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The material was smooth against his skin even as he sat down on the bed. Kishiar’s eyes lingered on him, intense, pupils dilated. It made Yuder’s heat beat oddly, and yet it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling.
It had been designed by Kishiar. Top to bottom, the fabric, the design — Kishiar had decided everything. Emotions of intense satisfaction echoed between them; Kishiar was thinking of the same thing.
Yuder wasn’t vain, didn’t care about his hair beyond ensuring it didn’t get too long. His clothes were from Kishiar. He dressed in the Arcane Legion uniform whenever he could get away with it. Kishiar’s gaze made him feel like there was something squirming in his gut. He felt desirable, and it was an odd feeling to have.
“Kishiar…?”
Usually he’d be talking by now. His clever tongue would have said something witty or profound, with intensity raw enough to make Yuder’s feet curl. It was odd he’d stayed silent for this long, especially when Yuder was dressed in the lingerie he’d spent a whole day and night agonising over.
“You look beautiful.” The words dropped between them, a stone in a lake. Kishiar’s voice was hoarse.
Yuder’s ears turned warm. “Why are you just standing there?” he asked instead of acknowledging the words.
There was a glint in Kishiar’s eyes even as he finally snapped out of the silence he’d fallen into. “I was stunned into silence by my assistant’s beauty,” he said. His steps were slow across the room as he made his way to where Yuder sat on his bed. “How could I ever compare to him?” he lamented.
Ridiculous. Kishiar was famed as the beauty in the Orr Empire, and everyone knew it. He told Kishiar as much, taken aback by the blatant falsity in his words that he forgot to feel self conscious.
A thumb found its way under one of the many straps pressing into the skin. Kishiar released it a few centimetres above his thigh and it snapped back. The sound was loud and Yuder fought not to twitch.
He was hard now, the front of the undewear rose. The gauzy, translucent material hid nothing and he found himself arrested by the sight of the two of them in the mirror placed opposite the room.
Kishiar, tall, handsome, leaning over him. Yuder himself in a purple so dark it was almost black, lines of red sweeping through — a shade eerily close to Kishiar’s eyes. The lingerie was connected to high black socks, thin and fragile. The same gauzy material covered his chest, and lines ran up to encircle his throat.
Bare hands lifted his chin away from the sight. “Stunning, aren’t you?” Kishiar asked, eyes trained onto Yuder as if he couldn’t bare to miss a moment. The kiss was slow and steady, warmth flowing into Yuder. The room temperature was at a comfortable degree, yet Yuder felt hot despite it.
The effect Kishiar had on them never ceased to surprise him. Sometimes it felt as he would never be completely immune.
I wouldn’t want to be, he considered distantly even as the kiss became wet.
“Ngh —” He jerked up. Kishiar’s bare hand was encircled around his cock now, leaking and red. The material may as well have not been there, as the warmth of his hand was hot enough it felt like he was touching him directly. Yet the material was a frustrating constraint on Yuder.
He jerked again, and stilled himself desperately. Lips found his before he could bite on his own. He stopped immediately and found himself captivated by the mark left on Kishiar’s lips.
Like a snap, Yuder was pressing Kishiar down onto the bed, straddling him. The slip of the material slid smoothly. He registered Kishiar’s expression — awed, dazed, ecstatic — and leant down to kiss him properly.
The whole point of this was to seek pleasure, so why was Kishiar delaying it so much? Yuder was not in the habit of waiting for good things to find him.
“Yuder,” Kishiar gasped as they seperated, face flushed. His hands found Yuder’s waist, large enough to practically encircle him. They slipped against the fabric. Yuder felt it again: the constraint of the fabric. He took off Kishiar’s shirt.
Usually he considered many things at a time — Peletta, his brother, the Cavalry. For once, his mind was completely dedicated to one thing: Yuder. It wasn’t hard to be wholly entranced; Kishiar often had to fight to stay cognizant of his surroundings.
Yuder in the lingerie. Yuder, face level even as his eyes flickered, a thousand lights in the dark, glinting purple. Yuder, desperately trying to stay still for Kishiar, eyes trained onto the mirror.
His assistant never appreciated his own beauty. His emotions had echoed between them: surprise, embarrassment, want. Kishiar kissed him gently at first, then harder. He wanted to pin Yuder down and fuck him. He wanted to undress Yuder from the clothing he’d made himself and eat him out until he was shaking.
Predictably, reality was much better than anything Kishiar could have conjured up. The scent of ripe fruit bloomed in the room, strongest where Kishiar had buried his nose as he moved, sucking at the skin.
The fabric was smooth against his fingers. Yuder was sensitive, he knew, and he always made it a point to ensure maximum comfort even in the most ostentatious of clothing he designed for Yuder. Through the fabric, he delighted in seeing his assistant’s nipples turn puffy and red as he kneaded the nubs.
Yuder had tried to stay on top. He’d been gorgeous, sounds slipping out against his will as he moved shakily on top. Refined, dangerous, Yuder was never to be underestimated in the realm of physical capacity.
This was a pleasure too: seeing Yuder’s struggle, helpless to pleasure. Light gasps echoing as he strained his thighs and trembled. He’d worked himself up that way, slow at first, then faster.
Kishiar had only held back his own orgasm through the sheer desire to see Yuder come apart first. He’d shook through it, face tilted as sweat slid down, lingerie dampening. His underwear was shoved to the side and he’d stayed there for seconds as he struggled to collect himself.
Only the realisation that Kishiar, miraculously, hadn’t came made him move again, clenching down onto him. The slide was slick, smooth, obscene sounds sounding out from where they were connected.
Spasming from oversensitivity, Yuder had leant down to kiss him wetly.
Kishiar’s carefully and hard-won control snapped.
He held Yuder’s waist as he flipped them, Yuder’s leg raised and hooked over his shoulder as he kissed him back just as desperately. How could he not, when it was Yuder?
Years and years of self regulation and denial, crumbled to shreds before his assistant. How could he have held himself from licking into his mouth with eager greed, bare hands gripping on with all he had?
There was not, he thought as he fucked into Yuder, a world where Kishiar could have stopped himself from dressing Yuder in lingerie when he’d first had the thought. Yuder in purples and blacks and reds, in the fabric he’d chosen, the design he’d made.
Yuder, back arched and holding back just as tightly.
The pleasure crested as Kishiar buried his head into Yuder’s neck and in breathed deeply. Ripe fruits: a scent more familiar to him than anything else in the world.