice, he replies,

"What do you think?"

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"Lómindil. . .'' the other murmurs, ears drooping with bashfulness before he pushes at the maia's shoulder playfully and advances forward. "Fine then,'' he spins after walking a decent distance and unsheaths his sword that always rested on hip. Marvelling at the gleam it reflects from the morning sun. As though it was kissed by the grace of dawn itself. The blade is held with such care yet pride as well as it points towards its new target. 

"On guard.'' 

Vanimóre's eye lights up and a wider grin befalls his lips. His whistle is greeted by slicing through the air and his own blade soon appears in view. Hovering in front of him with its slithered red eye. With a waft of his hand, it eagerly throws its handle into his palm. 

"Let's see what you've got.'' 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ      ⊱· ❀ ·⊰

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"Fuck. . .''

Damn, when was the last time his opponent actually knocked him down? Was it his sister? That blasted peacock?

Vanimóre doesn't bother thinking. The pain swelling around his legs and sides left him coughing out spit as he attempts to push himself up onto his knees.

"I told you it would have been a good idea to practice first - your muscles are probably unaccustomed. . . I really was going easy,'' Amaurë frowns and crouches to the other. Gently aiding him into a sitting position. 

'That was going easy?' Vanimóre feels a pang to his pride. Somewhere along the sparring match he quickly started giving his all. But it turns out that those adorably cute features and gentle smiles were deceptive. Whatever he just fought was a beast. 

"Are you hurt?" The prince asks, voice swarming with guilt as he presses the back of his palm to a pale cheek. Biting down his pain, Vanimóre forces a grin in favour of assuring the younger. "I'll be fine. Unless you'd like to give me some compensation?" He croons, craning his face in and feeling his pride recover at the flustered look on Amaurë's face. 

"Compensation. . ?''

"So cruel of you, my Prince. Won't you kiss it better? This poor maia is oh so wounded after fighting such a valiant warrior,'' he whines dramatically, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. Only to chuckle when Amaurë wastes no time in peppering kisses all over his face. 

That, however, does not stop Vanimóre from making a brisk mental note. 

'Avoid the sparring. Lest I want my ass handed back to me again.'

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♡. — 𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒖𝒓𝒆 

❀˙ ˖ He is submissive and a bottom. His preferences rarely change, but if his parter truly wants him to switch then he wouldn't mind taking the lead a few times. He has a need to please you 

❀˙ ˖ On the topic of his constant desire to please you, that also means that he is all about foreplay. While he might be the submissive one when it comes to actual sex, it doesn't mean that he does not delight in watching you squirm and gasp in pleasure. If he gets those reactions out of you, he knows that you feel good, and is thus turned on as well 

❀˙ ˖ He has a thing for both slow and soft sex as well as rough and passionate. It simply depends on your mood

❀˙ ˖ Favourite positions include. . . for fem.body reader: you riding him, most preferably facing him so that he can shower you in kisses and whine into your chest about how good you feel. for male. body reader: prone-boning, riding you or being pressed against some random piece of furniture. He enjoys the feeling of being caged 

❀˙ ˖ Has odaxelagnia, a kink for being bitten. On that note, Amaurë is a bit of a masochist. The feel of you marking him up is beyond delightful for him. And he wears each and every one of your marks with pride 

❀˙ ˖ The prince is a damn tease. He's always trying to tempt you. One of his favourite sights is seeing you all flustered in public. On one occasion during a gala, he even palmed you under the table. He might seem innocent but his shamelessness knows no bounds. He loves making you lose composure and drag him off to some empty hallway. Only to bat his eyelashes at you. "Hmm? What's wrong? Is something the matter, my love?" 

