A/N: Ok, yes, yes, I know it was "complete" a long time ago...but I decided to write more. This chapter, heads up, is definitely rated M.




Shwoop, tap-tap, clatter—

Shoes and socks joined shirts and ties in a heap on the floor, and the plush, queen-sized bed dipped under the weight of one body—two. Domovoi's belt opened with a clink under Artemis's practiced fingers, and the bodyguard groaned. Lead by the front of his pants down, onto the mattress, on top of his charge, he readily accepted the offer of sweet, pliable lips, and when sure fingers swept low, shamelessly tracing the line of his arousal through a now uncomfortably tight barrier, Domovoi gave a full-body shudder. Artemis's half-moan was dizzying.

Did Artemis just lick his lips?

Domovoi opened his mouth, but another damp kiss cut him off before words formed, and as Artemis's lips melted under his, parting eagerly for his questing tongue, Domovoi decided to forgive the silencing technique.

In light of twining, rubbing tongues and humid, mingled pants, the pop and zip of his remaining lower garments became background noise—at least, until the breathy command of "Over," accompanied a gentle push to the chest, Artemis's palm urging him over, onto his back on the mattress, and, though mildly surprised, Domovoi complied. His heart gave a stuttered thud when Artemis followed, slinging a long, still-clothed leg over his waist as they went and effectively straddling him on the landing.

But good heavens if he wasn't beautiful.

From the pillow, Domovoi's eyes raked up his charge's body. From the long, spindly fingers currently splayed out across his stomach, up his arms to ink black hair spilled loosely over pearl white shoulders, flushed pink cheeks and darkened, parted lips. Time had not changed Artemis's exercise habits, but mature male hormones alone had added a certain amount of definition to his otherwise light build, resulting in a sleek, lean body of flat angles and delicate, understated muscle tone. When Domovoi reached his face, keen, midnight and hazel eyes returned his gaze from under a thick veil of lashes, lusty and glazed.

"Someone," said Artemis matter-of-factly, "ought to sculpt you." He traced a curious line across the plane of Domovoi's stomach, outlining sharp contours of muscle, skimming ridges and valleys as if committing them to memory and leaving heat strokes in his wake. "You're breathtaking, did you know?"

Artemis utilized the brief moment of speechlessness that followed to slide down, settle himself between Domovoi's knees, and only then, when Artemis dipped his head, dark hair dropping like a curtain around the sides of his face and hot breath curling over the center of Domovoi's arousal, did it become patently obvious why they had changed positions.

It had been so long since he last blushed, at first Domovoi almost didn't recognize the sensation, but, since it seemed that every ounce of blood not in his cheeks had immediately pooled elsewhere—namely, that place now insanely close to Artemis's dark, parted lips—there was little left over to supply his brain with oxygen, let alone thinking capacity. Thus, already at a disadvantage, the objection he felt obliged to make rather quickly disintegrated into something of a short, guttural, and largely indistinguishable attempt at his employer's name when Artemis closed the distance.


"Hm?" The single-syllable response was heat and vibration, and Domovoi swallowed a groan. There was still cloth between them, dammit! His head fell back heavily into the too-soft pillows below.

"You don't…" he began through grit teeth, "have to-"

"Nor did I have to kiss you," interrupted Artemis candidly, speaking with the unhesitating alacrity of someone long anticipating and already all-too-eager to brush off the objection, "however, as I understand it…" It was amazing what two lips in the right place could do to one's concentration, tracing up the length of his clothed erection and sending colors to his brain like hormones were on blue-light special, "…consensual sex is not so much about fulfilling pre-determined requirements…as it is about the mutual satisfaction of all parties involved, and at the moment…" Artemis's heterochromatic gaze flicked up, locking with his own. "I would very much like to swallow you whole." Everything in Domovoi that identified him as healthy, sexually capable male specimen agreed—wholeheartedly. He swallowed thickly. Wasn't there some sort of unspoken rule about filthy rich aristocrats not giving head? "So, unless you have any genuine protests…?"

