Fic Teaser
Random smutie scene. Instead of writing the whole story it's from, i skipped right to it! ><;;; (It wouldn't get out of my head...)
Fandom: Star Ocean-TTEOT Cliff/Albel.
Word count: 2,575
Distractions: Ch. 4- Apathy (clip)
The hallway was dark, lit only by a single torch hanging on the wall. No one was around, no noise was made. It was well into the night; he was thankful that he didn’t need to worry about running into anyone annoying on his way to his room. He was looking forward to some of the peace he deserved after such a long trip.
He sighed, a fraction of the tenseness in his body ebbing off from it. His legs carried him to the closed door that was his bedroom, one of the few places he looked to as a sanctuary. Everyone in their right mind knew not to disturb him there. Coming to it, he slowed, pushing open the heavy wooden door.
His insides froze. The sanctuary was no more.
There on his bed was the last person he wanted to see. He wanted to yell, scream for him to leave his presence at once- hadn’t he put up with him enough already? Or he wanted to yell angrily and leave himself, willing to settle and spend the night in the Urssa Lava Caves and train until dawn. Both choices were tempting.
But no. His mind was already shut down and apathetic about everything. The attitude he had been able to maintain the past few days went into effect even stronger as he stepped inside, not bothering to shut the door behind himself.
“What are you doing here?” he growled, refusing to glance again at the Klausian sitting on his bed.
Cliff was on the edge of the feeble mattress, elbows on his knees and leaned over. He watched the Wicked One go over to the right side of the room and set down his equipment. “Where have you been?”
He concentrated on taking the heavy things off his person; first the Crimson Scourge. He then went to get off the thick collar protecting his neck. “Don’t answer me with a question. What are you doing here?”
There was a pause. “I’ve been waiting for you. Now answer my question.”
The metal was set down. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at the blonde. “That’s none of your concern.”
“I’m making it my concern.” There was a pause. “You haven’t said two words to me since you stepped foot on the Diplo.”
He placed his hands on the table, glaring over at his intruder. “What of it?” he growled.
He sat up straight, his expression adamant. “Why? Did I do something to piss you off?”
“What of it?” he repeated, annunciating every syllable.
“Because you’re pissing me off with this childish silent treatment!”
Albel calmly went over to face him, the look in his eyes feral. “And you’re not childish, waiting in my room half the night to bring up such inane things as this?”
“What is it you’re trying to hide?”
“That’s none of your business, maggot.”
They went silent, staring at each other, each an unyielding glare. Neither was going to back down. Albel’s mind went blank, shutting down completely. He hadn’t been this close to the Klausian in months; it felt odd; he wanted to be closer. His attention came down to the curious green mark around the other’s neck. He’d heard he’d been born with it; what a strange mark to have on your skin at birth… Before he could stop himself, his right hand came up gently, fingers outstretched toward it. Cliff didn’t even flinch as they landed on his skin.
The glare was gone. He took an interest at the warmth in his hand, thumb swiping over the thin line. It didn’t feel like it was there, it was as smooth as the skin around it. He was entranced, going over both the lines there. They were an earthly shade of green, going well with Cliff’s characteristics.
The back of his mind was screaming, trying to jump-start his brain to think rationally- Get away. But he was too far gone, numb from the strain of denying himself everything, the stress from Tartaris, then having to face Cliff and deny himself all the more…
He finally looked into cerulean. They were questioning, curious, looking for any answer. His gaze fell to his lips- this was the closest he’d ever been to them, he realized. They were slightly parted, aimed directly at him, practically begging…
What the hell…
He leaned in, closing his eyes and caring no longer. Cliff didn’t fight it, but rather seemed to relax completely. Mouths opened at the same time, complying by engaging in a soft tangling of tongues. Albel felt a hand come up to the back of his head and gently hold his hair, keeping him close.
