Gooseflesh races down the length of Yuri's spine as a tingle of dark anticipation pricks at him from deep within: it has been a long time since they played at the hunt β years, probably β and that prick turns to heat as Dima creeps forwards to touch his lips to the curve of his ankle. It's supplication, a plea, an offering of deference before he lets himself become the beast, and Yuri's lips lift into a smirk as he shifts his foot to pin his brother's head against the ground.
Dima may be about to hunt and claim him, but he won't forget who holds the power here. )
Yes.
( He presses down just a little, just for show, before removing his foot entirely and taking yet another step away. That shimmer begins to swirl around his ankles to creep up the smooth curves of his thighs, his hips, his belly: )
I'll run, and if you can't catch me you'll know you don't deserve to have me. But if you can ...
( At this he chuckles lightly, his gaze caught somewhere between fond and smoldering as the transformation moves over his body. )
I want to feel your teeth.
( The shimmer thickens into something opaque as it envelops him entirely, before dissipating in to nothing almost as quickly as it came on. A sleek deer occupies the space where Yuri stood as a man only moments ago, its coat as soft and snowy as only a creature from myth or legend could possibly be. He blinks at Dima just the once, mischief sparkling around those glassy violet eyes, before spinging over his prone body in an elegant leap and fleeing the confines of his quarters.
This game is best played in nature, and so to the wilds of the Underworld he'll take them. )
[A shuddering, ecstatic breath escapes him as Yuri's foot comes to rest over him, superior and cruel and perfect. This, too, is just another facet of the game they play together, giving and taking and doing as they please because it produces results that satisfy and scintillate. They both know full well that if Dimitri were really to exert his authority, even Yuri could not topple him in his own realm of influence; all four of them are the lord and master of their own domain, supreme in their own control. That's what makes it all the more pleasurable to submit, sometimes: because by its very nature it necessitates cooperation, and collaboration, and the adoring rapport they've cultivated over the eons.
And soon it will be his turn. Already his blood boils hot with the prospect of it.]
You were always the most beautiful of all of us.
[He sits up a little when he's eventually freed, huddling and watching with bated breath as Yuri's form shifts into a creature with a pelt like moonlight and great soft eyes — a deer unlike any that has ever ghosted through Dimitri's wilds. Truly a prize for a hunter or beast alike. He licks his lips, showing teeth that have gone glistening and slightly too long.
Then, all at once, the chase begins, and with a joyous snarl Dima lunges through a shift in his own form, the fur trim around the collar of his cloak rippling and expanding until it overtakes him entirely, the bearing of a wild god clothed in the shape of a massive direwolf.
As a deer, Yuri is more fleet of foot than he is, but it's still far too early in the chase to try to make a capture. In the long run his own endurance will outpace the frantic dance of Yuri's beating heart, and he'll pounce and he'll bite and it will feel like no other heaven either one of them has ever known.
But later, later. For now he lopes off in steady pursuit, laughing dark under his breath and knowing Yuri will hear it no matter where in his Underworld he runs to.
There are no secrets from the Lord of the Dead in his Underworld, and Dima knows precisely how to use that to make the game fun.]
You've missed this, too, haven't you, beloved? You are so many things, but never weak, never prey. Only for me. Only when we play like this. Even you tire of behaving, don't you?
Dima wasn't wrong: it's rare that Yuri fully gives himself over to frivolity such as this, and his younger brother's presence is a wonderful excuse to shrug out of his lordly role for a while and to simply let himself be. The marble floors of his halls clatter underfoot until they give way to stone, to pale moon-grass, to the dark of the Vale of the Dead β a curiously ominous name given to a sprawling forest of silver shades and starlight.
It comes with the territory, Yuri supposes. The mortals wouldn't accept knowing that the Lord of the Dead's realm is as much a place of illusion and light than anything else.
He can feel Dima's prowling presence as he slips between the trees, the prickle at the back of his neck pure animal alertness as he zig-zags deeper into the forest. The rumbling growl of his voice is a spectral thing all in itself: Yuri shivers, his laughter echoing back to his brother as he goads him further into the hunt. )
I may be your prey, brother, but it is not some weak animal you chase. The rules are different in my domain.
( Yuri slows to a trot, satisfied with the amount of distance he's put between himself and Dima for the time being. Almond-shaped ears prick suddenly upright at a steady rushing up ahead: good, that means he must have reached the river, and he can rest a while on its banks as his pulse slows to normal again.
Nimble as ever, Yuri picks his way through the feathery undergrowth to the crystal-cool waters beyond. The strange light that hangs in the trees glances off his pelt as he lowers his head to the water, his eyes alert and his ears swivelling this way and that as he tries to gauge where Dimia might be. )
... But it is only you who gets to bend them, beloved.
( Only Dima who will ever get to chase Yuri like this. )
I've missed what you allow me to be when we're together. Your strength, your claws, your bite ...
( He's closer, now. Yuri's tail quivers with anticipation as his muscles twitch, getting ready to run. )
[If these were his own woods, there would be no point to the chase at all. No purpose to the stalking, the scenting, the hunting. His woods would tell him where his prey darted and hid; if he so bade it, they would rearrange themselves to deliver his quarry to him, and where would the fun be in that?
But this. This is familiar enough to feel like home and foreign enough to delight him with its novelty. Here he does not know every tree and branch and leaf. Here the beams of starlight shine accusations through his rippling fur, interloper that he is.
He draws closer, taking his time. He'll never be quiet enough to remain unheard, not with his paws rustling someone else's moon-grass. It's all the better that way; he wants his brother to feel it as he draws closer and closer, wants him to tremble as he tries to gauge the last possible moment before he has to flee again.]
I think of you, when I kill. I claim lives and think of what a privilege I have granted my fortunate quarry, sending them off to lay eyes on you.
[He lowers himself down, slinks past trees and into a low copse of bushes. Closer, now, inch by inch. Closer — ]
( No doubt Dima will feel the pleasure that thrums through Yuri as he tells him of his kills. He would scoff at anyone else β he'd brush off their claims, or find a way to make them prove it β but he knows that his brother is telling the absolute truth when he declares those who died at his hand to be fortunate.
Then visit me more often, Yuri wants to say. My home is open to you, brother. Always. These aren't words to which he puts voice: both of them know that their respective roles make it much more complicated than that. More often than not it simply isn't appropriate for Dima to leave his realm untended, and Yuri's trips to the surface have become even less frequent now that he has Jeritza and his scythe.
The delicious tension in the air thrums and ripples as Dima coils back ready to spring β the only warning he has beyond the low rumble that his resting spot has been discovered. It gives him the split second he needs to leap from the spot in which he'd been standing: heavy paws land against the grass as he streaks away through the trees, barely more than a hairs-bredth ahead of his brother as the chase begins again.
Yuri knows it will be over soon. Dima never fails to catch his quarry β Dima never fails to catch him β and he can feel the hot steam of his breath against his hindquarters as he closes the distance between them. Surely by now he's only one good pounce away. )
Can you taste me yet? Does your mouth water for me?
( Another laugh, bright and easy, as he tosses his head just so. )
I ache for you, my Dima. Won't you finish this and claim me?