❀˙ ˖ On that note, he is also perfectly fine with public sex. As long as you both don't get caught. Then again, the thrill of someone finding you both turns him on greatly

❀˙ ˖ If it wasn't obvious with some of the previous points, Amaurë can be a bit of a brat. Working on your nerves so that you can put him in his place. He always backs off immediately, making it seem like he's just the submissive little prince. He keeps piling onto the list until you snap 

❀˙ ˖ Bondage is another kink that he is into. But he certainly loves when you get creative with it. When you tied his wrists with his training bandages, the poor Vala hit his climax oh so quickly, purely from excitement 

❀˙ ˖ He enjoys partaking in dom/sub dynamics. As the Prince of Valinor, it certainly can be quite stressful with all the responsibilities that he carries. As such, he wants to serve you in bed. Bending to your every command and even referring to you by a title if that's what you fancy. To be on his knees before you, serving you in every way you demand it - he could want nothing more

❀˙ ˖ Overstimulate him, please. It ties into the previous point and makes him feel so helpless in your hands. Another thing that turns him on a lot 

❀˙ ˖ He's a whiney little thing in bed. He really does try to keep quiet, but the truth is that he's quite loud - especially when you're pleasuring him oh so intensely

❀˙ ˖ Wants you to be mean to him sometimes. But if you are going to degrade him, always make sure to balance it with some praise as well. Amaurë's favourite is sugar-coated degradation

❀˙ ˖ He also has a bit of a thing for roleplay. Coming up with random and creative scenarios is always so fun for him. Especially the scandalous ones 

❀˙ ˖ Body worship is such a big thing on his end. At times he simply kisses down your body, making sure not to miss any scars, birthmarks or so on. Calling you beautiful and by so many endearments as he worships every inch of you

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

  ♡. — 𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆

❀˙ ˖ He is dominant and a top by nature. Vanimóre gets off on the idea of being in control of your body and pleasure, thus these are his preferences. He doesn't deviate from them ( there is only one exception to this )

❀˙ ˖ With that being said, it's a bit obvious that he has a bit of an authority kink. Whether pre-corruption or not, he always adores it when you refer to him by titles. "General" and ''Sir'' to name a few 

❀˙ ˖ Often has rough sex with you, but damn is it passionate. He can get a bit messy. Touching, twisting and groping your body as much as he can, kissing your breath away and having messy little make-out sessions with you. Everything about him is intense. However, on some rare occasions, you can score some lazy or even soft sex with him. Especially in the mornings 

❀˙ ˖ Favourite positions include: Having you ride him, bending you over some random piece of furniture, wall-sex where he can hoist you up and trap you with his body, fucking you from behind while you're on your knees with your head buried into the pillow. Anything that allows him total control of your body

❀˙ ˖ So much orgasm control. This can bleed out into orgasm denial and overstimulation. The more you beg him to cum, the more he denies you. Mocking and teasing, making it seem like he'll let you release only to snatch it away from you cruelly. And when he finally lets you cum? He'll do so again, and again, and again. Until you're begging him for a break. And at that point he'll simply mutter to your ear: "Oh? But I thought you wanted to cum? Go on then, dollface, cum for me.'' 

❀˙ ˖ Biting and marking kink, Vanimóre has a thing for marking you up. His fangs do an especially good job with this. However, he will admit that he gets a bit turned on when you're biting into his neck or shoulder because of how much pleasure you're in. Or when you playfully try to return the favour 

❀˙ ˖ A brat tamer, but he's a sly one. He'll let you act out, piling up all your little incidents in a mental list. And when he finally strikes, he'll punish you in bulk for each and every one of them. It's always when you least expect it, and he laughs at your expression each and every time 

❀˙ ˖ He can switch between degradation and praise. He loves calling you his poor little darling while you're spluttering from all the pleasure that he gives you. Crooning as he strokes your face, mimicking your whimpers with his own voice and talking to you with a feigned kindness 

❀˙ ˖ Vanimóre has a bit of an oral fixation. He could stay between your legs forever if you'd let him. Gripping your thighs and sending you to nirvana. He loves when you pull his hair and whimper about it being too much. It just makes him want to do more to you 

❀˙ ˖ Enjoys tying you up during sex because he gets to see how helpless you look. He might even partake in shibari. Intricately tying you up oh so prettily and leaving you there with one of his newest trinkets and sex toys