I missed you…
The kiss filled his body with warmth, making him crave it all the more. It made him recognize how cold he’d been- when had it gotten so bad? The hand at Cliff’s neck ventured back to golden locks, loving how soft they were to his touch. An almost inaudible moan escaped from him, and he didn’t care if Cliff heard it. He pressed closer, trying to convey a small bit of the fire that was inside him.
Palms pressed against his cheeks, caressing. They were large hands, used for fighting and labor, but felt glorious against his skin. He backed off and opened his eyes, panting slightly.
What am I doing…?
Cliff’s gaze traveled over his flushed expression critically, as if still trying to find some sort of answer. He wasn’t about to let go until he found one. Albel’s insides squirmed like the Klausian was attempting to probe into his soul.
Don’t let him see…
Those hands pulled him close again, the Glyphian happy to comply. This time their lips clashed together hard, the kiss messy and desperate. Cliff slightly groaned as they fought for the dominance, his hair being pulled harder. He reached down to Albel’s hips and clamped down, pulling the lithe body toward him and over to the side.
The Wicked One allowed himself to be unceremoniously tossed onto the bed, their lips never parting once. Cliff shifted around to be between his legs, scooting close. Their kiss ended only for the blonde to dip down and lick at the skin at Albel’s neck. His head tilted upward to allow it, eyes closed and relishing the sensation. He felt a hand slide up his left thigh, feeling like it was leaving a scorching trail as it went higher. The opposite hand traveled up his abdomen, slowly moving his shirt up to reveal more skin to burn.
Tender kisses made a path down to his collarbone. His hand tangled harder in Cliff’s hair, his other arm finally going around his wide back to hold him. His breathing was getting shallower, and became a hiss as teeth sank into his nipple. His body curled in response, blood instantly flooding into nether regions.
His disheveled skirt was pushed to the side to expose his lower half. He had no care that his growing erection was blatantly obvious through his underwear, having no mind to hide it. All he could concentrate on was watching his right hand tug on the zipper of Cliff’s shirt, hurriedly pulling it down. He had to keep from groaning in approval as perfectly toned skin and muscle were exposed to his eyes. He ignored the blonde who’d stopped his ministrations just to watch him. The zipper unhooked, torso fully open to him. He ran both claw and hand over it, loving how each ripple felt, feeling a surge of respect for this body.
A hand caught his own, stopping him. He looked on as it was brought up slowly to the Klausian’s face, then as his index finger disappeared into a mouth. Albel’s breath caught, a low moan escaping. Crimson eyes closed as teeth and tongue worked on his finger, sucking, driving him crazy. He could only imagine that mouth working that way on his cock, making it only harden to the point of pain. He felt a thick finger trail up his thigh, coming up to his crotch to hook inside his underwear. The finger toyed with the opening, not going inside any further, causing the Wicked One to pant with need.
He had a mind to say it was becoming painful, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Teeth nibbled on the tip of his finger; his back arched in response, practically feeling it on his shaft. A sound came from his throat, somewhere between a moan and whimper, desperate. Cliff let his hand drop; he dove in to run his finger along the side of his need. The back of his hand flew to his lips, covering them so he would make no sound. His body was trembling, straining from the teasing. He was nearly to the point of begging, a mouth again enclosing around his nipple to suckle on it.
Albel heard it too late. His mind was in thousands of pieces, unable to register the sound of incoming footsteps. He was too busy drowning, feeling, being warmed-
“Albel?”
The Glyphian gasped loudly, instantly pushing Cliff off his body. He sat up, his right leg coming up, hoping that and his skirt would hide his privates. The thousands of pieces in his head smashed back together in that one second, glaring at whoever dared to disturb him when he’d been so blissfully out of it.
“What?” he growled lowly, in warning that it had better be good.
There stood Woltar, clearly recognizing what he’d interrupted. He bowed his head slightly. “My apologies, Albel, but our King would like your audience as soon as possible. It’s urgent.”
Albel took a breath, then another. “Fine,” he said, keeping himself from growling or spitting. “I’ll be there momentarily.” He watched as the old man walked away.