[The beast in him knows what it wants: to mercilessly draw out the chase exactly like this, mere nose-lengths behind his frantic fleeing prey, and harry the stag to run in terror until its heart bursts from the strain of it. He wants to watch it collapse, bright and alive one minute and fresh meat the next, preserved for a few fleeting seconds in its perfection before his fangs start to tear into it and feast.
What the god in him wants, on the other hand. Well — it really isn't so far off from that, either. The sensible half of him knows that he lacks the capability to harm Yuri, much less devour him, but feasting on his flesh isn't altogether out of the question, from a certain point of view.
And Yuri knows it, too. He knows it. Wants it. Invites it.
Who is Dima, to leave him wanting?]
Beloved —
[It was like this the first time. He's never forgotten that first time, how the game itself had been just like any other, leaping and bounding and pouncing, except that his blood had boiled hotter than he'd expected and he'd tumbled to land atop his brother in pinning him, and a single jerk of his hips had sent an unexpected flash of pleasure to warm his belly
and he'd done it again
and again
and again
and it made it even better than it'd been before, rendered him drunk on satisfaction and the noises smothered between the two of them, the soft astonished ones that even now he doesn't know which of the two of them were responsible for making.
He's never forgotten that feeling. How sudden euphoria had given way to sticky satiety and he'd been left panting and bewildered, confused and addicted.]
I know what you need.
[He lunges, drawing on a sudden burst of speed to hurl the full weight of his borrowed body into the air, and lands halfway over the fleeing deer's haunches, rolling to the side in the same motion to throw his prey to the ground with the same force that's going to send his own form sprawling.
But a wolf is faster back to his feet than a deer, and once Yuri is downed, it takes Dima no time at all to scuffle his feet and throw himself forward onto him, the thick fur of his belly rubbing surprisingly soft along the expanse of Yuri's side as he crawls up and over to pin him.]
There's a split second in which the beat of paws behind him still to nothing at all, then Dima is on him, pulling him down and rolling him over into their makeshift mattress of soft moon-grass. He can't right himself, not with the weight of a wolf scrabbling over him, and his body quivers just the once before going loose and pliant beneath the warmth of his brother's belly. )
Not bad. You were quick, this time.
( He's quick every time, but surely Dima will here the fond amusement in Yuri's tone. The starspun silk of his pelt recedes just enough to leave Yuri halfway emerged from the deer: his form becomes satyr-like, his body caught somewhere between the animal and the lilac-haired form he took when he was made.
Pinned as he is on his side, Yuri reaches up to drape an arm over the wold and sink his fingers into the thick fur around his ear. Dima is beautiful no matter the shape he chooses to take, but if asked he wouldn't hesitate in declaring the wolf to be one of his personal favourites. The tapered puff of his tail shivers beneath Dima's body as he strokes his hand down to his muzzle: )
My Dima. My beloved β my golden heart.
( The words flutter between them, soft and bright as the butterfly he created in his rooms. The pad of Yuri's thumb dips down to stroke over the glistening flash of a straight, white fang, his cock already warm and interested in what he knows will happen next. )
[Even now, conquered, his eldest brother gives and gives and gives. He toils because someone must, because he is the least selfish of the brood of them, because he puts his family first and sometimes, the recognition of that leaves Dima aching with shame. He could never do it, not for even a day. None of them could ever hope to be what their brother has embraced, and he's done it alone, unhesitating, for so long.
Even he is guilty of it. Even this game they both crave is one of his own making, and even as his elder brother waits to be conquered, he touches and soothes and adores as though Dima has ever done anything to deserve any of it.
But Yuri is right. It's time he took his reward. And so he pulls back his jowls and bends low, jaws parting as he sets rows and rows of wicked teeth on either side of his brother's throat.]
Yes. I claim you as my prize, Lord of the Dead.
[Yuri invited him to capture and take. It's his turn now, to return the favor. Now, behind the threat of his teeth, he invites Yuri to relax and surrender, or as close to it as one in his position could ever get anywhere else.
He hunkers low, rocking slowly for the sake of teasing at friction, slow strokes that cause Yuri's stirring cock to bury in his fur, caressed by the silky brush of it as he moves.]
Let me make you wild, as I am wild. Let me pleasure you until every word has left you but my name. Let me please you as no one else can.
[Only now it's his turn to sound a little desperate.]
( There's no other wold to which Yuri would offer the tender stretch of his throat. A gasp sticks somewhere behind his tongue as the points of Dima's teeth prick at his skin; he's missed this, oh how he's missed this, and he allows his lower half to melt back to its usual human arrangement as he twists to settle on his back. )
Yes, my dark wolf.
( Yuri rarely gets to stay on his back during these encounters β Dima likes him pinned on his front, and he knows it well β but he'll allow himself these few blissful moments to indulge on the slip of of thick, smooth fur against his most tender parts. Dima's body is hard and hot beneath it, the perfect pressure beneath that soft pelt, and Yuri opens his thighs and arches against him as he drapes his arms around his neck. )
You know that I love no other as I love you. That I would give myself to no other as I give myself to you.
( His pulse beats fast in his throat as his cock presses hard against his brother, already rubbing damp smears into Dima's fur as he luxuriates against the slip of silken fur. )
Take me. Make me wild. Please me as you promised β and show me how strong you can be.
[Only his elder brother could be so brave, Dima thinks faintly, as to have the Wild God's jaws poised about his neck and react by reaching up to embrace him like a lover. Only Yuri cherishes the beast in him like this. Others respect it, even revere it. Some, he would warrant, even love it — in their own fashion. But none of them love him like Yuri does. None of them were there in the old beginning.
He picks his head up enough to release Yuri's throat, nosing against his cheek before licking fondly against it — a precursor to what he intends next to do. Other times, their games have played out fast and frenetic, scrambling to shove Yuri over and mount him in a fit of feverish desperation. And perhaps he will, soon, but first he wants to make good on his vow, wants to return the same sentiment that made soft white arms wrap so tenderly into his thick fur.
This time, when he growls, it sounds faintly amused.]
Mm. But I remember what you like.
[He hates to lift up off of him — not least of which because it quakes against his better instincts, the predator in him objecting to the release of his prey in any form, lest he seize a sliver of opportunity and escape — but it's regretfully necessary, in order to tongue his way down the length of Yuri's body, nosing his legs apart and pressing him to hitch them up onto either side of his furry head while he settles in low between them.
The next time his tongue flicks out, it's to circle Yuri's entrance, probing lightly without pressing — yet.]
See how kind I am, to fuck you in so many enticing ways?
( Dima does remember what Yuri likes. His cock twitches against his abdomen as his brother licks and and noses down his body until heβs nuzzling between his legs, where he rolls his shoulders and wedges in between his thighs until Yuri pulls his knees up and back. )
Mm β¦ always so generous.
( He murmurs, his lashes dipping low as he gazes down his body to watch Dima lean in between his legs. The tongue between those wicked teeth is soft and wet and slick; Yuri is ready for it, so ready to be devoured by this man, and his hole clenches just the once as he waits to feel the stroke of him against it. )
Ah β¦
( His breath sticks in the back of his throat as Dima teases him, as he toys with him, and his own nails dig into the backs of his thighs as his head drops against the grass. )
Come on β¦
( One hand slides between his legs to palm over his balls and fist his cock, which he gently squeezes before giving himself a couple of leisurely pulls. )
[He doesn't always have the patience for this, but this time, he'll indulge. The beast in him rebels against it, affronted that his own thick cock hangs neglected between his legs instead of buried in warmth, but no. He is more than a beast, for the moment.