Then again, Artemis never really was much into rules…

Artemis took his silence as a go and smiled, a rather smug murmur of, "I thought not," immediately preceded the timely disappearance of all remaining clothes on Domovoi's body. When Artemis dipped his head, pink tongue laving the length of him and then curling to draw him expertly between his lips and—well, suffice to say Domovoi was very grateful only Artemis was present to witness the sound he made. How Artemis managed to smirk—and look arrogant—with a cock halfway down his throat, was leagues beyond Domovoi's realm of comprehension. Maybe he'd contemplate it later—when Artemis wasn't—mercy—doing that with his tongue, twitching and rolling, and then pursing his lips and suckling and—?

Domovoi buried his head back again with a groan, too dizzied to care that he probably came out sounding like some hormone-heady teenager with embarrassingly virgin-esque sensitivity because, damn it all, he hadn't had sex in over twenty-four years, and surely that granted him some sort of leeway in the 'extra-sensitive' department, right? Not to mention, Artemis didn't seem to be practicing.

Perhaps a little too quickly, Domovoi crushed that train of thought.

Knuckles going white in the coverlet, he was not going to think about the 'where's, 'when's, and 'with who's of how his charge might have accumulated cock-sucking experience. In fact, he assured himself in a rather pathetically unconvincing attempt to sooth the sudden, irate and irrational red-eyed beast of raging jealousy, it was totally possible that Artemis had never done this before at all. He just instinctively knew how to curl his tongue and suction his cheeks, tilt his head and vary the pressure as he slid down—slowly—giving a hum for extra vibration as he took inch by torturous inch into that wet, beautiful mouth.

Right. Artemis Fowl was just born unlawfully good at giving head. Sure. That was plausible.



The thought of someone else's lips on Artemis's had never failed to give Domovoi an itchy trigger finger—never—and anything beyond that… A feral growl escaped of its own accord, and without thinking, his hand snatched out, locking into Artemis's hair and twining—possessive. Artemis's moan enveloped him, sinking to his bones and he shuddered, watching with a half-lidded gaze as Artemis's eyes flicked up, long lashes low over a lust-laden stare and dark lips curled around him like the candy he still swore to hate.

It was the most erotic thing Domovoi had ever seen.

At least until—holding his gaze steady—Artemis lifted his head, moving gradually up, up, 'til he held only the tip, just trapped between his lips, and then proceeded to go back down—and down, and down. At some point, Domovoi lost track of how far exactly, vision blurring and stars taking over as the miniscule amount of remaining focus within him funneled into trying to re-teach his throat and lungs to cooperate, because of all the things Fowls absolutely positively did not do—like bed their butlers and give blow-jobs—deep-throating was definitely at the top of the list.

Except that that was exactly what Artemis was doing. And, if the fact that he still had yet to gag was any indication, it seemed that he knew what he was doing, too.

Domovoi swallowed an undignified noise, screwing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth not to buck into the suction of Artemis's mouth—and throat—god—and his choked groan of "Artemis…" was gravelly and breathless.

He needed a new list of absolutes.

All in all, it was an egregiously short period of time before Domovoi found himself tugging up at the loose locks below, shaking his head with a hoarse growl of, "Up, up, up," as familiar, coiling heat pooled in his gut, tightening in on itself, and he shook with the effort to force it back. "Ahfuck, mercy," he hissed, "Artemisifyoudon'twanttoswallow…" and Artemis paused—looked up. Domovoi wasn't quite sure if he whimpered—and he sincerely hoped he didn't—but he wouldn't have been surprised, and—not a moment too soon, Artemis relinquished his mouthful. Half the bones in Domovoi's body liquidated with his exhale.

"How's your recovery time?"

