Fanfic (YGO 5D's): Never To Be True (Divine Files #5)
Title: Never To Be True
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Aki/Divine
Disclaimer: YGO is so not mine.
Warnings: het, BDSM
Summary: A man can dream. XD
Notes: Part 5/5 of my belated birthday present for karnimolly! I've had this idea for ages, Glad it's finally done. Hope you like it! =)
During his rare nights of leisure, Divine would lie in bed, awake, and dream of possibilities.
It was his time, spend on nothing but his own, private thoughts, and oftentimes they had nothing to do with the reality of his Arcadia Movement. But fantasies were but made him think big, so he encouraged himself to entertain them even if they seemed far fetched.
He lay stretched out on his bed, spread eagled, eyes closed, utterly relaxed. Every now and then his hands closed an opened, but it was not conscious, just an old habit that never quite went away. Reaching out for something he wanted, but it was always a bit too far away.
It didn't matter right now.
*
In his mind, he is naked, and the sheets beneath him are pleasantly cool and white. They are satin and silk, and shimmer softly every time he moves. He is at peace, breathing calmly, his thoughts and senses focused solely on the one other person occupying the room.
She stands next to him, her knees brushing the sheets. Her back is straight, her shoulders squared and her head raised confidently, like she never does when they're alone. Her hands are fists at her sides, and when she opens them he feels the familiar static in the air that means she's calling on her powers.
And his body flips over onto his back, not on its own accord, but because she wills it so. But he bares his back willingly, presenting it to her, giving himself over to her every whim. It feels so good to let go, to not think, to just react. He never feels as free as he does right now, because he can never let his guard down, because they all rely on him to stand above them.
He knows it when she calls the roses, because the smell is as much part of the illusion as the ranks and thorns. And she wields like one would a sword that is as much a part of one's body as an arm or hand: artfully, naturally and unafraid. Because she wants to, and because her powers are like a beloved friend to her.
The roses hit him like a nine tailed whip, a sharp, stinging pain that spreads from his back through his whole body. Relentless she keeps the blows coming, lovingly tormenting his body. Allowing him to be powerless before her eyes, letting him give it all up.
He keeps his eyes closed and cries, as he feels blood trickle down his sides. He laughs when she doesn't even stop then, and the scent of his arousal mingles with that of her roses. He wants this so much, and she gives it to him without thinking.
He begs her for more and she delivers, gently looking for yet untouched patches of skin, leaving no part of him unharmed.
He wants her so badly right now, has never wanted her more. And when he says so between groans of pain, she ceases her onslaught and relinquishes her hold on his body, then tells him to roll over. He loves how easy it is to do as she says, how relieving not to be responsible for everything.
She pushes him back and ties his arms to the head board, making sure the bonds are tight and impossible to escape from. She knows it gives him security, makes him feel safe and treasured, never caught and helpless, except in all the right ways.
He has molded her into this shape, and now she is all he could ever wish for. Strong and independent, his warrior and, in some ways, his superior.
She loves all of him, body and mind, and she worships him in her very own way. Sometimes, just sometimes, she will dominate him like this, to show her gratitude. She towers over him and allows him to watch as she sheds her clothing. She is beautiful. Because he made her so, and it's all for him.
Of course he can't touch her, his hands being tied as they are, so she snuggles up to him, letting him feel all of her in a more complete way than hands alone could. He moans his appreciation and she likes that, because even now she wants his approval, it's what she lives for, what makes her heart beat.
But then she has enough and she's rough with him again, her hands go from tender to harsh, and instead of kisses he gets nips and bites.
But she also strokes his erection, until he can't bear not to be inside her anymore. She teases him, torments him, but in the end she gives in to his desires, because hers are the same. And it doesn't matter how rough she treats him: it's always more than just physical between them, although he hesitates to call it love.
She rides him mercilessly, forcing him to move with her, at the pace she dictates. Every time he feels like he's close she slows down, sometimes she leaves him and watches him squirm. She's fickle, woman-ish, cheeky.
When he admits his impatience she shows him her fury, and of that there's plenty. She's angry at the world and at him, a little, because he can't give her everything she wants, only everything she needs.
But she always calms down and climbs back onto the bed, tending him affectionately, and bringing him to new heights of arousal and need. Until finally she's too close to that ultimate point of no return herself, and she carries him over the edge, holding him in her arms.
Because she can be strong, too, and he can rely on her as much as she does on him. Because she will protect him, some day.
*
He laughed. How utterly ridiculous! He neither wanted nor needed anything of the sort. And in any case, it was entirely impossible. It wasn't in her nature, and it certainly wasn't in his. But every now and then, it was nice to think about this what if...
