Prompt Fill
Author: Lapin
Title: Say You'll Haunt Me
Rating: M
Warnings: Violence, sexual situations
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with the Marvel corporation and express no ownership over it or the characters used. I profit in no way from this use.
Summary: In which I fulfill the prompt that asked for:
"Azazel's first impression of Riptide is not very favorable---even less so when he realizes that Riptide intends to follow him around like a lost puppy. Cue Riptide pulling every trick he can to get Azazel to notice him and sleep with him despite Azazel's disinterest and increasing irritation.
Finally, Azazel snaps and Riptide gets even more than he bargained for. A hint of dub-con is always nice, but no straight-up non-con, please. Just Azazel giving in and giving it to Riptide hard and fast.
Bonus points for scathing!Azazel, tail!kink, and virgin!Riptide. <3333333"
Linky link link
A/N Ooh boy. I was listening to "Say You'll Haunt Me" the whole time I wrote this, thus the title. Hope it fulfills the prompt, anon. Now, for real, that M means Mature. As in "This contains sex and violence". Okay? Okay.
-
Azazel's first impression of Janos Quested is mostly 'hair' and 'eyes', as in, he has a lot of both. He wears his hair longer than any grown man Azazel has seen in recent memory, past his ears, and it's dark and curling around a face that would make a Renaissance painter weep. His eyes are dark brown, a little big in his face, making him look young. He is young, maybe sixteen, and he looks even younger standing between Emma and Shaw, Emma who has been an adult for far longer than her age says, and Shaw, whose face is nothing but a lie.
“Azazel, this is Janos. He'll be joining us.” Shaw says, looking very pleased with himself. The boy must be powerful then, Azazel thinks. He seems too delicate for it, honestly, but Azazel learned long ago that appearances meant nothing when it came to mutations.
“Are we recruiting from schoolyards now?” Azazel drawls, giving the boy another once-over.
“I am seventeen.” The boy, Janos, tells him, with a smirk curling his lips.
“Do you think that makes you a man?” Azazel asks, and the boy only tilts his head, his dark curls brushing his face.
“Do you?”
Azazel shakes his head, unamused at his young arrogance, and disappears, reappearing on the roof for a cigarette.
Recruiting children, he thinks, with a frown. This wasn't what he had signed up for.
-
Janos smokes. Azazel wishes he was surprised by the fact, but it fits the little brat, this cheeky, rebellious behavior.
“You're too young for that.” Azazel tells him, as he strolls out onto the balcony, where the boy sits on the railing, swinging his legs over the side. Azazel leans on it and gets out one of his own.
“Says you.” Janos replies, and breathes out a stream of smoke.
“It's quite a drop.” Azazel muses, looking over the edge. “What if you fall?”
“I won't.”
The sheer arrogance makes Azazel chuckle, and he shoves the boy hard, knocking him off. His tail wraps around the boy's waist at the last minute, but he realizes Janos already caught his feet on the edge. So he lets him go a little more, until he's too far to pull himself back up.
“And what now?”
“Now you're trying to kill me.” It's the most Azazel's heard him say at once, and he notices the accent for the first time. English is not his first language then, but he's been speaking it for awhile. From the color of his skin, Azazel guesses the first is either Spanish or Portuguese. “Are you going to drop me, or is this just posturing?”
“I'm still deciding.” Azazel tells him, taking a drag while he thinks. The boy isn't scared, so he doesn't think the fall would kill him, though they're four stories up. Maybe his power is invulnerability, or flight. Azazel decided to find out.
He lets go.
Janos falls with a grace and control that defies what should still be an awkward teenage body, his knees bending as his legs come together, hands extending out at the elbow.
Azazel feels it before he sees it, the wind picking up around them. He knows then what Janos is doing, so he isn't surprised when Janos slows to a stop, his hair blowing around him. He lifts himself back up with his power, his method of control obviously in his hands, and he steps back onto the railing of the balcony with only the smallest of self-satisfied smiles.
He balances easily, as he runs his fingers through his curls,brushing them back into some semblance of order.
“What would you have done if I was bluffing?” He asks, standing over Azazel, looking like some mischievous creature from stories Azazel thought he had forgotten.
“Caught you before you hit the ground.” He answers, taking another pull of his cigarette.
