Author's Notes: Written for a drabble exchange I have going on with my friend SavvyLovesYaoi. The prompt was Schneizel/Kanon, office sex. :D
It was supposed to be a drabble, but at around... what is this... 1,500 words? Well, it's not quite one.
(It's becoming increasingly obvious to me that I completely and utterly fail at writing anything below 1,000 words. Ugh.)
What You'll Never Know
Kanon gently pushes some of the documents on the desk aside to lower himself on it, eyes firmly trained on his prince and a faint smile playing around his lips.
Schneizel stops writing in mid-swing, and for a second, he just stares at the page in front of him. He can feel his eyes burn into his face, Kanon can tell -- from the way his shoulders stiffen just slightly and the tension ripples at the corners of his mouth.
Kanon leans back, his clothes wrinkling along his waist line. "You're working very hard today, my prince." He lifts one leg, casually swinging it over the other, heels drumming at the desk. Bump bump bump.
Schneizel raises his head. The usual veneer of frost crests when he lets his gaze slither up and down Kanon's body in a way that anyone but Kanon would probably read as derogative.
He throws his leg over the other, leaning forward just slightly to bring their eyes to the same level -- hooking the talons of his eyes into Schneizel's and yanking his prince's upward until their eyes melt together, until the tension between them brims and hums just below the edge of their hearing.
Kanon leans down lower, until he can look up at Schneizel from beneath his lashes and tilt his head to the side until some of his hair balls between his head and his shoulder. Coyly. Mock-demurely. "Not tired of signing documents yet, my prince?" His voice takes on just a bit of that husky quality that he knows Schneizel is so susceptible to --
Knows, from the way the way he will thin his lips into a tight line; knows, from the way he will start to tremble, just slightly, just his finger or his foot or maybe his bottom lip, but it's there, and never manages to dodge Kanon's searching eyes.
Never, because there is no one who knows his prince quite like he does.
Kanon lifts his legs, letting his hands trail down over the flat plane of his stomach over his thighs and down to the rims of his boots.
Schneizel is watching.
Hooking his fingers under the rim of his boots, Kanon slides them off with one motion, the discarded article falling to the floor with a muffled thump.
It's ironic, really, Kanon thinks while letting his eyes sink into his prince's face.
Ironic, that, if one were to look at Schneizel, at his broad shoulders and regal jaw line and towering height, and were only then to look at Kanon, at his willowy body or the delicate wrists underneath which the blue veins wound together much like their eyes were doing right now, well --
Who would think it wasn't Schneizel who was the instigator in their very special relationship?
Kanon stretches out his leg, watching his toe nails gleam ersatz once beneath the glow of the sun light streaming in through the windows. ,He swings his lower body around to face his prince, foot first bumping against and then climbing on top of Schneizel's knee, in a way that could be casual -- if it wasn't for that look in Kanon's eyes, and the way Schneizel's mouth drops open just a little when Kanon's foot trails up higher, along his prince's thighs up higher, and higher still.
Kanon's lips break into a smile, revealing a wink of white teeth.
"You've been so busy lately, my prince." His voice is like syrup. "All these documents, all this stress. Dealing with your siblings." His foot comes to tease over Schneizel's clothed erection, and he leans back his head, flashing a long stretch of white throat, breathing, "And with Zero, too."
Schneizel's jaw tightens.
Kanon begins to claw at the hardened bundle between Schneizel's legs like a cat, thrill scuttling through him at the sight of the red standing high on Schneizel's cheeks.
"My prince." Kanon's voice is low, husky, and his toes nudge against him more persistently, and Kanon smirks because he knows that Schneizel will snap soon, and --
And then, just then, when something flashes behind the surface of Schneizel's glassy eyes, when his body erects as if nudged by an electrical current, when his fingers dig into his chair so hard Kanon fears his knuckles will pop out from beneath his skin, when the tension stretches like a rubber band seconds before it snaps --
That's when Kanon likes it best.
And then all the tension bursts with a start, and several things happen all in quick succession.
Kanon gasps releases in mock-surprise when Schneizel stomps over to the desk and nearly throws himself on top of him, sending pens clattering and documents flying. The sounds morph into mewls and then moans when when he feels his shoulders being pinned against the desk, when he feels his legs falling wide open and Schneizel forcing himself between them, and Schneizel's body on top of him, hot and heavy and big and tall and Schneizel and everything right.