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Aki/Divine
Disclaimer: YGO is so not mine.
Warnings: het, BDSM
Summary: A man can dream. XD
Notes: Part 5/5 of my belated birthday present for karnimolly! I've had this idea for ages, Glad it's finally done. Hope you like it! =)
During his rare nights of leisure, Divine would lie in bed, awake, and dream of possibilities.
It was his time, spend on nothing but his own, private thoughts, and oftentimes they had nothing to do with the reality of his Arcadia Movement. But fantasies were but made him think big, so he encouraged himself to entertain them even if they seemed far fetched.
He lay stretched out on his bed, spread eagled, eyes closed, utterly relaxed. Every now and then his hands closed an opened, but it was not conscious, just an old habit that never quite went away. Reaching out for something he wanted, but it was always a bit too far away.
It didn't matter right now.
*
In his mind, he is naked, and the sheets beneath him are pleasantly cool and white. They are satin and silk, and shimmer softly every time he moves. He is at peace, breathing calmly, his thoughts and senses focused solely on the one other person occupying the room.
She stands next to him, her knees brushing the sheets. Her back is straight, her shoulders squared and her head raised confidently, like she never does when they're alone. Her hands are fists at her sides, and when she opens them he feels the familiar static in the air that means she's calling on her powers.
And his body flips over onto his back, not on its own accord, but because she wills it so. But he bares his back willingly, presenting it to her, giving himself over to her every whim. It feels so good to let go, to not think, to just react. He never feels as free as he does right now, because he can never let his guard down, because they all rely on him to stand above them.
He knows it when she calls the roses, because the smell is as much part of the illusion as the ranks and thorns. And she wields like one would a sword that is as much a part of one's body as an arm or hand: artfully, naturally and unafraid. Because she wants to, and because her powers are like a beloved friend to her.
The roses hit him like a nine tailed whip, a sharp, stinging pain that spreads from his back through his whole body. Relentless she keeps the blows coming, lovingly tormenting his body. Allowing him to be powerless before her eyes, letting him give it all up.
He keeps his eyes closed and cries, as he feels blood trickle down his sides. He laughs when she doesn't even stop then, and the scent of his arousal mingles with that of her roses. He wants this so much, and she gives it to him without thinking.
He begs her for more and she delivers, gently looking for yet untouched patches of skin, leaving no part of him unharmed.
He wants her so badly right now, has never wanted her more. And when he says so between groans of pain, she ceases her onslaught and relinquishes her hold on his body, then tells him to roll over. He loves how easy it is to do as she says, how relieving not to be responsible for everything.
She pushes him back and ties his arms to the head board, making sure the bonds are tight and impossible to escape from. She knows it gives him security, makes him feel safe and treasured, never caught and helpless, except in all the right ways.
He has molded her into this shape, and now she is all he could ever wish for. Strong and independent, his warrior and, in some ways, his superior.
She loves all of him, body and mind, and she worships him in her very own way. Sometimes, just sometimes, she will dominate him like this, to show her gratitude. She towers over him and allows him to watch as she sheds her clothing. She is beautiful. Because he made her so, and it's all for him.
Of course he can't touch her, his hands being tied as they are, so she snuggles up to him, letting him feel all of her in a more complete way than hands alone could. He moans his appreciation and she likes that, because even now she wants his approval, it's what she lives for, what makes her heart beat.
But then she has enough and she's rough with him again, her hands go from tender to harsh, and instead of kisses he gets nips and bites.
But she also strokes his erection, until he can't bear not to be inside her anymore. She teases him, torments him, but in the end she gives in to his desires, because hers are the same. And it doesn't matter how rough she treats him: it's always more than just physical between them, although he hesitates to call it love.
She rides him mercilessly, forcing him to move with her, at the pace she dictates. Every time he feels like he's close she slows down, sometimes she leaves him and watches him squirm. She's fickle, woman-ish, cheeky.
When he admits his impatience she shows him her fury, and of that there's plenty. She's angry at the world and at him, a little, because he can't give her everything she wants, only everything she needs.
But she always calms down and climbs back onto the bed, tending him affectionately, and bringing him to new heights of arousal and need. Until finally she's too close to that ultimate point of no return herself, and she carries him over the edge, holding him in her arms.
Because she can be strong, too, and he can rely on her as much as she does on him. Because she will protect him, some day.
*
He laughed. How utterly ridiculous! He neither wanted nor needed anything of the sort. And in any case, it was entirely impossible. It wasn't in her nature, and it certainly wasn't in his. But every now and then, it was nice to think about this what if...