Though perhaps, not for long.
His teasing doesn't last; briskly enough, he presses his tongue past Yuri's entrance, wet and writhing inside him. On anyone other than Yuri, perhaps he could claim some utilitarian function from it, telling himself that preparation was needed before taking him — but Yuri is a god, and even the most feral play could only harm him if he willed it.
So no. This is for pleasure and pleasure alone, the indescribable sensation of a tongue hot and moving inside as Dima fucks him with it.]
You love it when I treat you this way. As only I do. As only I can.
( Yuri all but melts against the grass as Dimitri's tongue curls in, in, all the while he murmurs sweet-hot nothings into the back of his mind. He pulls his thighs back a little further, spreads his knees a little wider, as he struggles around each breath, his unfocused eyes following the bob of his brother's head as he fucks him with his tongue. )
Yesβ
( The wolf's hunger may only be sated by hot blood and the tear of flesh, but Dima eats him as though the act is worship in itself. Yuri is indeed a good but it's a deep, dark pleasure to feel himself relax under his tongue; for that tight clench of muscle to flutter and soften with each of those writhing licks.
Perhaps someone will right an accurate song about them, one day. A song full of wilderness and love and pleasure and a white deer ravaged by a wolf; a love so tender and savage that they have to remain worlds apart so that they don't destroy one another.
Yuri would like a song like that. )
Show me more. I want everything you have, my love. I want all of you.
[Moreover, he likes the way his efforts make his brother's eyes go glassy, a distant and passion-clouded haze distracting him from his usual sharp clarity and keen wit. No one can entice the lord of the underworld to go slack like this, to give himself over to sensation instead of reason — no one but Dima, the most privileged, the special.
The little meadow where they've landed is far from his own wilds; he has no control over this place, not the way he would above. And yet he knows from experience that these will still bend to his own will a little, more as a courtesy granted by Yuri's affection than out of any birthright.
The moongrass starts to grow in clever places, elongating and twisting its leaves together until it forms tendrils, until they grow up and across Yuri's bare and glowing skin; thicker ones coil around his thighs to help hold his legs back and open, while another skims milky-slick over his hip in search of the reddened jut of his cock. Others, thinner still but no less devilish, wind down to press themselves past Yuri's entrance, joining his tongue, and the inner stimulation magnifies as what was previously one demanding tongue becomes several points of writhing, rubbing along his inner walls, filthy and incessant.]
Let my attentions take you, beloved. Let them drive you mad.
( Yuri allows Dima these liberties because Dima is, in this moment, utterly his, and he trusts him to knows as much when they play like this in his domain. It's almost poetic. His brother could take him apart piece by piece and leave him demolished against the grass β but he would still belong to Yuri, and he'd still have to thank him for letting him use his powers to do so.
A dreamy smile touches the pink of his lips as tendrils coil and curve around his body, his gaze roving over what he can see of Dimitri as he watches him nuzzle closet between his legs. Now that he doesn't have to support his own legs he can drop his hands to the silk-smooth curve of his brother's headβ
But before he can pet him, Yuri feels the press of tendrils sinking in past his brother's tongue, and he pulls into a tight arc as a cry of pure pleasure shatters the quiet of the clearing. )
My loveβ
( He isn't speaking β they haven't spoken since Yuri leapt away from chambers β but his words melt into Dima as he tries his hardest to rock back down onto that filling sensation. His cock pulses and shivers against the tendril coiling around the over-sensitive head, and he pulls at tight fistfuls of grass as he's teased closer and closer to orgasm. )
Just a little more, my Dimaβ just a little more and I'll come for you.
[He whines, long and low, when Yuri's fingers glance away from his fur and land in the grass instead, disappointed at being deprived of his petting but delighted at the reaction he's elicited in its place. There's nothing in all of creation quite like his eldest brother's approval; there are few things Dima outright covets, but the privilege of putting a smile like that on Yuri's face just so happens to be one of them.]
Is it not enough?
[How oddly sweet he sounds when he says it, a question so gentle and tender juxtaposed with the wickedness of his twisting tongue and searching tendrils. It is a tease, the way he's chosen to pleasure his quarry, and for all that he may be wild, he has no desire to be cruel. To inadvertently keep him on the cusp of satisfaction, never quite allowing him to pitch over into bliss — it's a delightful game, on certain occasions, but it's not the game he wants to play on this one.
Silently, he bids the vines inside Yuri to twist thicker, to add girth at the expense of movement, and redoubles his efforts to fuck him on his tongue, meeting his rocking with urgent pressing of his own.]
Sacha, Sacha, I'll give you more, I'll give you all of me, take it —
Dima is the only one who still calls him by the name that Byleth gave him β or perhaps it'd be more accurate to say that he's the only one who uses that name without trying to prove a point with it. When Dima calls him Sacha Yuri is reminded of how they were when the world was young: carefree, loving, wrapped up so tightly with one another that the idea of being apart was simply unthinkable.
He feels loved, wanted, seen in a way that other lovers have never quite managed as yet, and when he comes it's with a cry that tears itself from his lips with an animal depth to match his lover's. )
Dimaβ!
( Each pulse is bliss. Hot spend streaks across his stomach as he comes hard over himself, his hole clenching and stuttering with it as Dima tongue-fucks him through it. Still shaking, he pushes a hand back into the fur around a pointed ear, which he clutches tightly as he reels through the aftermath. )
[He doesn't relent, because he knows what his beloved likes. He only closes his eyes and listens to the way his brother's wail shatters through the stillness of the underworld air, averting his gaze as though he's unworthy of looking upon such a vision of rapture as Yuri is when he finds his bliss. He loves so much, so fiercely, that he could burst from it; his heart pounds and his blood boils and for a few moments he's nothing but an instrument perfectly tuned for this, a creature whose only purpose is to pull such sounds from the lord of the dead's throat.
He hasn't even come, hasn't even been touched, and yet a sort of peace settles over him regardless; some of the wilderness in him quiets, stroked smooth like the way that Yuri's fingers card through his thick fur. He needed this, just as much as Yuri did.
Our favorite game.
Because those are the rules of the game: if he caught his prey, then he must deserve to have it. If his teeth mark flesh, then he must deserve to claim it. If he made Yuri howl, then he must deserve to hear it.
If he pours out all his love like this, all of him, everything — then he must deserve to feel it.]
All of me. I am yours, every last bit of me.
[Finally, at last, he untangles himself when Yuri's trembling begins to subside, crawling up from between his legs to lick at the mess that mars his abdomen. As he moves further up, the shape of the wolf begins to subside, giving way for more of himself with a shimmer of fur and moonlight until at last he is himself again, draped over Yuri's body and pressing him down into the grass with his own weight.
Unable to help himself, he shifts and squirms until his cock, aching hard, is pressed to Yuri's hip, too hungry for friction to behave himself as he starts to rock against him.]
Does it feel like it did the first time? When we both learned how much we ached for this?
