[Fanfiction] - Rociel/Katan - Beautiful
Title: Beautiful
Fandom: Angel Sanctuary
Word Count: 1045
Beta: kashibanohikari
Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Characters/Pairing: Rociel/Katan
Rating: M
Warnings: Yaoi, non-explicit sex, BDSM, angst, Rociel (come on, he needs his own warning category)
Author's Notes: Quite dark. In a variety of ways. Probably darker than a large majority of my work. I'm a bit nervous about putting some of the content up on LJ (I'm a sensitive doll :p), so feedback is appreciated.
Summary: Beauty and blood, pleasure and pain...what other lines blur in this place where fantasy and reality collide?
‘Tell me I’m beautiful.’
He’s wearing nothing but the moonlight and his alabaster hair. Even in submission he is deadly, the serpent luring Eve closer with beguiling amber eyes. The pomegranate stains on the white sheets look like splatters of blood, Rociel’s lips stained dark with the juice.
‘You’re beautiful.’
He sits up, tilting his head and dragging his tongue over his lips to catch the last remnants of the flavour. Katan’s breath catches in his throat, snatched away by the beauty before him. To touch it…surely it is sacrilege. The most heinous form of blasphemy, to stare at that perfection and desire it. An unforgivable crime for which he will burn. For which he already burns.
‘Say it again.’
His fingers trail down his bare torso to the tattoo on his hip, gliding over the whirls and lines. Katan can feel the slide of phantom skin beneath his fingers. Can taste the sweetness of those luscious lips. Can imagine the heat of that lithe body. He swallows, his breathing ragged.
‘You’re beautiful.’
‘How beautiful?’
‘You’re more beautiful than the moon. Your skin is like pearl, your eyes are pure amber. The stars themselves envy your beauty and turn their faces away. You’re more beautiful than the storm, rending the heavens open. You’re too beautiful to be of this world.’
Rociel smiles, raising one hand to beckon him closer. He walks to the bed slowly, hesitating as Rociel sits up gracefully, reaching out to snag the front of his shirt and pull him closer. Rociel leans up, lips parted slightly, one hand going to rest against Katan’s throat in something between a threat and a caress.
‘I’m not beautiful. I’m filth. I’m disgusting. I am the basest creature in this universe of dirt.’
‘Rociel-sama…’
The hand on his throat hooks around the nape of his neck, yanking him down. He slips, fall, tries to catch himself as Rociel laughs mockingly, wrapping slender legs around his waist and flipping them so it is Katan sprawled backwards on the bed, Rociel’s hair falling around him. All he can see is Rociel’s face. Even when he’s alone, all he ever sees is Rociel’s face. All he want to see is Rociel’s face.
Rociel is his heaven, and his hell.
Words are lost, stolen away in sudden heat. A movement, a gasp…they fall, tumble backwards onto white purity stained with erubescent sins. Fingers in hair, skin on skin, lips on lips, taking, giving, pleading. This is their prayer, the whisper of fabric as it falls away, their communion the taste of the pomegranate still lingering in Rociel’s mouth. Their hymn the ragged cadence of their breathing.
‘You’re…so…beautiful.’
As they entwine Katan can’t help but think Rociel is at his most beautiful like this. Flushed and dishevelled, unfettered, unrestrained, uninhibited, wild and reckless and effulgent. No guile, no connivance, no disguise. Just Rociel, as he is just Katan.
The moon watches them, and even in her purity she aches to sin as they do.
*****
‘Hurt me.’
Katan shakes his head mutely. He won’t. He can’t. He’ll bathe his hands in the blood of innocents, but the thought of raising a hand against his master sends thrills of horror through his whole being.
‘Rociel-sama…’ he knows he’s begging. Rociel’s eyes harden.
‘Are you disobeying me, Katan?’ he asks silkily, propping himself up on one elbow. Katan shivers at his tone. Velvet clad iron, poison masked by sweetness, thorns beneath the blushing perfection of a new rose.
‘No…I…please, Rociel-sama.’
Even as he refuses, he takes a stumbling step forward. Rociel is propped up on a dozen silk cushions, arms and legs akimbo, a dozen dying roses scattered around his body. Their scent is heavy in the air, sweet and seductive. Parted lips, the provocative tip of a shoulder, a subtle eroticism that comes as easily as breathing to his seraphic master.