Janos crouches down, the balancing act looking so easy for him.
“I don't know if I believe you.”
“You shouldn't.”
His honest reply makes Janos smile, and it turns his face into something completely different. Azazel quells the sudden rush of traitorous desire for this arrogant brat, and continues to smoke, refuses to be chased off by some whelp's ridiculously irritating attitude, or his beautiful face.
“You shouldn't trust me either.” He says, and it makes Azazel chuckle. As though he's scared of this boy, as though he could be.
Then the world goes hard as he suddenly can't breathe, his vision spotting as he claws at the air, his lungs feeling crushed. His cigarette falls away, to burn out on the tiles of the balcony, and he falls to his knees, struggling for breath, but finds nothing in the air around him, nothing that relieves his need.
Above him, Janos twirls his fingers, smiling softly.
Air rushes back into his lungs like a balloon, as Janos laughs and laughs, a pretty sound that Azazel nearly chokes out of him when he grabs the insolent child by his throat, tugging him off the balcony and throwing him down on the tiles, pinning him with his own body as he grabs the boy's hands, locking his fingers down so he can't do it again, can't do anything.
Janos gasps under Azazel, his lovely face tipped back as though he can escape Azazel's tail or his fury.
“Do not ever think you can threaten me, boy. I am far older than you, and far more skilled at the follow-through.” He releases him, and not because the warmth of the body beneath him has made his own stir in response. He does it because he has made his point, and there is no need to carry on.
“How much older?” Janos asks, after his breath comes back. He is still sprawled on the ground, his hair fanning around his face, and Azazel thinks about absolutely nothing as he looks down at him.
“I am twenty-eight. Older than you by a decade.”
“I can count.” He still won't get up, just lies there like he meant to be there all along, at Azazel's feet. “You don't like me, do you?”
“I don't like anyone.” Azazel counters.
“It's fine.” Janos replies lazily, looking up at Azazel through half-lidded eyes, a dark curl falling across his face. “I like you enough for the both of us.”
-
“Are you following me?” Azazel asks, though he already knows the answer.
“You're the one always finding me.” Janos says, from atop his perch on the bar.
Janos is like a cat, silent, and always right where he shouldn't be. Except he has a smart mouth, and cats generally don't harass Azazel.
He grabs the boy by his hair, pulling his head back so Azazel can see his face clearly.
“You like my hair.” He's so unbelievably arrogant, Azazel wants to smack him. So he does, a hard knock across his face, and it leaves a red mark that will bruise.
“Does it hurt?” He knows it does, from the way Janos' eyes widened in shock, the way he touches it so softly with just the tips of his fingers.
“You could kiss it better.”
Azazel grabs him by his hair again, but this time he pulls so hard he makes Janos grit his teeth, as he almost yanks him down sideways on the counter.
“Care to repeat that?” He growls, angry, as he looms over Janos' twisted body.
“You seem to like this better though. That's okay, I don't mind being struck. It makes it so much better when I finally come.”
Azazel can't believe what's coming out of Janos' mouth.
“What are you talking about?” He knows what Janos is talking about, knows very well, but the boy is only seventeen, and shouldn't know about any of the things he running off at the mouth about.
“Don't pretend you don't want to fuck me. You get hard when you're shoving me around. I can feel it.” His hand traces over the front of Azazel's trousers, where his cock is a hard line through the fabric. God, this stupid boy, this idiot, Azazel just wants to kill him, he does. “Why don't you just do it?”
Using his grip in his hair, Azazel throws the boy off the bar, so that he lands in a heap on the floor.
“It doesn't mean I like you.” Azazel tells him, the need for a cigarette itching in his fingers.
“But you want me.”
Azazel kicks him before he teleports out, just to make his point. It isn't until he's on the roof he realizes he never got the vodka as intended. Damn.
-
He will not give in.
-
Azazel has a reason for teleporting into Janos' room.
He forgets it instantly when he realizes Janos is standing in front of his wardrobe without a stitch of clothing covering him, his lean, damp body completely on display for Azazel.
More than that though, Janos blushes as Azazel leers.
“What?” He demands, as he wraps his arms around himself. He's suddenly shy, anxious, and Azazel realizes that for all his talk and arrogance, Janos is as untouched as the snow in the mountains.