( Yuri shifts to better embrace Dima's changing form as he moves up the smooth curves of his body: always so good, cleaning him as he goes, pulling a dreamy smile to his lips as his muscles jump against the tickle of his tongue. When the beast finally melts into the shape of a man Yuri slips his arms around his waist proper, holding their bodies close as he opens his thighs to fit him against him as closely as possible. )
And I yours, beloved.
( Dima squirms, his cock hot and thick and stiff as iron as he bocks against his body. Any other time Yuri might reprimand him for acting out in such a manner, but he's pleased him so well, made him come so hard that he'll let it slide this time. )
Nothing will feel like that first time, sweet thing. Just you and me, before you were given the forests and I gave up the sun ...
( He leans up to lick a hot, wet stripe up the front of Dima's throat, tastig sweat and earth and something animal in the flutter of his pulse. )
No, it feels different. You know me now, and I know you, deeper and closer than anyone else. That first time was ... it was a crystal-clear beginning, but this?
( His thighs shift as he wraps his legs around Dima's hips, opening himself up for the press of his neglected cock. One hand lifts from the small of his back to thread into his hair, pull him down to his smiling lips: )
[There are things that Dima knows, deep in the core of his being, that he would trade all his power and dominion for. One is to see their father again — not even to keep him, to stay by his side, but just to see him and beg to know if he's been enough, if he pleases him, if he's done well. It's a dream that will never be made a reality for him, a wish that no power could ever combine to deliver. Byleth is gone, gone, and yet he waits, ever vigilant, ever hoping.
But there is also this, the only thing he's ever found in all the world that manages to put thoughts of Byleth entirely from his mind: the way it feels to lose himself in Yuri, when passion boils hot and satisfaction is still out of his reach, and for a little while he's allowed to feel like he's soaring toward the sun.
And unlike their father, this is something he can have forever. Yuri promises him eternity, and he believes it with everything he is.]
Your tongue is as silver as moonlight.
[He grumbles faintly when Yuri shifts, rearranging them so that he momentarily loses his friction, but there's a far better prize waiting for him if he goes along with that minor sacrifice, so he allows it — and is mollified by the tug of fingers in his thick, rumpled hair, and the kisses waiting for him beneath Yuri's glittering eyes.
Distracted, it takes him a try or two before he manages to get lined up properly, but the moment the head of his cock finds Yuri's heat, he can't help but groan desperately against his mouth.]
And you feel so good —
[He isn't patient. He doesn't wait. But he's had plenty of practice at sinking inside his fellow god and he knows instinctively how to do it just right, stretching him wide as his beast of a cock finds its way home in Yuri's warmth.]
( This part could feel like the first time, if Yuri were to close his eyes and imagine he could feel the dappled sunlight warming their skin through the canopy of trees. They fuck like lovers who've had centuries together but Dima's cock is still a challenge β huge and thick and utterly unyielding as it sinks into the silk-hot clutch of him. His thighs shake with the sensation as he's opened up onto him, his breath turning thready and his lips slack as his cock stirs against his abdomen. )
A-Ah ...
( Already, Yuri feels a sheen of sweat clinging to his temples; his throat; the small of his back. Dima fucks in much the same way that he fights: he's relentless when he loses himself to the roaring beast in his blood, whether for the high of battle or for the satiation of sex.
Fighting his sweet Dima is always fun. Fucking him is much, much better. )
Good boy. Oh, my good boyβ
( Yuri manages, when he feels the press of balls and strong hips against his quivering body. It's hard to speak when his body is full the way it is: with all of Dima, with all of his love and devotion and desperation to please. Yuri pulls him down again to bite a dirty kiss into his mouth β sharp teeth tug on his lower lip before his tongue plunges into his mouth, a gut-deep moan of satisfaction melting between them as his hole flutters around Dima.
... If, over the centuries, he's found himself with a preference for men with fat, heavy cocks, he's fairly certain the blame can be soundly laid at his brother's feet. )
Mm. Come on, then.
( His hands seem small against Dima's body as they skim down his back and over his hips, where they clutch tightly at the curve of his ass to pull him in against him. When he speaks again Yuri leans up to brush the words against his lover's lips: )
[Without even realizing it, he's smiling. Beaming. His hair is tousled with sweat and the smell of the chill air, his pupils shot wide amid his heat-dark eyes, and yet for a second passion gives way to a flash of elation like a bolt of lightning thrown from their sister's hand. There are too many moments in his existence when he's been pathetic and wretched, filthy and wallowing in misery, but this, this — this is what he was meant to be. What he could be. How perfectly radiant a god he could be, if only he were loved the way his brother praises him now.
Oh, my good boy.
He's so happy he could cry; the darkness of centuries lifts from his expression like a stormcloud giving way to the sun, and for a little while there's only eager adoration in the way he gazes back at Yuri, so desperately utterly in love.]
Only for you. Only because you ask it of me.
[But he doesn't move, not yet; he takes his time, letting Yuri's body sheathe him as he drinks his fill of their messy kisses, whining approval with each new lash of his brother's tongue. The longer he waits, the longer he leaves Yuri to focus on precisely how it feels to be joined like this, deprived of the distraction of friction, so that all there is to dwell on is the girth and size of the cock stretching him open.]
You're so tight.
[He teases, happy as a puppy.]
Don't your parades of lovers please you well enough? Shall I kill them for failing to satisfy you as you so crave?
[Yuri's body shook beneath his when he'd pressed inside. The lord of the dead, impassive stone, quaked from the feel of it when they finally came together again. And so, finally, he starts to move, grinding shallowly first to taste the friction before drawing all the way out to the tip, holding it there for a painstaking moment before sliding fully back inside again.]
On the surface they call this the little death. Let me give you all the death you deserve.
( It's true that no-one fucks him like Dima fucks him.
That isn't to say his other lovers don't please him β Gods, anything but that, especially not when Balthus takes him to bed and fucks him stupid while he's borrowing Dorothea's face β but there's an intensity behind Dima's eyes, his lips, his hips that no-one else has yet managed to match. Perhaps it's the inherent desperation for love and approval that his brother seeks with each punishing thrust: Dima fucks like he might die if he doesn't make Yuri scream and writhe and come; like the seasons might fail and the world might wither if he doesn't bury his seed as deeply within him as he can.
Idly, he wonders how many children they'd make if Yuri were to give himself to Dima in a softer body, too. How long it would take their siblings to become suspicious of the strong, beautiful youths leaving the Underworld, the sun catching in golden hair and warming pale skin for the very first time.
Dima begins to move, shallow at first, and his thoughts shudder to a halt. There's nothing quite like the feeling of being reminded how full he is: those tiny little grinds feel less like being fucked and more like being deeply joined, and a guttural sound escapes him as his fingernails bite hard into the meat of his lover's ass. )
Would you?
( Unfocused eyes gaze up at Dimia, his expression caught somewhere between dreamy, desperate, and just a little wild. )
Would you soak the earth with their blood for me ...
