[ D. Gray-man ] Aria
Sep. 29th, 2009 09:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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cemetery_things+ Title: Aria
+ Fandom: D. Gray-man
+ Characters: Cyril Kamelot, Allen Walker
+ Rating: NC-17
+ Word Count: 773
+ Author's Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
dgm_fuh_q . Alternate universe. Dubious consent.
Supple fingers drew a mournful melody from from the keys they caressed, crisp white gloves lying atop the slick, black lid of the grand piano. Allen Walker was a musician caught in a quandary, an interrupted epiphany. His hair was falling in his face, strands sticking to his lips as he mouthed the words to an aria he could not quite compose. Yes, it sounded like the song of angels, something unearthly and awe-inspiring, but there was something missing.
Something vital.
He didn't realize he had company, completely absorbed in his own realm of faltering possibilities until a hand came to rest upon his head. The song halted with a harsh mess of notes, pale face turning upward to see the Minister standing above him. Lord Kamelot did not seem particularly displeased, a kind smile betraying several wrinkles and marks of his age as he gently ruffled Allen's hair.
"Is something wrong, Cyril?" Allen didn't remove his hands from the keyboard, half of his mind still pondering his possibilities.
"Oh, of course not, my dear nephew!" The Minister moved to sit beside the boy on the bench, folding his hands neatly in his lap. "I was simply drawn from my work by your beautiful music."
Allen was silent for a moment, looking back to the keys with an unreadable expression. When he did respond, his voice was soft, almost wistful. "Thank you, sir. I learned from a man greater than myself."
Cyril smiled, reaching out to put an arm over his shoulders. "You learned from the best, my boy, you and my dear daughter! A pair of prodigies, and I'm proud as could be."
The man was a bit close for Allen's comfort, quite suddenly, his breath hot, languid against his jaw. He tensed slightly, shrinking aside. His uncle's rather perverse tastes were something Tyki had forewarned him about, but Allen had yet to grow accustomed to this sort of intimacy. "Excuse me," he muttered, shifting to rise and leave.
His long hair made far too convenient a handle, unfortunately. Cyril drew him back to the bench, gentle despite his insistence. "You have no need to fear me, Allen." His eyes were following the shape of the boy's body beneath his clothing, mahogany brown gaze growing hot with lust.
"I was simply going to suggest you and Rhode perform together," his hands were as smooth as his voice, sliding to unfasten his trousers. Allen made a noise of protest, turning to look at the open parlor door. If nothing else would convince Cyril to stop, perhaps if he remembered what might happen if the servants were to see-
He thought he might fall from his seat when the Minister took his length into his mouth. Knuckles white, he clung to the sides of the bench, legs awkwardly spread for one of the most powerful men in the country to service him. Allen imagined there was some irony in this situation, but the shocks of sensation sliding through his stomach were making coherent thought quite difficult to compose.
Cyril was a man of the world, and he knew quite well what a risk he was taking in this endeavor. It was doubly thrilling, conquering the newest member of their family while in such a dangerous situation. Finger sliding between trouser and flesh, he found the soft joining flesh, rubbing softly until Allen's gasp told him he had found the spot.
Moist flesh rolling about his sex was pleasurable on its own, but wherever the Minister was touching him, it made his arousal even more intense. Despite his hesitation, he was sucked to his climax within the span of minutes, spilling into Cyril's throat with a moan as one hand fell to the piano for more support. Though random, the chord he hit made him straighten, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. Even as Cyril rose and carefully replaced Allen's trousers to their rightful place, the boy didn't move.
"You would make a lovely duet, I am sure." Cyril smiled, kindly, wiping the corners of his mouth with one pristine glove.
Allen nodded, stiffly, eyes locked on the reflection of the window on the lid of the piano. "I'll ask her about it, sir."
After another soft ruffle of his white hair, Cyril left the room, softly humming the tune Allen had been playing when he entered.
When the noise had faded, and the blush had receded from his fair cheeks, Allen played that random chord again- Once, twice, three times by itself, before following with several measures of his own.
"That's it," he breathed.