He couldn’t bring himself to look at Cliff. Now that he was in his right mind, he didn’t know what to do, what to say. He wished so badly that he’d closed and locked the door, to not be interrupted…
He looked to the ground as he pulled his shirt down and adjusted his skirt, trying to hide his still straining hard-on. “I need to go,” he said quietly, almost a whisper. He slid off the bed and rushed out of the room, leaving the Klausian there alone and stunned.
The Wicked One turned left from his doorway, the way that Woltar had come from. But instead of heading straight for the conference room, he went down another hall, and then another. Even though he was finally thinking straight again, his train of thought was playing what had just happened, then thinking upon how it may have continued. His thinking wasn’t helping his apparent problem; he was far from ready to go see King Airyglyph, in such a state.
He walked fast, hurrying. He needed the pain, desire, lusting to go away. He had no idea where to go; it was the middle of the night-almost anywhere would do.
The torches here in this hall were few and far between. The air around him was cold and easily chilled him. It was a less used section of the castle, with next to no traffic at night. He figured it would do.
He sat himself on the stone floor, a torch little ways to his right. He was almost ashamed that he was slightly panting- how had that overgrown ox done this to him? The fantasy in his mind was relentless, unstopping no matter what he tried to think of. Unable to take it anymore, he flung his skirt to the side like it’d been done mere moments ago. His hand reached in and curled around his burning erection, pulling it out into the dim light.
Precum glistened in the firelight. Albel smeared it over the head, shuddering from the sensation. Fingers enclosed around his swollen flesh and pulled, over and over. The back of his head hit the stone wall behind him, closing his eyes in concentration.
He could see Cliff and what they had just been doing. Could see Cliff taking off his clothes, then his own. Could see him licking a trail down his body, nipping at his thighs. Could see him sucking his cock, gently kneading his balls, to the point where he felt like he was going to explode. Could see him kissing him all over before thrusting into him…
He was frantically beating off, desperate for release. His hips rocked with his rhythm, lips parted in panting. The tiniest of moans escaped every few seconds, attempting to restrain them. The pressure was steadily building in his loins, ever close to what he wanted. He put the back of his clawed hand to his mouth to quiet himself as he went faster; so desperate.
And with every pump, with every bead of precum that dripped from his tip, he wished that he could hate Cliff with his entire being. For making him need so badly, for making him feel such weak emotions, for making him feel. But deep down, he knew it was impossible…
With a silent scream, hot spurts of come covered his hand, his body shaking from orgasm. He kept pumping and pumping, making sure to milk himself dry. His back arched, still trying to keep himself quiet as he rode it out. Eyes opened to watch, the last tremors going through his body as he smeared the come over his softening, still-sensitive dick. In his post-orgasm mind, he couldn’t help but wish that it’d been Cliff that’d made him come and want to scream in ecstasy.
Albel recovered. As he calmed his breathing and gathered his strength back, all he could think of was hatred. He stuffed his manhood back where it belonged, glaring at his essence that covered it and his hand.
He hated Cliff at that moment, for being able to make him want so badly, causing him to go through such means to please himself. He hated himself mostly, though, for giving in so easily, both in his room and there in the hallway. He was ashamed, thinking himself weak. Why hadn’t he fought it…?
The Glyphian got to his feet. He brought up his hand closer to his face, to the light, to see it. His shame, his hatred, doubled tenfold, seeing how much he’d come to Cliff’s image. He inspected his liquids with a scowl, watching it slowly dry upon his skin.
He stared at the floor as he wiped his hand on the wall behind him. He didn’t need to look, trying to get it off, wanting the traces of his weakness gone. He didn’t care how much the stone scraped his hand, he just wanted the wetness to go away.
Taking one more calming breath, he silenced his mind. His apathetic barrier was put back in place, if only for a short while longer. His legs carried him away from the spot, full intention to go see King Airyglyph. His thoughts drifted to what the man could possibly want at that hour, but his apathy quickly swept it away.