( His thighs shiver again as, slowly, his brother pulls out to the very tip, then tilts his hips down to sink back in and stretch out that tightness again. It shouldn't be so easy to undo him but Yuri's head drops back on a groan anyway: he feels delirious with lust, his cock thick and throbbing between his legs as he pulls his knees back to open himself up that bit further. )
[Is that not, after all, the one thing he's always hungered for? To make him proud. To bask in the sunlight of another's praise and know that he has done well. His needs have always been so simple, so plain. It makes it all the more cruel to him when they go so long unsatisfied.
He hisses as Yuri's nails dig into his skin, spurred on by the pleasant sting of pain to fuck into him even harder, all but sliding them in little jerks along the moongrass from the force of his efforts. His brother is a sight to behold when pleasure overtakes him, and it fills Dima with a sudden, hot flash of possessiveness to know that he, only he, can make his beloved look like this.
He would never lay a finger on those Yuri loves. He would cherish them as he cherishes this. But he is still a god of violence as Yuri is a god of death, and this is how their natures sing when they are together: with blood and violence and passion.
He shakes his head like an animal, sending his wild hair cascading around his face, and drives into Yuri again and again as a chuckle bubbles up to his lips.]
Though I think the earth will be watered with something other than blood, soon enough.
[He grasps onto one of Yuri's legs, helping to keep him held and spread obscenely wide, while the other moves to circle his cock, thumbing along the underside vein all the way up to the ridge at the head.]
Spend when I do. When you feel it inside you, hot inside you...promise me you will, beloved.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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( I want to play our game.
Gooseflesh races down the length of Yuri's spine as a tingle of dark anticipation pricks at him from deep within: it has been a long time since they played at the hunt β years, probably β and that prick turns to heat as Dima creeps forwards to touch his lips to the curve of his ankle. It's supplication, a plea, an offering of deference before he lets himself become the beast, and Yuri's lips lift into a smirk as he shifts his foot to pin his brother's head against the ground.
Dima may be about to hunt and claim him, but he won't forget who holds the power here. )
Yes.
( He presses down just a little, just for show, before removing his foot entirely and taking yet another step away. That shimmer begins to swirl around his ankles to creep up the smooth curves of his thighs, his hips, his belly: )
I'll run, and if you can't catch me you'll know you don't deserve to have me. But if you can ...
( At this he chuckles lightly, his gaze caught somewhere between fond and smoldering as the transformation moves over his body. )
I want to feel your teeth.
( The shimmer thickens into something opaque as it envelops him entirely, before dissipating in to nothing almost as quickly as it came on. A sleek deer occupies the space where Yuri stood as a man only moments ago, its coat as soft and snowy as only a creature from myth or legend could possibly be. He blinks at Dima just the once, mischief sparkling around those glassy violet eyes, before spinging over his prone body in an elegant leap and fleeing the confines of his quarters.
This game is best played in nature, and so to the wilds of the Underworld he'll take them. )
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And soon it will be his turn. Already his blood boils hot with the prospect of it.]
You were always the most beautiful of all of us.
[He sits up a little when he's eventually freed, huddling and watching with bated breath as Yuri's form shifts into a creature with a pelt like moonlight and great soft eyes — a deer unlike any that has ever ghosted through Dimitri's wilds. Truly a prize for a hunter or beast alike. He licks his lips, showing teeth that have gone glistening and slightly too long.
Then, all at once, the chase begins, and with a joyous snarl Dima lunges through a shift in his own form, the fur trim around the collar of his cloak rippling and expanding until it overtakes him entirely, the bearing of a wild god clothed in the shape of a massive direwolf.
As a deer, Yuri is more fleet of foot than he is, but it's still far too early in the chase to try to make a capture. In the long run his own endurance will outpace the frantic dance of Yuri's beating heart, and he'll pounce and he'll bite and it will feel like no other heaven either one of them has ever known.
But later, later. For now he lopes off in steady pursuit, laughing dark under his breath and knowing Yuri will hear it no matter where in his Underworld he runs to.
There are no secrets from the Lord of the Dead in his Underworld, and Dima knows precisely how to use that to make the game fun.]
You've missed this, too, haven't you, beloved? You are so many things, but never weak, never prey. Only for me. Only when we play like this. Even you tire of behaving, don't you?
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( It's good to run like this.
Dima wasn't wrong: it's rare that Yuri fully gives himself over to frivolity such as this, and his younger brother's presence is a wonderful excuse to shrug out of his lordly role for a while and to simply let himself be. The marble floors of his halls clatter underfoot until they give way to stone, to pale moon-grass, to the dark of the Vale of the Dead β a curiously ominous name given to a sprawling forest of silver shades and starlight.
It comes with the territory, Yuri supposes. The mortals wouldn't accept knowing that the Lord of the Dead's realm is as much a place of illusion and light than anything else.
He can feel Dima's prowling presence as he slips between the trees, the prickle at the back of his neck pure animal alertness as he zig-zags deeper into the forest. The rumbling growl of his voice is a spectral thing all in itself: Yuri shivers, his laughter echoing back to his brother as he goads him further into the hunt. )
I may be your prey, brother, but it is not some weak animal you chase. The rules are different in my domain.
( Yuri slows to a trot, satisfied with the amount of distance he's put between himself and Dima for the time being. Almond-shaped ears prick suddenly upright at a steady rushing up ahead: good, that means he must have reached the river, and he can rest a while on its banks as his pulse slows to normal again.
Nimble as ever, Yuri picks his way through the feathery undergrowth to the crystal-cool waters beyond. The strange light that hangs in the trees glances off his pelt as he lowers his head to the water, his eyes alert and his ears swivelling this way and that as he tries to gauge where Dimia might be. )
... But it is only you who gets to bend them, beloved.
( Only Dima who will ever get to chase Yuri like this. )
I've missed what you allow me to be when we're together. Your strength, your claws, your bite ...
( He's closer, now. Yuri's tail quivers with anticipation as his muscles twitch, getting ready to run. )
Yes. I have missed playing like this.
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[If these were his own woods, there would be no point to the chase at all. No purpose to the stalking, the scenting, the hunting. His woods would tell him where his prey darted and hid; if he so bade it, they would rearrange themselves to deliver his quarry to him, and where would the fun be in that?
But this. This is familiar enough to feel like home and foreign enough to delight him with its novelty. Here he does not know every tree and branch and leaf. Here the beams of starlight shine accusations through his rippling fur, interloper that he is.
He draws closer, taking his time. He'll never be quiet enough to remain unheard, not with his paws rustling someone else's moon-grass. It's all the better that way; he wants his brother to feel it as he draws closer and closer, wants him to tremble as he tries to gauge the last possible moment before he has to flee again.]
I think of you, when I kill. I claim lives and think of what a privilege I have granted my fortunate quarry, sending them off to lay eyes on you.
[He lowers himself down, slinks past trees and into a low copse of bushes. Closer, now, inch by inch. Closer — ]
I see you, beloved.
[And with a rustle of branches, he springs.]
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( No doubt Dima will feel the pleasure that thrums through Yuri as he tells him of his kills. He would scoff at anyone else β he'd brush off their claims, or find a way to make them prove it β but he knows that his brother is telling the absolute truth when he declares those who died at his hand to be fortunate.
Then visit me more often, Yuri wants to say. My home is open to you, brother. Always. These aren't words to which he puts voice: both of them know that their respective roles make it much more complicated than that. More often than not it simply isn't appropriate for Dima to leave his realm untended, and Yuri's trips to the surface have become even less frequent now that he has Jeritza and his scythe.