‘Hurt me,’ Rociel hisses. The price of disobedience will be far greater that thirty pieces of silver.
His hands are shaking. He hesitates, closes his eyes, draws a hand back.
Slap
Rociel gasps, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Katan watches it, mesmerised with something between horror and fascination as it trickles down his chin, falling onto his torso. Rociel reaches up to wipe it way, smearing it over his porcelain skin.
‘I told you to hurt me, Katan. Is that the best you can do?’
‘But…why, Rociel-sama?’ Rociel looks at him, and for once there are no designs in his eyes. He is often naked, but in this moment his soul is bare.
‘Because it makes me feel beautiful.’
This time the stains on the sheet are true blood, the marks on white skin not tricks of the shadows but bruises, carved out of immaculate agony. Katan feels himself slipping, caught up in the intoxication of insanity, caught up in a sort of pagan adulation as Rociel gasps his name and shudders under his hands.
‘I’m sorry, Rociel-sama.’
Rociel reaches up a shaking hand to push his hair back from his face, leaving a streak of blood on his forehead.
‘Why?’
Katan isn’t sure what scares him more. How much Rociel needs the pain he inflicts, or the secret, sinful pleasure he gleans from inflicting it.
*****
‘Love me.’
Are those tears in his eyes? His hair is falling down around his face, but there is artlessness in it that belies his usual effortless sensuality. His grip is almost bruising, his eyes devoid of anything but need. Before Katan can even find the words to reply there are lips on his and he is unable to speak.
‘Rociel-sama…’
Rociel buries his face In Katan’s chest, twining his arms around the taller man’s neck. Katan isn’t sure, but for a second he could swear fear flitters over the face of his angel. Something tightens around his heart.
‘Love me. Tell me you love me.’
Fingers tighten on his shoulders, lips pressed against his collarbone, hot as a brand. He shudders, pulling Rociel closer, burying his face in hair like strands of spider’s silk.
‘I love you.’
‘Why?’
He tilts Rociel’s chin up. There are tears clinging to his lashes, glistening like tiny diamonds.
‘Because you’re the most beautiful thing in the all the heavens and all the hells.’
Fandom: Angel Sanctuary
Word Count: 1045
Beta: kashibanohikari
Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Characters/Pairing: Rociel/Katan
Rating: M
Warnings: Yaoi, non-explicit sex, BDSM, angst, Rociel (come on, he needs his own warning category)
Author's Notes: Quite dark. In a variety of ways. Probably darker than a large majority of my work. I'm a bit nervous about putting some of the content up on LJ (I'm a sensitive doll :p), so feedback is appreciated.
Summary: Beauty and blood, pleasure and pain...what other lines blur in this place where fantasy and reality collide?
‘Tell me I’m beautiful.’
He’s wearing nothing but the moonlight and his alabaster hair. Even in submission he is deadly, the serpent luring Eve closer with beguiling amber eyes. The pomegranate stains on the white sheets look like splatters of blood, Rociel’s lips stained dark with the juice.
‘You’re beautiful.’
He sits up, tilting his head and dragging his tongue over his lips to catch the last remnants of the flavour. Katan’s breath catches in his throat, snatched away by the beauty before him. To touch it…surely it is sacrilege. The most heinous form of blasphemy, to stare at that perfection and desire it. An unforgivable crime for which he will burn. For which he already burns.
‘Say it again.’
His fingers trail down his bare torso to the tattoo on his hip, gliding over the whirls and lines. Katan can feel the slide of phantom skin beneath his fingers. Can taste the sweetness of those luscious lips. Can imagine the heat of that lithe body. He swallows, his breathing ragged.
‘You’re beautiful.’
‘How beautiful?’
‘You’re more beautiful than the moon. Your skin is like pearl, your eyes are pure amber. The stars themselves envy your beauty and turn their faces away. You’re more beautiful than the storm, rending the heavens open. You’re too beautiful to be of this world.’
Rociel smiles, raising one hand to beckon him closer. He walks to the bed slowly, hesitating as Rociel sits up gracefully, reaching out to snag the front of his shirt and pull him closer. Rociel leans up, lips parted slightly, one hand going to rest against Katan’s throat in something between a threat and a caress.