Azazel learns something new about himself as he stands there, taking in Janos' form, Janos making no silly attempts to cover himself.
“You're a virgin, aren't you?” Azazel asks, delighted.
“Does that turn you on too?” Some of Janos' more annoying traits show themselves again, but Janos' stance is still protective, still self-confident. “My hair, hitting me,” He pauses, sneers a little. “Virgins.” He says the word like it bothers him. “What do you want? Beyond the obvious, of course.”
Azazel cross the room with only a few steps, and shoves him hard against the wall, winding his fingers through the curls that taunt him at every turn, and holds Janos in place.
“Watch your mouth, boy. Don't think that just because you're pretty, you get to talk back to me.”
“You think I'm pretty?” Janos coos, and Azazel realizes his misstep. He throws the boy down, and puts his boot on his chest.
“What is your game?”
“What do you think it is?”
His mistake is letting Janos get his hands free, and he finds himself hurling across the room. He teleports before he hits the wall, and reappears behind Janos, wrapping his arm around the boy's throat, pulling him back against Azazel's chest. He smells the soap on his skin, the softness of Janos' freshly-washed curls against his face an irresistible temptation. He buries his face in them, and inhales deeply as Janos struggles.
“I'll be your first, Janos.” He swears, his cock so hard it hurts from where Janos' warm body is moving against him.
“You know that for sure? How do you know no one else will get there before you?”
“Unless someone walks in that door right now, no one else is getting there before me.” He disappears, leaves Janos for only the time it takes him to teleport back to his own room and grab the oil. Janos looks startled when he reappears, but Azazel doesn't much care as he shrugs off his jacket, leaves the oil on the table, and grabs Janos with his tail, forcing him up against Azazel.
His eyes are wide, almost frightened.
“Has anyone even kissed you, pretty boy?” He practically purrs, getting a good hold in those beautiful curls.
“Yes,” Janos hisses, like he knows it angers Azazel to hear that someone else has already had that pleasure.
So Azazel kisses him hard, forcefully driving out any memories of others, laying his claim on Janos' mouth, on Janos himself. Janos pants as they break apart, but Azazel gives him no room to regain his footing, pressing hard, bruising kisses down Janos' throat, biting him because he wants to mark all of this untouched skin. Wants it to know his touch everywhere, and only his.
Janos' fingers tremble as he tries to unbutton Azazel's shirt, and Azazel laughs, making the boy's face burn. Instead of a biting remark though, Janos does some trick with his fingers, and the shirt opens forcefully, the remaining buttons flying across the room. Janos smirks up at him as he scowls, his warm hands pushing the remains of it off so that Azazel's chest is bare.
“I liked that shirt.” He tells him, and shoves him hard, back towards the bed. Janos almost falls, but Azazel catches him with his tail, then uses the appendage to shove him again, even harder, so he lands mostly on the bed, his hair a mess around his face.
Azazel gets his shoes, his socks, and his trousers off while Janos catches his breath from the landing. Then Azazel is on him, pins him down with his body, his tail binding Janos' hands together above his head, making sure the fingers are confined enough that Janos is helpless beneath Azazel.
“Is this what you wanted from me, boy?” Azazel mocks, already anticipating how good it's going to be for him.
Janos looks up at him from beneath his black lashes, eyes defiant still, even now.
“My name is Janos. Not boy.”
“Fine,” Azazel concedes. “Is this what you wanted, Janos?”
“What I want is for you to fuck me. But maybe you're too old to do it properly?” Damn it all, Azazel could kill him right now, could rip out his throat, and he's still full of that endless arrogance. It infuriates him beyond all reason, that he refuses to show fear, and god, does it make him hard.
Janos watches Azazel coat his fingers with oil lazily, as though he isn't nervous, as though he's done this a hundred times, but the way he twists and shudders when Azazel penetrates him tells a different story, a story Azazel likes much better.
He wants to fuck him now, without preparation, but he also thinks he'll want to do this again, so he needs to make Janos like it. Judging from the way he presses his body down, he likes it well enough.