Somehow, someway—maybe at some point later on when he could breathe, Domovoi vowed to repay his young master that smugness. For now, though, "I…" his panted words came only with great effort through the dizzying, disappearing promise of orgasm, "have not done this…since before you were born…"

Artemis's eyebrows twitched up, momentarily thrown, but then it quickly dawned that yes, actually, that did make perfect sense, and at that point the corner of his mouth moved up as well, taking on an amused half-smirk-smile that looked—edible. "Well, then," he said, proceeding on all fours up the bed like a cat until he hovered, neatly aligned over Domovoi's prone figure, "it would seem that we have a lot of catching up to do, wouldn't it?"

And there it was. A thinly coded promise of not one but many nights to come, where they fell together not in ephemeral surrender to a moment of weakness but in a welcome and familiar ritual, and Domovoi's heart gave something starkly akin to a flutter.

When he reached out, Artemis's cheek slid soft as water under his fingertips, and eyes all too capable of frigid realism warmed a fraction, something cold melting back like the last frost before spring, and the sharp, potent lust there softening for a moment into something else altogether—then, as if sensing the loss of some vital cover, Artemis darted forward, shutting his eyes and pressing their lips, and for the moment, Domovoi let it go. He let his fingers tangle in long locks damp with sweat and pretended not to notice the leafy tremble Artemis tried to hide. He let their lips catch and meld, and tried not to read too deeply into the way Artemis's fingers, too, found his face and held, timid and needy and impossibly tender all at once. And he wanted to ask for that promise in words. Artemis's words. Real and voiced in earnest as opposed to scrolled unspoken between the lines. But even he wasn't that brave—not yet.

So, he let his hand slide down Artemis's back instead, dragging the slim, lean body to him and drawing out another, different kind of shiver. He committing that long, smooth stretch of skin to memory and relished in soft, heady pants that melded into their kisses. When his hand met the waistband of Artemis's pants, he grunted shortly.

"You," He gave Artemis's lower lip a gentle nip for emphasis, "are overdressed," he muttered gruffly, and against his lips, Artemis smiled.

"Quite," came the quiet reply, and one butterfly kiss later, Artemis sat up, shoving hair aside carelessly before leaning back and reaching down—but Domovoi caught his hand at the clasp.

"No, wait," he murmured, following Artemis to a sitting position and momentarily earning himself a lapful of startled genius, "let me…" and another kiss muffled the first sound Artemis made as Domovoi's hand nudged his aside, taking responsibility upon himself to unfasten and unzip. When his lips brushed curiously downwards, tracing up a smooth, sweeping jaw line and then catching on a free dangling earlobe, Artemis breath trembled beautifully.

"Domovoi…" His voice held an earthy tremor that swept like a promise of thunder on the breeze under Domovoi's skin, throbbing in his pulse, and stoking up his heart rate. He growled lowly, trapping that earlobe in his teeth and tugging—just enough to make Artemis writhe—and the pant of, "Ahfuck, I want…" spilled out in a tangled rush, though what exactly Artemis wanted remained indefinitely unclear, lost to a choked groan and another softer, more tenor sound that he buried vainly in the curve of Domovoi's neck as Domovoi's tongue curved up the shell of his ear, and "D'arvit, Domovoi…" came out thick and heady—music and adrenaline and potently addictive to Domovoi's ears.

Securing one hand on Artemis's hip, he took a full grip of now-loose cloth with the other, dragging pants and boxers alike down low on Artemis's thighs. When his palm made first naked contact there, Artemis's hiss sank into his shoulder, slim body arching into the press and long fingers tightened around his neck.

"We need-" began Domovoi.

"-left pocket," finished Artemis, barely more than a pant, but Domovoi obliged, and, sure enough—lubricant.

Domovoi frowned as a thought dawned. "Artemis, were you planning-" A finger touched his lips.