The delicious tension in the air thrums and ripples as Dima coils back ready to spring β the only warning he has beyond the low rumble that his resting spot has been discovered. It gives him the split second he needs to leap from the spot in which he'd been standing: heavy paws land against the grass as he streaks away through the trees, barely more than a hairs-bredth ahead of his brother as the chase begins again.
Yuri knows it will be over soon. Dima never fails to catch his quarry β Dima never fails to catch him β and he can feel the hot steam of his breath against his hindquarters as he closes the distance between them. Surely by now he's only one good pounce away. )
Can you taste me yet? Does your mouth water for me?
( Another laugh, bright and easy, as he tosses his head just so. )
I ache for you, my Dima. Won't you finish this and claim me?
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What the god in him wants, on the other hand. Well — it really isn't so far off from that, either. The sensible half of him knows that he lacks the capability to harm Yuri, much less devour him, but feasting on his flesh isn't altogether out of the question, from a certain point of view.
And Yuri knows it, too. He knows it. Wants it. Invites it.
Who is Dima, to leave him wanting?]
Beloved —
[It was like this the first time. He's never forgotten that first time, how the game itself had been just like any other, leaping and bounding and pouncing, except that his blood had boiled hotter than he'd expected and he'd tumbled to land atop his brother in pinning him, and a single jerk of his hips had sent an unexpected flash of pleasure to warm his belly
and he'd done it again
and again
and again
and it made it even better than it'd been before, rendered him drunk on satisfaction and the noises smothered between the two of them, the soft astonished ones that even now he doesn't know which of the two of them were responsible for making.
He's never forgotten that feeling. How sudden euphoria had given way to sticky satiety and he'd been left panting and bewildered, confused and addicted.]
I know what you need.
[He lunges, drawing on a sudden burst of speed to hurl the full weight of his borrowed body into the air, and lands halfway over the fleeing deer's haunches, rolling to the side in the same motion to throw his prey to the ground with the same force that's going to send his own form sprawling.
But a wolf is faster back to his feet than a deer, and once Yuri is downed, it takes Dima no time at all to scuffle his feet and throw himself forward onto him, the thick fur of his belly rubbing surprisingly soft along the expanse of Yuri's side as he crawls up and over to pin him.]
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( And Yuri does need this.
There's a split second in which the beat of paws behind him still to nothing at all, then Dima is on him, pulling him down and rolling him over into their makeshift mattress of soft moon-grass. He can't right himself, not with the weight of a wolf scrabbling over him, and his body quivers just the once before going loose and pliant beneath the warmth of his brother's belly. )
Not bad. You were quick, this time.
( He's quick every time, but surely Dima will here the fond amusement in Yuri's tone. The starspun silk of his pelt recedes just enough to leave Yuri halfway emerged from the deer: his form becomes satyr-like, his body caught somewhere between the animal and the lilac-haired form he took when he was made.
Pinned as he is on his side, Yuri reaches up to drape an arm over the wold and sink his fingers into the thick fur around his ear. Dima is beautiful no matter the shape he chooses to take, but if asked he wouldn't hesitate in declaring the wolf to be one of his personal favourites. The tapered puff of his tail shivers beneath Dima's body as he strokes his hand down to his muzzle: )
My Dima. My beloved β my golden heart.
( The words flutter between them, soft and bright as the butterfly he created in his rooms. The pad of Yuri's thumb dips down to stroke over the glistening flash of a straight, white fang, his cock already warm and interested in what he knows will happen next. )
You've caught me. Will you take your reward?
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Even he is guilty of it. Even this game they both crave is one of his own making, and even as his elder brother waits to be conquered, he touches and soothes and adores as though Dima has ever done anything to deserve any of it.
But Yuri is right. It's time he took his reward. And so he pulls back his jowls and bends low, jaws parting as he sets rows and rows of wicked teeth on either side of his brother's throat.]
Yes. I claim you as my prize, Lord of the Dead.
[Yuri invited him to capture and take. It's his turn now, to return the favor. Now, behind the threat of his teeth, he invites Yuri to relax and surrender, or as close to it as one in his position could ever get anywhere else.
He hunkers low, rocking slowly for the sake of teasing at friction, slow strokes that cause Yuri's stirring cock to bury in his fur, caressed by the silky brush of it as he moves.]
Let me make you wild, as I am wild. Let me pleasure you until every word has left you but my name. Let me please you as no one else can.
[Only now it's his turn to sound a little desperate.]
Let me be strong enough for the both of us.
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( There's no other wold to which Yuri would offer the tender stretch of his throat. A gasp sticks somewhere behind his tongue as the points of Dima's teeth prick at his skin; he's missed this, oh how he's missed this, and he allows his lower half to melt back to its usual human arrangement as he twists to settle on his back. )
Yes, my dark wolf.
( Yuri rarely gets to stay on his back during these encounters β Dima likes him pinned on his front, and he knows it well β but he'll allow himself these few blissful moments to indulge on the slip of of thick, smooth fur against his most tender parts. Dima's body is hard and hot beneath it, the perfect pressure beneath that soft pelt, and Yuri opens his thighs and arches against him as he drapes his arms around his neck. )
You know that I love no other as I love you. That I would give myself to no other as I give myself to you.
( His pulse beats fast in his throat as his cock presses hard against his brother, already rubbing damp smears into Dima's fur as he luxuriates against the slip of silken fur. )
Take me. Make me wild. Please me as you promised β and show me how strong you can be.
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[Only his elder brother could be so brave, Dima thinks faintly, as to have the Wild God's jaws poised about his neck and react by reaching up to embrace him like a lover. Only Yuri cherishes the beast in him like this. Others respect it, even revere it. Some, he would warrant, even love it — in their own fashion. But none of them love him like Yuri does. None of them were there in the old beginning.
He picks his head up enough to release Yuri's throat, nosing against his cheek before licking fondly against it — a precursor to what he intends next to do. Other times, their games have played out fast and frenetic, scrambling to shove Yuri over and mount him in a fit of feverish desperation. And perhaps he will, soon, but first he wants to make good on his vow, wants to return the same sentiment that made soft white arms wrap so tenderly into his thick fur.
This time, when he growls, it sounds faintly amused.]
Mm. But I remember what you like.
[He hates to lift up off of him — not least of which because it quakes against his better instincts, the predator in him objecting to the release of his prey in any form, lest he seize a sliver of opportunity and escape — but it's regretfully necessary, in order to tongue his way down the length of Yuri's body, nosing his legs apart and pressing him to hitch them up onto either side of his furry head while he settles in low between them.
The next time his tongue flicks out, it's to circle Yuri's entrance, probing lightly without pressing — yet.]
See how kind I am, to fuck you in so many enticing ways?
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( Dima does remember what Yuri likes. His cock twitches against his abdomen as his brother licks and and noses down his body until heβs nuzzling between his legs, where he rolls his shoulders and wedges in between his thighs until Yuri pulls his knees up and back. )
Mm β¦ always so generous.