When Azazel thinks he's ready, he pulls his fingers out, and Janos whimpers. It changes to a sharp inhale when Azazel thrusts inside, and makes Janos his. He makes no effort to be gentle, doesn't condescend to Janos like that. He wants it so badly that the legs he's wrapped around Azazel almost hurt, the bones of his ankles pressing into Azazel's back.
Azazel releases his hands and is rewarded when Janos grasps at him, clinging as he moans, his eyes shut tight, like it's too much, like Azazel is too much. Azazel thrusts harder in response, taking one of Janos legs and lifting it over his shoulder so he can go deeper, Janos' young, flexible body giving way easily.
Using his tail for balance, he leans over, grabs Janos hair and tugs.
“Open your eyes,” He orders, and Janos obeys, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look black as he arches his back, almost lifting himself off the bed, his face out of Azazel's sight.
Azazel pulls out, and Janos cries out, but he hardly has time to miss him, as Azazel throws him up against the wall. He lifts him up and thrusts back in harder, Janos' head above his now, so Janos has no choice but to look at him.
He keeps making loud, breathy noises that make Azazel want to fuck him so hard he'll scream, so he digs his fingers into Janos' thighs as thrusts as hard as he can. He's doing something right, from the way Janos' nails are drawing blood on his back.
He comes hard, by the sound of it, painting Azazel's chest and his own in white. Azazel uses his tail to brush it off, but Janos grabs the winding thing, his other arm so tight it hurts around Azazel's shoulders. He brings it to his mouth, runs his tongue down the spade, cleans his own mess off, and Azazel comes right then, filling Janos up, marking him forever as Azazel's.
He pulls out and pushes Janos down onto the bed, where he sprawls, boneless, his curls sweaty and sticking to his face, his forehead. He has bruises blooming up his neck, and down his thighs, Azazel's come following them like a map.
If he hadn't just come, he'd be hard again at the sight.
“Was that you wanted, Janos?” He asks, still short of breath.
Janos smiles up at him, one of his curls brushing his reddened mouth.
“Does this mean you like me now?” The arrogant brat teases.
Azazel growls, and he fully intends to smack him, but Janos runs a finger down his slick thigh and brings it to his mouth.
Azazel really doesn't have anything to say, after that.
Title: Say You'll Haunt Me
Rating: M
Warnings: Violence, sexual situations
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with the Marvel corporation and express no ownership over it or the characters used. I profit in no way from this use.
Summary: In which I fulfill the prompt that asked for:
"Azazel's first impression of Riptide is not very favorable---even less so when he realizes that Riptide intends to follow him around like a lost puppy. Cue Riptide pulling every trick he can to get Azazel to notice him and sleep with him despite Azazel's disinterest and increasing irritation.
Finally, Azazel snaps and Riptide gets even more than he bargained for. A hint of dub-con is always nice, but no straight-up non-con, please. Just Azazel giving in and giving it to Riptide hard and fast.
Bonus points for scathing!Azazel, tail!kink, and virgin!Riptide. <3333333"
Linky link link
A/N Ooh boy. I was listening to "Say You'll Haunt Me" the whole time I wrote this, thus the title. Hope it fulfills the prompt, anon. Now, for real, that M means Mature. As in "This contains sex and violence". Okay? Okay.
-
Azazel's first impression of Janos Quested is mostly 'hair' and 'eyes', as in, he has a lot of both. He wears his hair longer than any grown man Azazel has seen in recent memory, past his ears, and it's dark and curling around a face that would make a Renaissance painter weep. His eyes are dark brown, a little big in his face, making him look young. He is young, maybe sixteen, and he looks even younger standing between Emma and Shaw, Emma who has been an adult for far longer than her age says, and Shaw, whose face is nothing but a lie.
“Azazel, this is Janos. He'll be joining us.” Shaw says, looking very pleased with himself. The boy must be powerful then, Azazel thinks. He seems too delicate for it, honestly, but Azazel learned long ago that appearances meant nothing when it came to mutations.
“Are we recruiting from schoolyards now?” Azazel drawls, giving the boy another once-over.
“I am seventeen.” The boy, Janos, tells him, with a smirk curling his lips.
“Do you think that makes you a man?” Azazel asks, and the boy only tilts his head, his dark curls brushing his face.
“Do you?”