The music warmed once more beneath his fingers, sound swelling out to soothe his shame.
+ Fandom: D. Gray-man
+ Characters: Cyril Kamelot, Allen Walker
+ Rating: NC-17
+ Word Count: 773
+ Author's Notes: For
dgm_fuh_q . Alternate universe. Dubious consent.Supple fingers drew a mournful melody from from the keys they caressed, crisp white gloves lying atop the slick, black lid of the grand piano. Allen Walker was a musician caught in a quandary, an interrupted epiphany. His hair was falling in his face, strands sticking to his lips as he mouthed the words to an aria he could not quite compose. Yes, it sounded like the song of angels, something unearthly and awe-inspiring, but there was something missing.
Something vital.
He didn't realize he had company, completely absorbed in his own realm of faltering possibilities until a hand came to rest upon his head. The song halted with a harsh mess of notes, pale face turning upward to see the Minister standing above him. Lord Kamelot did not seem particularly displeased, a kind smile betraying several wrinkles and marks of his age as he gently ruffled Allen's hair.
"Is something wrong, Cyril?" Allen didn't remove his hands from the keyboard, half of his mind still pondering his possibilities.
"Oh, of course not, my dear nephew!" The Minister moved to sit beside the boy on the bench, folding his hands neatly in his lap. "I was simply drawn from my work by your beautiful music."
Allen was silent for a moment, looking back to the keys with an unreadable expression. When he did respond, his voice was soft, almost wistful. "Thank you, sir. I learned from a man greater than myself."
Cyril smiled, reaching out to put an arm over his shoulders. "You learned from the best, my boy, you and my dear daughter! A pair of prodigies, and I'm proud as could be."
The man was a bit close for Allen's comfort, quite suddenly, his breath hot, languid against his jaw. He tensed slightly, shrinking aside. His uncle's rather perverse tastes were something Tyki had forewarned him about, but Allen had yet to grow accustomed to this sort of intimacy. "Excuse me," he muttered, shifting to rise and leave.
His long hair made far too convenient a handle, unfortunately. Cyril drew him back to the bench, gentle despite his insistence. "You have no need to fear me, Allen." His eyes were following the shape of the boy's body beneath his clothing, mahogany brown gaze growing hot with lust.
"I was simply going to suggest you and Rhode perform together," his hands were as smooth as his voice, sliding to unfasten his trousers. Allen made a noise of protest, turning to look at the open parlor door. If nothing else would convince Cyril to stop, perhaps if he remembered what might happen if the servants were to see-
He thought he might fall from his seat when the Minister took his length into his mouth. Knuckles white, he clung to the sides of the bench, legs awkwardly spread for one of the most powerful men in the country to service him. Allen imagined there was some irony in this situation, but the shocks of sensation sliding through his stomach were making coherent thought quite difficult to compose.
Cyril was a man of the world, and he knew quite well what a risk he was taking in this endeavor. It was doubly thrilling, conquering the newest member of their family while in such a dangerous situation. Finger sliding between trouser and flesh, he found the soft joining flesh, rubbing softly until Allen's gasp told him he had found the spot.
Moist flesh rolling about his sex was pleasurable on its own, but wherever the Minister was touching him, it made his arousal even more intense. Despite his hesitation, he was sucked to his climax within the span of minutes, spilling into Cyril's throat with a moan as one hand fell to the piano for more support. Though random, the chord he hit made him straighten, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. Even as Cyril rose and carefully replaced Allen's trousers to their rightful place, the boy didn't move.
"You would make a lovely duet, I am sure." Cyril smiled, kindly, wiping the corners of his mouth with one pristine glove.
Allen nodded, stiffly, eyes locked on the reflection of the window on the lid of the piano. "I'll ask her about it, sir."
After another soft ruffle of his white hair, Cyril left the room, softly humming the tune Allen had been playing when he entered.
When the noise had faded, and the blush had receded from his fair cheeks, Allen played that random chord again- Once, twice, three times by itself, before following with several measures of his own.
"That's it," he breathed.
The music warmed once more beneath his fingers, sound swelling out to soothe his shame.
