Teaser tiemz!
So, I'm working on a fanfic for a fandom that nobody in the world has heard of. It's sappy and stupid, but I'm gonna give y'all a teaser for it anyway. It doesn't have a title yet or anything, but here goes:
It was darkest night. Gavril lay awake, gripped by a sudden, fearful insomnia. The dreams had grown so vivid, so thick - he couldn't sleep for fear of them driving him mad. Not to mention, his mind was so full of absolutely everything, so all he could do was lie in his bed and stare up at the ceiling, waiting for morning. In the silence, he heard a faint, familiar click and sat upright in time to see the shadowed figure of Jaromir Arkhel slipping out from behind the tapestry. By the light of the moon, he made out the delicate shine of Jaromir's golden hair, made clearer as the young man approached his bedside.
"Jaro," Gavril whispered, glancing over the Arkhel heir's shoulder to the door, which was thankfully shut, "What are you doing? It's almost dawn; if Guaram should come in and see you here, it's all over." Jaromir grinned cheekily and lowered himself down onto the bed. They were close, their noses almost touching, and Gavril could practically count the long lashes of Jaro's eyes.
"I was going mad in there alone," Jaromir whispered back, referring to his hiding place in the East Wing. His breath whispered across Gavril's lips, and something stirred deep in the Drakhaon's belly. "I had to see you." As soon as the last word was spoken, Jaromir leaned forward that fraction of an inch to press their mouths together. It was gentle at first, tentative, but grew more fervent with each exchange. Jaro's pale eyes glittered with mischief, and he chuckled quietly as they joined again. Gavril started as one of Jaromir's hands slipped beneath his nightshirt, ice-cold against his skin but welcome nonetheless. The chill would soon be banished from them both.
Agonizingly slowly, Jaro pulled the shirt from Gavril's body. When it was done, Gavril followed suit, albeit much more impatiently. In a brief moment of vindictive glee, the Drakhaon couldn't help but feel a sense of victory over Lilias Arbelian: it was he Jaro came to in the middle of the night, not that traitorous harpy. A sharp, delicious pinch at his chest pulled Gavril from his jealous thoughts: Jaromir had closed his teeth around one of his nipples, sucking and running his tongue along the sensitive nub of flesh. The last of the Arkhels pulled away and grinned.
"Like that, do you, Lord Drakhaon?" He ducked a halfhearted swat and returned to his ministrations. Gavril gasped when Jaro's hand dipped down beneath the waistband of his trousers; those cold fingers glided against his penis and sent a chill up his spine that was equal parts shock and pleasure. In sharp contrast to the icy touch, Jaro's breath was warm against his flesh as he whispered, "Lie back. Close your eyes." Gavril complied, and hefted his hips off the mattress at a nudge from Jaromir, who proceeded to strip the Drakhaon of his trousers and pants. The Arkhel took in the sight of his lover, prone and naked, eyes closed, patient, trusting. So trusting of the man that murdered his father that it made Jaromir's heart ache with sorrow and even a small twinge of regret. Banishing the thoughts from his mind, he bent to his task and took Gavril's cock in his mouth.
"Oh God, Jaro!" The exclamation was satisfying, if just a fraction too loud for all that they were supposed to keep this a secret. Jaromir shrugged; let them find him. He worked at Gavril's member to the rhythm of the man's panting breaths. It took so little effort to push the Nagarian over the edge: the first time they had come together like this, Jaromir had barely touched him before he'd come. The innocence and inexperience had been a refreshing change from Lilias' overbearing skill, and paired with his lover's youthful eagerness, it was beautiful perfection. Gavril lasted a little longer this time, but not by much, and soon his seed filled Jaro's mouth. It was hot and salty, with just a tinge of something else - just a shade different from Eugene, though Jaro couldn't be sure if that was a difference in physiology or a side-effect of the Drakhaoul inhabiting Gavril's body. Nevertheless, he swallowed down the fluid and raised his head to gaze at the flushed, sweating form of the Drakhaon - his Drakhaon, now. When Gavril opened his eyes, they were glassy with the aftereffects of his orgasm. He smiled and Jaromir felt his heart leap.
"Jaro - I want -" Gavril rasped, cutting himself off with a deep blush. "I mean, would you -" The Arkhel blinked, his hand wandering over to his lover's thigh, stroking absently.
"What? What is it you want?" he inquired softly, "Don't be shy." Gavril swallowed and inhaled slowly, his cheeks taking on an indigo hue from the rush of blood to his face. Jaro found it all so charming.
"I want to - to -" Again, he hesitated, closed his eyes, and forced out, "I want to make you mine, Jaro." Jaromir smiled - not his usual, cheeky grin, but an honest smile. Crawling up to lie down beside Gavril, he gently kissed his lover's temple. Such innocence was a novelty for him; all his life, he'd been taught lessons in war, in vengeance, in rage, and ever since Volkh Nagarian murdered his family in cold blood, his heart had been filled with nothing but hate. Strange that the son of that monster would be the one to temper all of that harshness with love. Was it because he'd been raised in Smarna, far away from the blood-feud that had turned Jaromir's own heart to ice? Or was Gavril truly right in his assertion that the bitterness between the Arkhels and Nagarians could be quelled? He wasn't sure that it mattered now - he had Gavril in his arms, and no other person, living or dead, could make that untrue.
"Gavril," Jaromir murmured, kissing him again, "My Gavril. I want nothing more."
TBC.