End scene
I'm still not sure if I'll ever get around to writing the rest of this fic... :/ ><;;;
Fandom: Star Ocean-TTEOT Cliff/Albel.
Word count: 2,575
Distractions: Ch. 4- Apathy (clip)
The hallway was dark, lit only by a single torch hanging on the wall. No one was around, no noise was made. It was well into the night; he was thankful that he didn’t need to worry about running into anyone annoying on his way to his room. He was looking forward to some of the peace he deserved after such a long trip.
He sighed, a fraction of the tenseness in his body ebbing off from it. His legs carried him to the closed door that was his bedroom, one of the few places he looked to as a sanctuary. Everyone in their right mind knew not to disturb him there. Coming to it, he slowed, pushing open the heavy wooden door.
His insides froze. The sanctuary was no more.
There on his bed was the last person he wanted to see. He wanted to yell, scream for him to leave his presence at once- hadn’t he put up with him enough already? Or he wanted to yell angrily and leave himself, willing to settle and spend the night in the Urssa Lava Caves and train until dawn. Both choices were tempting.
But no. His mind was already shut down and apathetic about everything. The attitude he had been able to maintain the past few days went into effect even stronger as he stepped inside, not bothering to shut the door behind himself.
“What are you doing here?” he growled, refusing to glance again at the Klausian sitting on his bed.
Cliff was on the edge of the feeble mattress, elbows on his knees and leaned over. He watched the Wicked One go over to the right side of the room and set down his equipment. “Where have you been?”
He concentrated on taking the heavy things off his person; first the Crimson Scourge. He then went to get off the thick collar protecting his neck. “Don’t answer me with a question. What are you doing here?”
There was a pause. “I’ve been waiting for you. Now answer my question.”
The metal was set down. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at the blonde. “That’s none of your concern.”
“I’m making it my concern.” There was a pause. “You haven’t said two words to me since you stepped foot on the Diplo.”
He placed his hands on the table, glaring over at his intruder. “What of it?” he growled.
He sat up straight, his expression adamant. “Why? Did I do something to piss you off?”
“What of it?” he repeated, annunciating every syllable.
“Because you’re pissing me off with this childish silent treatment!”
Albel calmly went over to face him, the look in his eyes feral. “And you’re not childish, waiting in my room half the night to bring up such inane things as this?”
“What is it you’re trying to hide?”
“That’s none of your business, maggot.”
They went silent, staring at each other, each an unyielding glare. Neither was going to back down. Albel’s mind went blank, shutting down completely. He hadn’t been this close to the Klausian in months; it felt odd; he wanted to be closer. His attention came down to the curious green mark around the other’s neck. He’d heard he’d been born with it; what a strange mark to have on your skin at birth… Before he could stop himself, his right hand came up gently, fingers outstretched toward it. Cliff didn’t even flinch as they landed on his skin.
The glare was gone. He took an interest at the warmth in his hand, thumb swiping over the thin line. It didn’t feel like it was there, it was as smooth as the skin around it. He was entranced, going over both the lines there. They were an earthly shade of green, going well with Cliff’s characteristics.
The back of his mind was screaming, trying to jump-start his brain to think rationally- Get away. But he was too far gone, numb from the strain of denying himself everything, the stress from Tartaris, then having to face Cliff and deny himself all the more…
He finally looked into cerulean. They were questioning, curious, looking for any answer. His gaze fell to his lips- this was the closest he’d ever been to them, he realized. They were slightly parted, aimed directly at him, practically begging…
What the hell…
He leaned in, closing his eyes and caring no longer. Cliff didn’t fight it, but rather seemed to relax completely. Mouths opened at the same time, complying by engaging in a soft tangling of tongues. Albel felt a hand come up to the back of his head and gently hold his hair, keeping him close.
I missed you…
The kiss filled his body with warmth, making him crave it all the more. It made him recognize how cold he’d been- when had it gotten so bad? The hand at Cliff’s neck ventured back to golden locks, loving how soft they were to his touch. An almost inaudible moan escaped from him, and he didn’t care if Cliff heard it. He pressed closer, trying to convey a small bit of the fire that was inside him.
