[The Demon Ororon] | Sprawled | Mitsume x Othello | R
Title: Sprawled
Author: modestly_not
Pairing: Othello x Mitsume
Series: The Demon Ororon
Rating: R
Challenge: body language
Disclaimer: By Mizuki Hakase. (though if it were up to me, Othello and Mitsume would have gotten together on page one.)
Notes: Ahaha, I'm tired. Didn't execute this too well.
A quick shift of the eyes and Othello notices with a gleeful grin that Mitsume is sitting with his legs wide open. A tempting invitation from a character who yields to no one.
His eyes run over that disfigured body, tracing the thin layers of spider-like scars that run like train tracks on Mitsume's shoulders, the stump of his arm, and his torso. Then, taking a gamble, and betting his pride, Othello looks into Mitsume's drunken eyes.
Those eyes were dull and blank, a glossy film running over them and it's as though Mitsume had given up, unable to fight against the Othello, the world, or his lot in life. The way he was sitting with his back slumped against the walls and his legs sprawled like a rag-doll's, suggested lifelessness, but his shallow breathing gave it all away. Watching Mitsume's crumpled body made Othello gulp, his body growing tighter.
Mitsume moves like a puppet when he raises his arm, and Othello swears someone is controlling Mitsume from afar. With a slender finger and an dream-like gaze, the bounty hunter beckons Othello over. His tongue runs over his lips ever so slightly and Othello returns the request. For once Mitsume has given in, submitted to Othello's attractiveness. Maybe Mitsume has even fallen in love with the fifth prince.
One leg swaggers over the other, and Othello lowers himself ever so slightly until he touches Mitsume's lips with his own vodka stained mouth.
Everything tastes like alcohol to him, even the sweat on Mitsume's skin, everything doused with coat of bittersweetness.
His lips tremble down to Mitsume's hand, his hands claw through the tough fabric of Mitsume's denim, tearing the buttons away from their holes. The bounty hunter doesn't protest, his body limp as he moves wherever Othello guides him.
Ever so gently Othello kisses it, the soldier standing tall. His tongue plays a game of cat and mouse against the skin, touching it gently, touching it firmly, falling into a rhythmic pattern back and forth.
Then out of nowhere a sharp pain comes tears into his skin and he could smell the pungent scent of blood. Othello knows it's his own, he could feel it soaking through his clothes, seeping out of his skin. He hears Mitsume's deep laugher rumbling throughout his body. Mitsume's back becomes erect as he straightens himself out, plunging the sword deeper into Othello's back.
"You damn bastard." Othello hisses as Mitsume stands. He at Othello with cold eyes.
What was before limp, submissive, a body so inviting, now towered over the prince like a conqueror, glaring at him with harsh eyes. Mitsume smiles, nods a bit then walks out the door, taking long confident strides.
Othello is left crumpled on the ground, a sword still embedded into his back, but an even bigger wound to his spirit.
Author: modestly_not
Pairing: Othello x Mitsume
Series: The Demon Ororon
Rating: R
Challenge: body language
Disclaimer: By Mizuki Hakase. (though if it were up to me, Othello and Mitsume would have gotten together on page one.)
Notes: Ahaha, I'm tired. Didn't execute this too well.
A quick shift of the eyes and Othello notices with a gleeful grin that Mitsume is sitting with his legs wide open. A tempting invitation from a character who yields to no one.
His eyes run over that disfigured body, tracing the thin layers of spider-like scars that run like train tracks on Mitsume's shoulders, the stump of his arm, and his torso. Then, taking a gamble, and betting his pride, Othello looks into Mitsume's drunken eyes.
Those eyes were dull and blank, a glossy film running over them and it's as though Mitsume had given up, unable to fight against the Othello, the world, or his lot in life. The way he was sitting with his back slumped against the walls and his legs sprawled like a rag-doll's, suggested lifelessness, but his shallow breathing gave it all away. Watching Mitsume's crumpled body made Othello gulp, his body growing tighter.
Mitsume moves like a puppet when he raises his arm, and Othello swears someone is controlling Mitsume from afar. With a slender finger and an dream-like gaze, the bounty hunter beckons Othello over. His tongue runs over his lips ever so slightly and Othello returns the request. For once Mitsume has given in, submitted to Othello's attractiveness. Maybe Mitsume has even fallen in love with the fifth prince.
One leg swaggers over the other, and Othello lowers himself ever so slightly until he touches Mitsume's lips with his own vodka stained mouth.
Everything tastes like alcohol to him, even the sweat on Mitsume's skin, everything doused with coat of bittersweetness.
His lips tremble down to Mitsume's hand, his hands claw through the tough fabric of Mitsume's denim, tearing the buttons away from their holes. The bounty hunter doesn't protest, his body limp as he moves wherever Othello guides him.
Ever so gently Othello kisses it, the soldier standing tall. His tongue plays a game of cat and mouse against the skin, touching it gently, touching it firmly, falling into a rhythmic pattern back and forth.
Then out of nowhere a sharp pain comes tears into his skin and he could smell the pungent scent of blood. Othello knows it's his own, he could feel it soaking through his clothes, seeping out of his skin. He hears Mitsume's deep laugher rumbling throughout his body. Mitsume's back becomes erect as he straightens himself out, plunging the sword deeper into Othello's back.
"You damn bastard." Othello hisses as Mitsume stands. He at Othello with cold eyes.
What was before limp, submissive, a body so inviting, now towered over the prince like a conqueror, glaring at him with harsh eyes. Mitsume smiles, nods a bit then walks out the door, taking long confident strides.
Othello is left crumpled on the ground, a sword still embedded into his back, but an even bigger wound to his spirit.