"I," said Artemis succinctly, "always plan. However," His contradiction cut off Domovoi's next interjection, "the short answer is that no, the lubricant you are now holding was not, in fact, planted there tonight with the sole intention of seducing you and riding you as if intercourse were going rapidly out of fashion." Domovoi—mature, hardened, and experienced man that he was—blushed crimson. "I've taken to…carrying it around with me as of late. It's proved useful on occasion."

Apparently, Domovoi's opinion of that showed instantly, because-

"And no, I am not giving you any addresses," said Artemis, sounding infuriatingly amused.

"Hn," grunted Domovoi, twisting the cap off with his thumb and mentally fanning through a list of the most painful death maneuvers taught to the aspiring bodyguards of his class, "and if I promised to kill them…reasonably quickly?"

Artemis smirked. "Interesting enunciation on 'reasonably,'" he observed, leaning in with a pleased hum as Domovoi caught the smirk in a kiss. "Possibly," he conceded when they withdrew, "if you behave yourself."

A quiet "Hmph," mingled with a sharp inhale when Domovoi's damp fingers made first contact low on Artemis's back. "Always, sir," he replied.

Yet, for someone who 'put lubricant to use,' Artemis was impossibly tight, and when his grip tensed on contact, Domovoi paused immediately. "Artemis," he began warily, "are you-"

"Rule number one," Artemis buried his voice in the crook of Domovoi's neck and shoulder, "I am sure. Don't ask."

Domovoi shut his eyes, gave his young master a short pause to breathe, and then, slowly, nodded. "Of course," he agreed. Instead of proceeding immediately, however, he drew his spare hand up, circling Artemis's back, and dipped his head, brushing past damp locks to kiss jaw-line, neck, and shoulder. He waited, judging Artemis's tension with practiced patience until he relaxed. Only then did he move again, and slowly.

Gradually, Artemis's body took to it, stretching and adjusting, then finally moving to Domovoi's pace. When Artemis's breath was ragged against his shoulder, fingers tight and body rocking, Domovoi paused once more, earning himself a muted whimper of protest.


"You might have warned me," murmured Domovoi with a faint hint of reprimand, "that you had never done this before…"

Artemis gave a shuddered exhale. "It wouldn't have been entirely true, even if I had…and I saw no logic in giving you any further reason to hesitate."

Domovoi grunted. "Perhaps so I wouldn't hurt you?"

"But you didn't," said Artemis, face flush as he lifted it and words breathless, but sure. "You never have…and I trust you not to start now."

"You trust me more than I do," muttered Domovoi, but he let the issue rest; it rarely paid to argue with Artemis Fowl. Instead, he shifted their positions once more, lowering his charge gently back to the sheets, and then aiding with the removal of the last of Artemis's garments. Only when the last piece finally joined the rest on the hardwood did Domovoi allow himself pause—and the result well deserved it.

Rich, plush silk swallowed up long angles of smooth ivory, ethereal moonbeams spilling over Artemis's bared chest like caesious watercolor on snow. Then, Artemis quirked an eyebrow.

"Enjoying the view?"

Domovoi dipped his head, a vaguely confirmatory "Hn," escaping before he caught Artemis's lips again, relishing in the feel of a racing heart that had nothing to do panic or fear for his charge's life as their chests slid together, uninterrupted by anything but skin and sweat. "Yes, actually," he answered when he pulled back, and then asked, "How do you want…?"

Artemis spread his legs a fraction wider, drawing his knees up slightly and catching a hand behind Domovoi's neck. Domovoi took the hint.

"If-" he began.

"I'll tell you," promised Artemis. Then, on a softer note, "Don't worry, you won't break me…"

And, of course, he didn't.

A muffling kiss swallowed the first whimper, and another the moan that followed, but soon soft, sharp inhales drew out into long, heavy gasps, and concepts of pain and restraint fell back like loose shackles turned to dust. And maybe there would be other opportunities, or maybe everything would fall apart come morning, but neither concept stopped Domovoi from taking his time—savoring every twitch of expression like a snapshot and every buckle and arch like a stolen memory, mapping Artemis's body like a treasure code and mentally tallying what made his eyes shut, his breath catch, and his toes curl. He waited until Artemis shook with want and trembled with exhaustion, too far gone to remember not to beg and then too breathless to scream when he came, and only then did Domovoi bury his own release.