Azazel shakes his head, unamused at his young arrogance, and disappears, reappearing on the roof for a cigarette.
Recruiting children, he thinks, with a frown. This wasn't what he had signed up for.
-
Janos smokes. Azazel wishes he was surprised by the fact, but it fits the little brat, this cheeky, rebellious behavior.
“You're too young for that.” Azazel tells him, as he strolls out onto the balcony, where the boy sits on the railing, swinging his legs over the side. Azazel leans on it and gets out one of his own.
“Says you.” Janos replies, and breathes out a stream of smoke.
“It's quite a drop.” Azazel muses, looking over the edge. “What if you fall?”
“I won't.”
The sheer arrogance makes Azazel chuckle, and he shoves the boy hard, knocking him off. His tail wraps around the boy's waist at the last minute, but he realizes Janos already caught his feet on the edge. So he lets him go a little more, until he's too far to pull himself back up.
“And what now?”
“Now you're trying to kill me.” It's the most Azazel's heard him say at once, and he notices the accent for the first time. English is not his first language then, but he's been speaking it for awhile. From the color of his skin, Azazel guesses the first is either Spanish or Portuguese. “Are you going to drop me, or is this just posturing?”
“I'm still deciding.” Azazel tells him, taking a drag while he thinks. The boy isn't scared, so he doesn't think the fall would kill him, though they're four stories up. Maybe his power is invulnerability, or flight. Azazel decided to find out.
He lets go.
Janos falls with a grace and control that defies what should still be an awkward teenage body, his knees bending as his legs come together, hands extending out at the elbow.
Azazel feels it before he sees it, the wind picking up around them. He knows then what Janos is doing, so he isn't surprised when Janos slows to a stop, his hair blowing around him. He lifts himself back up with his power, his method of control obviously in his hands, and he steps back onto the railing of the balcony with only the smallest of self-satisfied smiles.
He balances easily, as he runs his fingers through his curls,brushing them back into some semblance of order.
“What would you have done if I was bluffing?” He asks, standing over Azazel, looking like some mischievous creature from stories Azazel thought he had forgotten.
“Caught you before you hit the ground.” He answers, taking another pull of his cigarette.
Janos crouches down, the balancing act looking so easy for him.
“I don't know if I believe you.”
“You shouldn't.”
His honest reply makes Janos smile, and it turns his face into something completely different. Azazel quells the sudden rush of traitorous desire for this arrogant brat, and continues to smoke, refuses to be chased off by some whelp's ridiculously irritating attitude, or his beautiful face.
“You shouldn't trust me either.” He says, and it makes Azazel chuckle. As though he's scared of this boy, as though he could be.
Then the world goes hard as he suddenly can't breathe, his vision spotting as he claws at the air, his lungs feeling crushed. His cigarette falls away, to burn out on the tiles of the balcony, and he falls to his knees, struggling for breath, but finds nothing in the air around him, nothing that relieves his need.
Above him, Janos twirls his fingers, smiling softly.
Air rushes back into his lungs like a balloon, as Janos laughs and laughs, a pretty sound that Azazel nearly chokes out of him when he grabs the insolent child by his throat, tugging him off the balcony and throwing him down on the tiles, pinning him with his own body as he grabs the boy's hands, locking his fingers down so he can't do it again, can't do anything.
Janos gasps under Azazel, his lovely face tipped back as though he can escape Azazel's tail or his fury.
“Do not ever think you can threaten me, boy. I am far older than you, and far more skilled at the follow-through.” He releases him, and not because the warmth of the body beneath him has made his own stir in response. He does it because he has made his point, and there is no need to carry on.
“How much older?” Janos asks, after his breath comes back. He is still sprawled on the ground, his hair fanning around his face, and Azazel thinks about absolutely nothing as he looks down at him.
“I am twenty-eight. Older than you by a decade.”
“I can count.” He still won't get up, just lies there like he meant to be there all along, at Azazel's feet. “You don't like me, do you?”
“I don't like anyone.” Azazel counters.
“It's fine.” Janos replies lazily, looking up at Azazel through half-lidded eyes, a dark curl falling across his face. “I like you enough for the both of us.”
-
“Are you following me?” Azazel asks, though he already knows the answer.
“You're the one always finding me.” Janos says, from atop his perch on the bar.