Palms pressed against his cheeks, caressing. They were large hands, used for fighting and labor, but felt glorious against his skin. He backed off and opened his eyes, panting slightly.
What am I doing…?
Cliff’s gaze traveled over his flushed expression critically, as if still trying to find some sort of answer. He wasn’t about to let go until he found one. Albel’s insides squirmed like the Klausian was attempting to probe into his soul.
Don’t let him see…
Those hands pulled him close again, the Glyphian happy to comply. This time their lips clashed together hard, the kiss messy and desperate. Cliff slightly groaned as they fought for the dominance, his hair being pulled harder. He reached down to Albel’s hips and clamped down, pulling the lithe body toward him and over to the side.
The Wicked One allowed himself to be unceremoniously tossed onto the bed, their lips never parting once. Cliff shifted around to be between his legs, scooting close. Their kiss ended only for the blonde to dip down and lick at the skin at Albel’s neck. His head tilted upward to allow it, eyes closed and relishing the sensation. He felt a hand slide up his left thigh, feeling like it was leaving a scorching trail as it went higher. The opposite hand traveled up his abdomen, slowly moving his shirt up to reveal more skin to burn.
Tender kisses made a path down to his collarbone. His hand tangled harder in Cliff’s hair, his other arm finally going around his wide back to hold him. His breathing was getting shallower, and became a hiss as teeth sank into his nipple. His body curled in response, blood instantly flooding into nether regions.
His disheveled skirt was pushed to the side to expose his lower half. He had no care that his growing erection was blatantly obvious through his underwear, having no mind to hide it. All he could concentrate on was watching his right hand tug on the zipper of Cliff’s shirt, hurriedly pulling it down. He had to keep from groaning in approval as perfectly toned skin and muscle were exposed to his eyes. He ignored the blonde who’d stopped his ministrations just to watch him. The zipper unhooked, torso fully open to him. He ran both claw and hand over it, loving how each ripple felt, feeling a surge of respect for this body.
A hand caught his own, stopping him. He looked on as it was brought up slowly to the Klausian’s face, then as his index finger disappeared into a mouth. Albel’s breath caught, a low moan escaping. Crimson eyes closed as teeth and tongue worked on his finger, sucking, driving him crazy. He could only imagine that mouth working that way on his cock, making it only harden to the point of pain. He felt a thick finger trail up his thigh, coming up to his crotch to hook inside his underwear. The finger toyed with the opening, not going inside any further, causing the Wicked One to pant with need.
He had a mind to say it was becoming painful, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Teeth nibbled on the tip of his finger; his back arched in response, practically feeling it on his shaft. A sound came from his throat, somewhere between a moan and whimper, desperate. Cliff let his hand drop; he dove in to run his finger along the side of his need. The back of his hand flew to his lips, covering them so he would make no sound. His body was trembling, straining from the teasing. He was nearly to the point of begging, a mouth again enclosing around his nipple to suckle on it.
Albel heard it too late. His mind was in thousands of pieces, unable to register the sound of incoming footsteps. He was too busy drowning, feeling, being warmed-
“Albel?”
The Glyphian gasped loudly, instantly pushing Cliff off his body. He sat up, his right leg coming up, hoping that and his skirt would hide his privates. The thousands of pieces in his head smashed back together in that one second, glaring at whoever dared to disturb him when he’d been so blissfully out of it.
“What?” he growled lowly, in warning that it had better be good.
There stood Woltar, clearly recognizing what he’d interrupted. He bowed his head slightly. “My apologies, Albel, but our King would like your audience as soon as possible. It’s urgent.”
Albel took a breath, then another. “Fine,” he said, keeping himself from growling or spitting. “I’ll be there momentarily.” He watched as the old man walked away.