When he slumped to the side and tugged gently, Artemis readily curled back, fitting into the curve of his body like the second half of a two-piece puzzle, and Domovoi smiled, dropping his head to rest and shutting his eyes with the press of Artemis's hair on his nose and cheek. Tomorrow, there would be explaining to do, but for now, it could wait. For now, this was enough.


The break of the wave hit, flattened out and danced up the sand. From behind, Domovoi watched it skitter up, just far enough tickle over his master's toes—bare in the white sand—before receding once more.

After several moments of unacknowledged silence, he said, "Petrov called back," letting the mention of their most recent client alert the other to his approach, though it felt more like a comment on the weather than anything else. Artemis gave a neutral nod, but said nothing. A foot from his side, Domovoi stopped. Several minutes passed before Artemis lifted his eyes from the horizon to his.

"Is that what you came to say?" he asked.

Domovoi traced the light glow of morning with his eyes, a warm pink on Artemis's cheeks and neck, pastel on his shirt. His coffee looked untouched. "No," he admitted.

Artemis notched his eyebrows expectantly.

"What did you mean…when you said it wouldn't be entirely true…?"

Artemis blinked, taking all of a fraction of a second to consider—then, he turned his attention back to the horizon. "Exactly that," he said. Domovoi waited, watched another wave crash in—this time not quite making it to its previous mark. The tide was going out. "I wasn't a virgin, surely you knew that much…and I don't bed women, but before last night, I had never trusted anyone to…mm…," Artemis cleared his throat, glancing briefly to his mug before rising his eyes straightly to Domovoi's, "Well, to put it in layman's terms, I'd never been fucked," he said. Apparently, something betrayed in Domovoi's expression because Artemis rose his eyebrows. "Is it so difficult to imagine? I know, domineering and power-hungry are so far from the list of adjectives one might use to describe me…"

At that, Domovoi chuckled, relaxing slightly. "Now that you mention it, perhaps not so difficult," he admitted, "but then…why did you do it?"

Artemis tilted his head.

"Why did you kiss me?"

For a long pause, Artemis made no reply. Then, softly he said, "To see if you would kiss me back." Domovoi watched the play of thoughts on Artemis's face and wished, not for the first time, for a window in. "You're…important to me, I…" Suddenly, Artemis frowned. "No," he shook his head, "that's…a deplorable understatement. I…" He took a breath, "love you," he said, "…to such an inordinate extent that it terrifies me on occasion, and…for the longest time I told myself that our friendship was invaluable…by no means worth putting at stake for the sake of an off-chance at something more, but…at some point, not taking that chance became the greater of two evils and living without knowing was…impossible." He shifted his weight in the sand, rearranged the mug in his hand. "I must admit though," For the first time since the question, he lifted his head, meeting Domovoi's eyes, "I had intended to take a slightly less…abrupt…approach to the matter."

"Oh?" said Domovoi, and Artemis's cheek was soft under his fingers, his breath warm and close—he smelled of coffee. When a gentle sea breeze danced through the last inches left between them, Artemis's lashes dipped, following his eyes to Domovoi's lips.

"Was that what you came to ask?" he murmured, and Domovoi's "Yes, sir," became nothing more than a quiet prelude a kiss—one that forgot the beach, history, and namesakes, where Artemis parted his lips to Domovoi's on an open shore in the sun where the world could judge, should it choose, and which cemented in a moment a relationship which perhaps always had been ineluctable. Hours later, after moving back indoors, undressing, redressing, and everything that happened in between, Artemis would ask if this meant that Domovoi loved him too, and Domovoi would answer, "Yes. Very, very much."


A/N: Reviews? :D