‘I’m not beautiful. I’m filth. I’m disgusting. I am the basest creature in this universe of dirt.’
‘Rociel-sama…’
The hand on his throat hooks around the nape of his neck, yanking him down. He slips, fall, tries to catch himself as Rociel laughs mockingly, wrapping slender legs around his waist and flipping them so it is Katan sprawled backwards on the bed, Rociel’s hair falling around him. All he can see is Rociel’s face. Even when he’s alone, all he ever sees is Rociel’s face. All he want to see is Rociel’s face.
Rociel is his heaven, and his hell.
Words are lost, stolen away in sudden heat. A movement, a gasp…they fall, tumble backwards onto white purity stained with erubescent sins. Fingers in hair, skin on skin, lips on lips, taking, giving, pleading. This is their prayer, the whisper of fabric as it falls away, their communion the taste of the pomegranate still lingering in Rociel’s mouth. Their hymn the ragged cadence of their breathing.
‘You’re…so…beautiful.’
As they entwine Katan can’t help but think Rociel is at his most beautiful like this. Flushed and dishevelled, unfettered, unrestrained, uninhibited, wild and reckless and effulgent. No guile, no connivance, no disguise. Just Rociel, as he is just Katan.
The moon watches them, and even in her purity she aches to sin as they do.
*****
‘Hurt me.’
Katan shakes his head mutely. He won’t. He can’t. He’ll bathe his hands in the blood of innocents, but the thought of raising a hand against his master sends thrills of horror through his whole being.
‘Rociel-sama…’ he knows he’s begging. Rociel’s eyes harden.
‘Are you disobeying me, Katan?’ he asks silkily, propping himself up on one elbow. Katan shivers at his tone. Velvet clad iron, poison masked by sweetness, thorns beneath the blushing perfection of a new rose.
‘No…I…please, Rociel-sama.’
Even as he refuses, he takes a stumbling step forward. Rociel is propped up on a dozen silk cushions, arms and legs akimbo, a dozen dying roses scattered around his body. Their scent is heavy in the air, sweet and seductive. Parted lips, the provocative tip of a shoulder, a subtle eroticism that comes as easily as breathing to his seraphic master.
‘Hurt me,’ Rociel hisses. The price of disobedience will be far greater that thirty pieces of silver.
His hands are shaking. He hesitates, closes his eyes, draws a hand back.
Slap
Rociel gasps, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Katan watches it, mesmerised with something between horror and fascination as it trickles down his chin, falling onto his torso. Rociel reaches up to wipe it way, smearing it over his porcelain skin.
‘I told you to hurt me, Katan. Is that the best you can do?’
‘But…why, Rociel-sama?’ Rociel looks at him, and for once there are no designs in his eyes. He is often naked, but in this moment his soul is bare.
‘Because it makes me feel beautiful.’
This time the stains on the sheet are true blood, the marks on white skin not tricks of the shadows but bruises, carved out of immaculate agony. Katan feels himself slipping, caught up in the intoxication of insanity, caught up in a sort of pagan adulation as Rociel gasps his name and shudders under his hands.
‘I’m sorry, Rociel-sama.’
Rociel reaches up a shaking hand to push his hair back from his face, leaving a streak of blood on his forehead.
‘Why?’
Katan isn’t sure what scares him more. How much Rociel needs the pain he inflicts, or the secret, sinful pleasure he gleans from inflicting it.
*****
‘Love me.’
Are those tears in his eyes? His hair is falling down around his face, but there is artlessness in it that belies his usual effortless sensuality. His grip is almost bruising, his eyes devoid of anything but need. Before Katan can even find the words to reply there are lips on his and he is unable to speak.
‘Rociel-sama…’
Rociel buries his face In Katan’s chest, twining his arms around the taller man’s neck. Katan isn’t sure, but for a second he could swear fear flitters over the face of his angel. Something tightens around his heart.
‘Love me. Tell me you love me.’
Fingers tighten on his shoulders, lips pressed against his collarbone, hot as a brand. He shudders, pulling Rociel closer, burying his face in hair like strands of spider’s silk.
‘I love you.’
‘Why?’
He tilts Rociel’s chin up. There are tears clinging to his lashes, glistening like tiny diamonds.
‘Because you’re the most beautiful thing in the all the heavens and all the hells.’