❀˙ ˖ On that note, he has an entire arsenal of sex toys to his disposal. As you probably are now aware, he adores overstimulating you. And what better way to do that than overwhelm each and every part of you? He's an inventor by nature, so he's always coming up with a new gadget for you to try out 

❀˙ ˖ He also doesn't mind public sex. On multiple occasions, he's dragged you off to some empty room and stuck his hand down your robes. Or pushed them away and fucked you just like that. Another thing that he quite loves is semi-clothed sex

❀˙ ˖ Somnophilia is another kink that he quite likes. If it's something you're into, expect to wake up to his head between your legs, or his fingers knuckle-deep within you. On some occasions you have even woken up to his cock buried within you as he desperately ruts against your hips 

❀˙ ˖ He's a loud little bastard in bed. Even though he is topping, he is not afraid to let you hear his moans, gasps, even whimpers. He wants you to know how good you feel. He's also riddled with dirty talk 

❀˙ ˖ It is a bit obvious by now but Vanimóre is a sadist and would be thrilled if you had a bit of masochism within you

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The older carries her over to a seating, placing her in his lap and observing her knee. "Does it hurt?"

"Yes!" She sobs. "P-Please help. It hurts," rubbing her teary eyes with her little balled up fist, she looks at him with wide doe eyes.

Vanimóre takes the time to rub her back in gentle circles, seeking to calm down the little Maia. His free hand opens his fingers before her eyes. Within the palm of his hand flutters a small white butterfly. Almost translucent and glittering. It flies out of his hand, followed by another, and another — until a few of those fluttering wonders are dazzling Erulissë. Completely taking her mind off of the pain swelling her knee.

They fly around her. One landing on her nose whilst another brushes her cheek. As though comforting the little Erulissë.

"Better?" He asks, voice soft as he pushes some of her dark hair away from face. A smile rising to his lips when he sees her giggle and nod eagerly.

However, her smile soon falters and she looks at her brother with a small pout.

"What's wrong now poppy?" Vanimóre croons, poking her button nose gently and chuckling as she scrunches it. "When is big brother going to kiss the hurt?" She huffs, folding her arms and fluffing her wings. As though his inaction was the greatest offense in all of the timeless halls.

Vanimóre, placing a hand over his heart and gives her a silly smile. "Oh, forgive me for such a bad deed." With that, he presses a kiss to his two fingers before gently ghosting them over her knee. "Happiness?"

Her wide smile returns and she throws her arms around his neck. "Big brother is always the best. Always kisses the hurts away."

"And I always will."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"H-Help me. . ."

Oh, she had much more than just busted knees and a crying face. Blood stained her pink and white robes. Wounds littered her perfect skin — as she sits, strung from the chains that hold her wrists.

"Big brother. . . It h-hurts,"

Erulissë dares to look up at those once comforting crimson hues that stare down at her. Searching for the softness that was held for her once upon a time ago. "Please. . . P-Please help me. . ."

But he gives no response. His gaze as cruel and cold as ever.

"This has nothing to do with me."

Is all he says, turning from the weeping Maia. Her cries strike something within him. A pluck at a string in the heart he thought had turned black long ago.

"Y-You promised. . ." She whispers, her head hanging. "You promised. . . Th-That you would always take away the hurt. . ."

Vanimóre halts for a moment. Staring ahead aimlessly. His eye shuts. He cannot allow for weakness. Not again.

"You," he starts, barely casting his sister a glance over his shoulder. Shoving down each voice that screamed at him. Each urge to reach out and snap those chains. To fulfill the promise he made all those aeons ago.

Instead, his voice is null. Cruel like the world he once protected her from.

"Are calling for the wrong person."

"Fuck. . ."

"What? Can't take it?" He breathes out heat. "Pathetic."

A startled cry leaves him at the abrupt slam against such a sensitive bundle of nerves. His head hangs, dark hair sticking to the pillow as his nails dig deeper into the back of the other's neck. "V-Van. . ."