He couldn’t bring himself to look at Cliff. Now that he was in his right mind, he didn’t know what to do, what to say. He wished so badly that he’d closed and locked the door, to not be interrupted…
He looked to the ground as he pulled his shirt down and adjusted his skirt, trying to hide his still straining hard-on. “I need to go,” he said quietly, almost a whisper. He slid off the bed and rushed out of the room, leaving the Klausian there alone and stunned.
The Wicked One turned left from his doorway, the way that Woltar had come from. But instead of heading straight for the conference room, he went down another hall, and then another. Even though he was finally thinking straight again, his train of thought was playing what had just happened, then thinking upon how it may have continued. His thinking wasn’t helping his apparent problem; he was far from ready to go see King Airyglyph, in such a state.
He walked fast, hurrying. He needed the pain, desire, lusting to go away. He had no idea where to go; it was the middle of the night-almost anywhere would do.
The torches here in this hall were few and far between. The air around him was cold and easily chilled him. It was a less used section of the castle, with next to no traffic at night. He figured it would do.
He sat himself on the stone floor, a torch little ways to his right. He was almost ashamed that he was slightly panting- how had that overgrown ox done this to him? The fantasy in his mind was relentless, unstopping no matter what he tried to think of. Unable to take it anymore, he flung his skirt to the side like it’d been done mere moments ago. His hand reached in and curled around his burning erection, pulling it out into the dim light.
Precum glistened in the firelight. Albel smeared it over the head, shuddering from the sensation. Fingers enclosed around his swollen flesh and pulled, over and over. The back of his head hit the stone wall behind him, closing his eyes in concentration.
He could see Cliff and what they had just been doing. Could see Cliff taking off his clothes, then his own. Could see him licking a trail down his body, nipping at his thighs. Could see him sucking his cock, gently kneading his balls, to the point where he felt like he was going to explode. Could see him kissing him all over before thrusting into him…
He was frantically beating off, desperate for release. His hips rocked with his rhythm, lips parted in panting. The tiniest of moans escaped every few seconds, attempting to restrain them. The pressure was steadily building in his loins, ever close to what he wanted. He put the back of his clawed hand to his mouth to quiet himself as he went faster; so desperate.
And with every pump, with every bead of precum that dripped from his tip, he wished that he could hate Cliff with his entire being. For making him need so badly, for making him feel such weak emotions, for making him feel. But deep down, he knew it was impossible…
With a silent scream, hot spurts of come covered his hand, his body shaking from orgasm. He kept pumping and pumping, making sure to milk himself dry. His back arched, still trying to keep himself quiet as he rode it out. Eyes opened to watch, the last tremors going through his body as he smeared the come over his softening, still-sensitive dick. In his post-orgasm mind, he couldn’t help but wish that it’d been Cliff that’d made him come and want to scream in ecstasy.
Albel recovered. As he calmed his breathing and gathered his strength back, all he could think of was hatred. He stuffed his manhood back where it belonged, glaring at his essence that covered it and his hand.
He hated Cliff at that moment, for being able to make him want so badly, causing him to go through such means to please himself. He hated himself mostly, though, for giving in so easily, both in his room and there in the hallway. He was ashamed, thinking himself weak. Why hadn’t he fought it…?
The Glyphian got to his feet. He brought up his hand closer to his face, to the light, to see it. His shame, his hatred, doubled tenfold, seeing how much he’d come to Cliff’s image. He inspected his liquids with a scowl, watching it slowly dry upon his skin.
He stared at the floor as he wiped his hand on the wall behind him. He didn’t need to look, trying to get it off, wanting the traces of his weakness gone. He didn’t care how much the stone scraped his hand, he just wanted the wetness to go away.
Taking one more calming breath, he silenced his mind. His apathetic barrier was put back in place, if only for a short while longer. His legs carried him away from the spot, full intention to go see King Airyglyph. His thoughts drifted to what the man could possibly want at that hour, but his apathy quickly swept it away.
End scene
I'm still not sure if I'll ever get around to writing the rest of this fic... :/ ><;;;