The desk is hard and uncomfortable when Schneizel pushes him up against it, there's something like a ruler poking into his back and it's sture to leave burns when they're finished, but that doesn't matter, nothing matters. Not when they're like this.
"Kanon." Schneizel's words come out strained, as if he's trying to hold something back that's threatening to choke him. Breath gathering in the shell of Kanon's ear, hot and moist, cock rubbing up against him, hard and pulsing and good. "Kanon..."
Kanon's hands loop around his prince's neck, burying his fingers in his hair and pulling him down toward him. "Fuck me." He says it softly, as if he has mistaken the expletive for a love confession, and he locks his legs around him tighter, heels digging into Schneizel's ass to urge him forward. "Fuck me, my pri --"
Schneizel's slams his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside Kanon.
Kanon's eyes widen, his mouth falls open, his toes curl, his thighs quiver with bent-up energy, and he releases one long, drawn-out moan that he can see scuttling down Schneizel's spine like a shiver.
It feels good, like it always does: the feeling of having his prince buried deep inside him, stretching him in that way that tickles the line between pain and pleasure and sends bolts of either sensation right up his spine; it's as primitive as it is exquisite, this feeling of being joined.
But that sensation, as amazing as it is, isn't what Kanon pays attention to.
The sound of Schneizel moaning ("Kanon, Kanon...") is like the auditory equivalent of china tea cups, and the sight of Schneizel's eyes rolling around in their sockets is more transfixing than the beauty of any sunset. Kanon moans, deep and sultry, more as a way to spur him on than for any other reason. He tightens the grip his legs have around Schneizel's waist, his slippery fingers tangle in a fine web of blond hair, and he feels Schneizel pounding into him, in, in, in, in.
It lasts a minute or an hour, Kanon can't tell; there's flashes of Schneizel's eyes, there's moans that seem to sink right into Kanon's bones, there's the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, and there's something growing in Kanon's chest that seems to want to eat him whole. Messy kisses that smear saliva over both of their mouths; Schneizel's breath breaking over Kanon's mouth, hot and moist and wonderful. And oh, Schneizel's face: it slacks, relaxes until it's beautiful, until the stern lines have bent around the toothof pleasure, and his lilac eyes seem to sing and dance, and Kanon knows that he loves him.
When Schneizel comes, he freezes on top of Kanon, then lets out one single, drawn-out moan that tears through his entire body in a tug-and-release. When the shivers have subsided, he slumps forward, burying his face in Kanon's neck and flicking off shivers as his breath hits the pearls of sweat on Kanon's spine.
And for just a moment, they remain like this: Schneizel, with his face buried in the nape of Kanon's neck, shuddering one last time when his softened cock slides out and the last spike of pleasure skewers through him; and Kanon, Kanon with both of his arms wrapped around his prince, letting strands of his hair slide through his fingers like water, and the smile of a man who's seen the stars playing around the corners of his lips.
Kanon cherishes this moment, more than anything else -- for he knows it's not destined to last.
Schneizel stirs slowly, starting to writhe against Kanon before coming to his senses entirely, and then parts his chest with Kanon's when he lifts himself up. He bends down to pull up his pants, runs a hand through his hair, lets his gaze flicker to his watch, clears his throat, checks his phone --
But he doesn't look at Kanon. He never does.
Kanon knows, and so he says nothing. Knows about the brick wall erected around his prince's heart, knows about his secrecy, that brilliant mind of his always submerged in seas of manipulations, knows it all --
And he also knows what it means when Schneizel offers him the tissue box, and knows what it means when he bends down quickly to press one last kiss to his lips before he straightens himself again, announces that he has more business to tend to, and leaves the office with a quiet click as the door falls into its hinges behind him.
Kanon keeps lying on the desk long after Schneizel has left the office. Hair fanned around like him, one finger distantly slipped between his lips and the other trailing up and down his belly, he keeps looking at the ceiling, tracing the landscape of light and darkness the lamp casts onto it with his eyes.
Not a smirk, but a smile, a real smile, one devoid of any maliciousness -- a smile that makes the air around him glow.
... :-( ?
(and btw, I'm totally not the only one who's convinced that Schneizel/Kanon is canon... right?)