Author/Artist: Tad Coast
Rating: NC-17. Yaoi.
Author's Note: Vague spoilers for Saiyuki manga vol. 8
Previous Posts: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4
“What a focused expression.” He steps slowly as he thinks, as he observes his rabbit with careful eyes. A very predictable creature, which does save time on the search. Still, it is a concern that this particular habit remains unbroken. “Is something troubling you, my prince?”
“I am…” He pauses, studies the face etched in stone. He knows this person, says Mother in his mind, and wonders why the word seems to echo and yearn for some greater significance than a name. But her gaze is frozen, and offers nothing to him. “…hollow.”
“Oh dear. Does my poor rabbit feel empty inside?” Lips twist into a grin, silently laughing at this unconscious resistance. Such a stubborn thing, really. Yet there is a solution, simple, even enjoyable, because above all things, he is always, and proudly, a pervert. “You shouldn’t worry. That can be easily remedied.”
“Empty.” He closes his eyes, breathes in the concept as adept hands guide him forward. The pillar is cold against his newly-nude flesh, but it is the heat behind him that makes him shiver, makes him groan when slickened fingers stretch past muscle.
“Yes, Prince.” He murmurs the words along the tender nape of neck, tasting, teasing with his teeth. An impatient thrust, an unsatisfied moan, and he smiles, whispers when he pulls his hand away. “You remember muichimotsu, don’t you?”
He doesn’t answer yet, can’t yet because something thick and cruel is moving inside him, making him hurt and ache, and want, want so impossibly much. He grinds hard into it, into the rock he’s pinned against, and growls agony low in his throat.
“Tell me.” The rabbit’s flesh is so wonderfully tight when he takes it, when he takes everything with his hips and his hands that bruise where they grip. His moan, his dark laugh vibrates against rigid lines of clavicle, and he bites, stains his lips red before he says again, “Tell me all you know.”
And the prince does quickly, chants his mantra with fervent lips, prays hold nothing to the rhythm of skin striking skin, of thrusts that come faster, drive him harder onto stone that’s hot and wet against him, inside of him, burning and filling, and he’s there, devoured by it, perfect and complete and holy, nothing.
He lets his breathing calm, his mind collect before he pulls away. His pet still leans against the pillar, innocence presumably slowing his recovery. He finds it amusing to watch the rabbit slowly discover the sticky mess on the stone, to see fingers sliding with childlike curiosity through it, to observe his expression as he decides what to make of it.
“I am empty. I hold…nothing.”
“Hmm…" He smiles around a cigarette and lights it, takes a long drag before he answers. “Yes, that sounds accurate. Does that bother you?”
He pauses, studies the face etched in stone. He knows this person, says Mother in his mind…
…and turns away.