"Says the o-one. . . Sobbing on my cock. . . Ahn," grabbing onto his boyfriend's soft thigh with his large hand, Vanimóre's free arm loops around his middle and hoists him up against his heated form. He wasted no more time and immediately begins slapping his hips against Navëquen's, gasping at the intoxicating feel of being inside of him.

Helplessly, Navëquen keeps his arms hooked around the Maia's neck and whimpers at the harsh pace. Every thrust of his lover's cock tore through him, urging him to arch his back and cry out at the unquenchable heat.

"V-Van. . . Van," he whimpers, parting his swollen lips that barely brush against his lover's.

"I know, sweet thing." The other rasps, pressing butterfly kisses to his open mouth as he steers his thrusts faster. Harder. Prompting the headboard to repeatedly hit their bedroom wall. The cacophony of sounds left little to the imagination. Wet noises, gasps, moans, even cries. It was obvious what both Maiar were up to.

"How many times do I tell you. . .mmn, to listen to me?" Navëquen manages through bated breaths and a pink face. "I-If it wasn't for you and your stupid flowers, we wouldn't. . . hah — b-be here. . ."

"This is why you. . . can't have nice things." Vanimóre clicks his tongue, forcing his lover's hips into the sheets and fucking him into the very mattress. The pace draws mewl from Navëquen as his little hole clenches around the other's cock altogether.

"N-Nghh fuck," whimpers Vanimóre, his body giving out and collapsing into the Maia's. With spluttered, pathetic moans, he rapidly picks up his pace. Grabbing onto his boyfriend's cock and stroking, just as Navëquen buried his face into Vanimóre's chest and wraps his lips around his pierced nipple.

"Fuck, N-Navëquen," Vanimóre gasps again, his head tossing back. He cares not for the creaking of the wood. Only his lover's touch. His clenching hole that has him seeing stars. And his beautiful, sinful noises that are prettier than any symphony an ainu could muster.

"Close. . ." Navëquen whines, thrashing in the other's hold. His hips bucking against not only his cock, but up into the hand that strokes him relentlessly. He parts for a second, swirling his tongue around Vanimóre's perked nipple and groaning all the whole. "I'm so close. . . D-Don't stop. . ."

Vanimóre positions himself so that his face is a mere inch from the Maia's. Both gasping, as though searching for air in each other. "I kn-know, darling," he grunts, pressing messy kisses to his kisses to his mouth once more. "M-Me too. . . Damnit, you're so perfect." His indulgent, loud moan fills the air and he couldn't give a damn of how pitiful he looks. He collapses into his lover, pressing their lips together.

Their tongues wrestle, hands claw, as though they attempted to steal the very air from one another as they both approached the devastating high that left both of their knees shaking.

"V-Vani. . .móre, I c-can't," Navëquen cries against his lips, tightening his hold on the dark hair between his fingers. "Cum for me. . ." Is all the other can gasp. His thrusts become near-torturous, even for him.

With one last cry of each other's name, the two spasm. Navëquen staining Vanimóre's hand white and yanking him down into a messy kiss as Vanimóre lets out a deep, pathetic whimper against his lips. Shivering as his seed paints his lover's walls and squirts out of his trembling hole.

The two are reduced to quivering, pitiful messes. Clawing and whining into each other as they ride out their high out. Until the ecstasy crashes and they melt into each other's arms with ragged pants and teary eyes.

"Damnit. . ." Groans Navëquen, his forearm pressed onto his forehead. "I-It's still so hot. . ."

"I know," Vanimóre breathes, his eyes fluttering as he tightens his hold once more on the Maia's thighs. Only to have Navëquen's hand wrapped around his wrist. He gives a questioning look, only for his back to meet the soft sheets.

He almost whines when Navëquen removes himself off of his cock, his eyes just as needy. "Creeps, what are you —"

"It's my turn, doll." Navëquen replies. The sternness in his voice wavering with his own need and tears as he brings his wet cock against his lover's awaiting hole.

Sucking in a breath, Vanimóre gives no complaint. This time, his arms hook around Navëquen's neck — and the other grabs his thighs. With that, their lips crash again in a needy frenzy, eager to quell the insufferable heat.

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