( He murmurs, his lashes dipping low as he gazes down his body to watch Dima lean in between his legs. The tongue between those wicked teeth is soft and wet and slick; Yuri is ready for it, so ready to be devoured by this man, and his hole clenches just the once as he waits to feel the stroke of him against it. )
Ah β¦
( His breath sticks in the back of his throat as Dima teases him, as he toys with him, and his own nails dig into the backs of his thighs as his head drops against the grass. )
Come on β¦
( One hand slides between his legs to palm over his balls and fist his cock, which he gently squeezes before giving himself a couple of leisurely pulls. )
Enjoy me, my love. Fuck me.
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[He doesn't always have the patience for this, but this time, he'll indulge. The beast in him rebels against it, affronted that his own thick cock hangs neglected between his legs instead of buried in warmth, but no. He is more than a beast, for the moment.
Though perhaps, not for long.
His teasing doesn't last; briskly enough, he presses his tongue past Yuri's entrance, wet and writhing inside him. On anyone other than Yuri, perhaps he could claim some utilitarian function from it, telling himself that preparation was needed before taking him — but Yuri is a god, and even the most feral play could only harm him if he willed it.
So no. This is for pleasure and pleasure alone, the indescribable sensation of a tongue hot and moving inside as Dima fucks him with it.]
You love it when I treat you this way. As only I do. As only I can.
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( Yuri all but melts against the grass as Dimitri's tongue curls in, in, all the while he murmurs sweet-hot nothings into the back of his mind. He pulls his thighs back a little further, spreads his knees a little wider, as he struggles around each breath, his unfocused eyes following the bob of his brother's head as he fucks him with his tongue. )
Yesβ
( The wolf's hunger may only be sated by hot blood and the tear of flesh, but Dima eats him as though the act is worship in itself. Yuri is indeed a good but it's a deep, dark pleasure to feel himself relax under his tongue; for that tight clench of muscle to flutter and soften with each of those writhing licks.
Perhaps someone will right an accurate song about them, one day. A song full of wilderness and love and pleasure and a white deer ravaged by a wolf; a love so tender and savage that they have to remain worlds apart so that they don't destroy one another.
Yuri would like a song like that. )
Show me more. I want everything you have, my love. I want all of you.
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[Moreover, he likes the way his efforts make his brother's eyes go glassy, a distant and passion-clouded haze distracting him from his usual sharp clarity and keen wit. No one can entice the lord of the underworld to go slack like this, to give himself over to sensation instead of reason — no one but Dima, the most privileged, the special.
The little meadow where they've landed is far from his own wilds; he has no control over this place, not the way he would above. And yet he knows from experience that these will still bend to his own will a little, more as a courtesy granted by Yuri's affection than out of any birthright.
The moongrass starts to grow in clever places, elongating and twisting its leaves together until it forms tendrils, until they grow up and across Yuri's bare and glowing skin; thicker ones coil around his thighs to help hold his legs back and open, while another skims milky-slick over his hip in search of the reddened jut of his cock. Others, thinner still but no less devilish, wind down to press themselves past Yuri's entrance, joining his tongue, and the inner stimulation magnifies as what was previously one demanding tongue becomes several points of writhing, rubbing along his inner walls, filthy and incessant.]
Let my attentions take you, beloved. Let them drive you mad.
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( Yuri allows Dima these liberties because Dima is, in this moment, utterly his, and he trusts him to knows as much when they play like this in his domain. It's almost poetic. His brother could take him apart piece by piece and leave him demolished against the grass β but he would still belong to Yuri, and he'd still have to thank him for letting him use his powers to do so.
A dreamy smile touches the pink of his lips as tendrils coil and curve around his body, his gaze roving over what he can see of Dimitri as he watches him nuzzle closet between his legs. Now that he doesn't have to support his own legs he can drop his hands to the silk-smooth curve of his brother's headβ
But before he can pet him, Yuri feels the press of tendrils sinking in past his brother's tongue, and he pulls into a tight arc as a cry of pure pleasure shatters the quiet of the clearing. )
My loveβ
( He isn't speaking β they haven't spoken since Yuri leapt away from chambers β but his words melt into Dima as he tries his hardest to rock back down onto that filling sensation. His cock pulses and shivers against the tendril coiling around the over-sensitive head, and he pulls at tight fistfuls of grass as he's teased closer and closer to orgasm. )
Just a little more, my Dimaβ just a little more and I'll come for you.
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Is it not enough?
[How oddly sweet he sounds when he says it, a question so gentle and tender juxtaposed with the wickedness of his twisting tongue and searching tendrils. It is a tease, the way he's chosen to pleasure his quarry, and for all that he may be wild, he has no desire to be cruel. To inadvertently keep him on the cusp of satisfaction, never quite allowing him to pitch over into bliss — it's a delightful game, on certain occasions, but it's not the game he wants to play on this one.
Silently, he bids the vines inside Yuri to twist thicker, to add girth at the expense of movement, and redoubles his efforts to fuck him on his tongue, meeting his rocking with urgent pressing of his own.]
Sacha, Sacha, I'll give you more, I'll give you all of me, take it —
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( Sacha.
Dima is the only one who still calls him by the name that Byleth gave him β or perhaps it'd be more accurate to say that he's the only one who uses that name without trying to prove a point with it. When Dima calls him Sacha Yuri is reminded of how they were when the world was young: carefree, loving, wrapped up so tightly with one another that the idea of being apart was simply unthinkable.
He feels loved, wanted, seen in a way that other lovers have never quite managed as yet, and when he comes it's with a cry that tears itself from his lips with an animal depth to match his lover's. )
Dimaβ!
( Each pulse is bliss. Hot spend streaks across his stomach as he comes hard over himself, his hole clenching and stuttering with it as Dima tongue-fucks him through it. Still shaking, he pushes a hand back into the fur around a pointed ear, which he clutches tightly as he reels through the aftermath. )
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He hasn't even come, hasn't even been touched, and yet a sort of peace settles over him regardless; some of the wilderness in him quiets, stroked smooth like the way that Yuri's fingers card through his thick fur. He needed this, just as much as Yuri did.
Our favorite game.
Because those are the rules of the game: if he caught his prey, then he must deserve to have it. If his teeth mark flesh, then he must deserve to claim it. If he made Yuri howl, then he must deserve to hear it.
If he pours out all his love like this, all of him, everything — then he must deserve to feel it.]
All of me. I am yours, every last bit of me.
[Finally, at last, he untangles himself when Yuri's trembling begins to subside, crawling up from between his legs to lick at the mess that mars his abdomen. As he moves further up, the shape of the wolf begins to subside, giving way for more of himself with a shimmer of fur and moonlight until at last he is himself again, draped over Yuri's body and pressing him down into the grass with his own weight.
Unable to help himself, he shifts and squirms until his cock, aching hard, is pressed to Yuri's hip, too hungry for friction to behave himself as he starts to rock against him.]
Does it feel like it did the first time? When we both learned how much we ached for this?
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( Yuri shifts to better embrace Dima's changing form as he moves up the smooth curves of his body: always so good, cleaning him as he goes, pulling a dreamy smile to his lips as his muscles jump against the tickle of his tongue. When the beast finally melts into the shape of a man Yuri slips his arms around his waist proper, holding their bodies close as he opens his thighs to fit him against him as closely as possible. )
And I yours, beloved.