Janos is like a cat, silent, and always right where he shouldn't be. Except he has a smart mouth, and cats generally don't harass Azazel.
He grabs the boy by his hair, pulling his head back so Azazel can see his face clearly.
“You like my hair.” He's so unbelievably arrogant, Azazel wants to smack him. So he does, a hard knock across his face, and it leaves a red mark that will bruise.
“Does it hurt?” He knows it does, from the way Janos' eyes widened in shock, the way he touches it so softly with just the tips of his fingers.
“You could kiss it better.”
Azazel grabs him by his hair again, but this time he pulls so hard he makes Janos grit his teeth, as he almost yanks him down sideways on the counter.
“Care to repeat that?” He growls, angry, as he looms over Janos' twisted body.
“You seem to like this better though. That's okay, I don't mind being struck. It makes it so much better when I finally come.”
Azazel can't believe what's coming out of Janos' mouth.
“What are you talking about?” He knows what Janos is talking about, knows very well, but the boy is only seventeen, and shouldn't know about any of the things he running off at the mouth about.
“Don't pretend you don't want to fuck me. You get hard when you're shoving me around. I can feel it.” His hand traces over the front of Azazel's trousers, where his cock is a hard line through the fabric. God, this stupid boy, this idiot, Azazel just wants to kill him, he does. “Why don't you just do it?”
Using his grip in his hair, Azazel throws the boy off the bar, so that he lands in a heap on the floor.
“It doesn't mean I like you.” Azazel tells him, the need for a cigarette itching in his fingers.
“But you want me.”
Azazel kicks him before he teleports out, just to make his point. It isn't until he's on the roof he realizes he never got the vodka as intended. Damn.
-
He will not give in.
-
Azazel has a reason for teleporting into Janos' room.
He forgets it instantly when he realizes Janos is standing in front of his wardrobe without a stitch of clothing covering him, his lean, damp body completely on display for Azazel.
More than that though, Janos blushes as Azazel leers.
“What?” He demands, as he wraps his arms around himself. He's suddenly shy, anxious, and Azazel realizes that for all his talk and arrogance, Janos is as untouched as the snow in the mountains.
Azazel learns something new about himself as he stands there, taking in Janos' form, Janos making no silly attempts to cover himself.
“You're a virgin, aren't you?” Azazel asks, delighted.
“Does that turn you on too?” Some of Janos' more annoying traits show themselves again, but Janos' stance is still protective, still self-confident. “My hair, hitting me,” He pauses, sneers a little. “Virgins.” He says the word like it bothers him. “What do you want? Beyond the obvious, of course.”
Azazel cross the room with only a few steps, and shoves him hard against the wall, winding his fingers through the curls that taunt him at every turn, and holds Janos in place.
“Watch your mouth, boy. Don't think that just because you're pretty, you get to talk back to me.”
“You think I'm pretty?” Janos coos, and Azazel realizes his misstep. He throws the boy down, and puts his boot on his chest.
“What is your game?”
“What do you think it is?”
His mistake is letting Janos get his hands free, and he finds himself hurling across the room. He teleports before he hits the wall, and reappears behind Janos, wrapping his arm around the boy's throat, pulling him back against Azazel's chest. He smells the soap on his skin, the softness of Janos' freshly-washed curls against his face an irresistible temptation. He buries his face in them, and inhales deeply as Janos struggles.
“I'll be your first, Janos.” He swears, his cock so hard it hurts from where Janos' warm body is moving against him.
“You know that for sure? How do you know no one else will get there before you?”
“Unless someone walks in that door right now, no one else is getting there before me.” He disappears, leaves Janos for only the time it takes him to teleport back to his own room and grab the oil. Janos looks startled when he reappears, but Azazel doesn't much care as he shrugs off his jacket, leaves the oil on the table, and grabs Janos with his tail, forcing him up against Azazel.
His eyes are wide, almost frightened.
“Has anyone even kissed you, pretty boy?” He practically purrs, getting a good hold in those beautiful curls.
“Yes,” Janos hisses, like he knows it angers Azazel to hear that someone else has already had that pleasure.
So Azazel kisses him hard, forcefully driving out any memories of others, laying his claim on Janos' mouth, on Janos himself. Janos pants as they break apart, but Azazel gives him no room to regain his footing, pressing hard, bruising kisses down Janos' throat, biting him because he wants to mark all of this untouched skin. Wants it to know his touch everywhere, and only his.
Janos' fingers tremble as he tries to unbutton Azazel's shirt, and Azazel laughs, making the boy's face burn. Instead of a biting remark though, Janos does some trick with his fingers, and the shirt opens forcefully, the remaining buttons flying across the room. Janos smirks up at him as he scowls, his warm hands pushing the remains of it off so that Azazel's chest is bare.
“I liked that shirt.” He tells him, and shoves him hard, back towards the bed. Janos almost falls, but Azazel catches him with his tail, then uses the appendage to shove him again, even harder, so he lands mostly on the bed, his hair a mess around his face.
Azazel gets his shoes, his socks, and his trousers off while Janos catches his breath from the landing. Then Azazel is on him, pins him down with his body, his tail binding Janos' hands together above his head, making sure the fingers are confined enough that Janos is helpless beneath Azazel.
“Is this what you wanted from me, boy?” Azazel mocks, already anticipating how good it's going to be for him.
Janos looks up at him from beneath his black lashes, eyes defiant still, even now.
“My name is Janos. Not boy.”
“Fine,” Azazel concedes. “Is this what you wanted, Janos?”
“What I want is for you to fuck me. But maybe you're too old to do it properly?” Damn it all, Azazel could kill him right now, could rip out his throat, and he's still full of that endless arrogance. It infuriates him beyond all reason, that he refuses to show fear, and god, does it make him hard.
Janos watches Azazel coat his fingers with oil lazily, as though he isn't nervous, as though he's done this a hundred times, but the way he twists and shudders when Azazel penetrates him tells a different story, a story Azazel likes much better.
He wants to fuck him now, without preparation, but he also thinks he'll want to do this again, so he needs to make Janos like it. Judging from the way he presses his body down, he likes it well enough.
When Azazel thinks he's ready, he pulls his fingers out, and Janos whimpers. It changes to a sharp inhale when Azazel thrusts inside, and makes Janos his. He makes no effort to be gentle, doesn't condescend to Janos like that. He wants it so badly that the legs he's wrapped around Azazel almost hurt, the bones of his ankles pressing into Azazel's back.
Azazel releases his hands and is rewarded when Janos grasps at him, clinging as he moans, his eyes shut tight, like it's too much, like Azazel is too much. Azazel thrusts harder in response, taking one of Janos legs and lifting it over his shoulder so he can go deeper, Janos' young, flexible body giving way easily.
Using his tail for balance, he leans over, grabs Janos hair and tugs.
“Open your eyes,” He orders, and Janos obeys, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look black as he arches his back, almost lifting himself off the bed, his face out of Azazel's sight.
Azazel pulls out, and Janos cries out, but he hardly has time to miss him, as Azazel throws him up against the wall. He lifts him up and thrusts back in harder, Janos' head above his now, so Janos has no choice but to look at him.
He keeps making loud, breathy noises that make Azazel want to fuck him so hard he'll scream, so he digs his fingers into Janos' thighs as thrusts as hard as he can. He's doing something right, from the way Janos' nails are drawing blood on his back.
He comes hard, by the sound of it, painting Azazel's chest and his own in white. Azazel uses his tail to brush it off, but Janos grabs the winding thing, his other arm so tight it hurts around Azazel's shoulders. He brings it to his mouth, runs his tongue down the spade, cleans his own mess off, and Azazel comes right then, filling Janos up, marking him forever as Azazel's.
He pulls out and pushes Janos down onto the bed, where he sprawls, boneless, his curls sweaty and sticking to his face, his forehead. He has bruises blooming up his neck, and down his thighs, Azazel's come following them like a map.
If he hadn't just come, he'd be hard again at the sight.
“Was that you wanted, Janos?” He asks, still short of breath.
Janos smiles up at him, one of his curls brushing his reddened mouth.
“Does this mean you like me now?” The arrogant brat teases.
Azazel growls, and he fully intends to smack him, but Janos runs a finger down his slick thigh and brings it to his mouth.
Azazel really doesn't have anything to say, after that.