( Dima squirms, his cock hot and thick and stiff as iron as he bocks against his body. Any other time Yuri might reprimand him for acting out in such a manner, but he's pleased him so well, made him come so hard that he'll let it slide this time. )
Nothing will feel like that first time, sweet thing. Just you and me, before you were given the forests and I gave up the sun ...
( He leans up to lick a hot, wet stripe up the front of Dima's throat, tastig sweat and earth and something animal in the flutter of his pulse. )
No, it feels different. You know me now, and I know you, deeper and closer than anyone else. That first time was ... it was a crystal-clear beginning, but this?
( His thighs shift as he wraps his legs around Dima's hips, opening himself up for the press of his neglected cock. One hand lifts from the small of his back to thread into his hair, pull him down to his smiling lips: )
Tch. This is eternity.
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But there is also this, the only thing he's ever found in all the world that manages to put thoughts of Byleth entirely from his mind: the way it feels to lose himself in Yuri, when passion boils hot and satisfaction is still out of his reach, and for a little while he's allowed to feel like he's soaring toward the sun.
And unlike their father, this is something he can have forever. Yuri promises him eternity, and he believes it with everything he is.]
Your tongue is as silver as moonlight.
[He grumbles faintly when Yuri shifts, rearranging them so that he momentarily loses his friction, but there's a far better prize waiting for him if he goes along with that minor sacrifice, so he allows it — and is mollified by the tug of fingers in his thick, rumpled hair, and the kisses waiting for him beneath Yuri's glittering eyes.
Distracted, it takes him a try or two before he manages to get lined up properly, but the moment the head of his cock finds Yuri's heat, he can't help but groan desperately against his mouth.]
And you feel so good —
[He isn't patient. He doesn't wait. But he's had plenty of practice at sinking inside his fellow god and he knows instinctively how to do it just right, stretching him wide as his beast of a cock finds its way home in Yuri's warmth.]
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( This part could feel like the first time, if Yuri were to close his eyes and imagine he could feel the dappled sunlight warming their skin through the canopy of trees. They fuck like lovers who've had centuries together but Dima's cock is still a challenge β huge and thick and utterly unyielding as it sinks into the silk-hot clutch of him. His thighs shake with the sensation as he's opened up onto him, his breath turning thready and his lips slack as his cock stirs against his abdomen. )
A-Ah ...
( Already, Yuri feels a sheen of sweat clinging to his temples; his throat; the small of his back. Dima fucks in much the same way that he fights: he's relentless when he loses himself to the roaring beast in his blood, whether for the high of battle or for the satiation of sex.
Fighting his sweet Dima is always fun. Fucking him is much, much better. )
Good boy. Oh, my good boyβ
( Yuri manages, when he feels the press of balls and strong hips against his quivering body. It's hard to speak when his body is full the way it is: with all of Dima, with all of his love and devotion and desperation to please. Yuri pulls him down again to bite a dirty kiss into his mouth β sharp teeth tug on his lower lip before his tongue plunges into his mouth, a gut-deep moan of satisfaction melting between them as his hole flutters around Dima.
... If, over the centuries, he's found himself with a preference for men with fat, heavy cocks, he's fairly certain the blame can be soundly laid at his brother's feet. )
Mm. Come on, then.
( His hands seem small against Dima's body as they skim down his back and over his hips, where they clutch tightly at the curve of his ass to pull him in against him. When he speaks again Yuri leans up to brush the words against his lover's lips: )
Show me how good you can be.
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Oh, my good boy.
He's so happy he could cry; the darkness of centuries lifts from his expression like a stormcloud giving way to the sun, and for a little while there's only eager adoration in the way he gazes back at Yuri, so desperately utterly in love.]
Only for you. Only because you ask it of me.
[But he doesn't move, not yet; he takes his time, letting Yuri's body sheathe him as he drinks his fill of their messy kisses, whining approval with each new lash of his brother's tongue. The longer he waits, the longer he leaves Yuri to focus on precisely how it feels to be joined like this, deprived of the distraction of friction, so that all there is to dwell on is the girth and size of the cock stretching him open.]
You're so tight.
[He teases, happy as a puppy.]
Don't your parades of lovers please you well enough? Shall I kill them for failing to satisfy you as you so crave?
[Yuri's body shook beneath his when he'd pressed inside. The lord of the dead, impassive stone, quaked from the feel of it when they finally came together again. And so, finally, he starts to move, grinding shallowly first to taste the friction before drawing all the way out to the tip, holding it there for a painstaking moment before sliding fully back inside again.]
On the surface they call this the little death. Let me give you all the death you deserve.
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( It's true that no-one fucks him like Dima fucks him.
That isn't to say his other lovers don't please him β Gods, anything but that, especially not when Balthus takes him to bed and fucks him stupid while he's borrowing Dorothea's face β but there's an intensity behind Dima's eyes, his lips, his hips that no-one else has yet managed to match. Perhaps it's the inherent desperation for love and approval that his brother seeks with each punishing thrust: Dima fucks like he might die if he doesn't make Yuri scream and writhe and come; like the seasons might fail and the world might wither if he doesn't bury his seed as deeply within him as he can.
Idly, he wonders how many children they'd make if Yuri were to give himself to Dima in a softer body, too. How long it would take their siblings to become suspicious of the strong, beautiful youths leaving the Underworld, the sun catching in golden hair and warming pale skin for the very first time.
Dima begins to move, shallow at first, and his thoughts shudder to a halt. There's nothing quite like the feeling of being reminded how full he is: those tiny little grinds feel less like being fucked and more like being deeply joined, and a guttural sound escapes him as his fingernails bite hard into the meat of his lover's ass. )
Would you?
( Unfocused eyes gaze up at Dimia, his expression caught somewhere between dreamy, desperate, and just a little wild. )
Would you soak the earth with their blood for me ...
( His thighs shiver again as, slowly, his brother pulls out to the very tip, then tilts his hips down to sink back in and stretch out that tightness again. It shouldn't be so easy to undo him but Yuri's head drops back on a groan anyway: he feels delirious with lust, his cock thick and throbbing between his legs as he pulls his knees back to open himself up that bit further. )
To make me proud?
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[Is that not, after all, the one thing he's always hungered for? To make him proud. To bask in the sunlight of another's praise and know that he has done well. His needs have always been so simple, so plain. It makes it all the more cruel to him when they go so long unsatisfied.
He hisses as Yuri's nails dig into his skin, spurred on by the pleasant sting of pain to fuck into him even harder, all but sliding them in little jerks along the moongrass from the force of his efforts. His brother is a sight to behold when pleasure overtakes him, and it fills Dima with a sudden, hot flash of possessiveness to know that he, only he, can make his beloved look like this.
He would never lay a finger on those Yuri loves. He would cherish them as he cherishes this. But he is still a god of violence as Yuri is a god of death, and this is how their natures sing when they are together: with blood and violence and passion.
He shakes his head like an animal, sending his wild hair cascading around his face, and drives into Yuri again and again as a chuckle bubbles up to his lips.]
Though I think the earth will be watered with something other than blood, soon enough.
[He grasps onto one of Yuri's legs, helping to keep him held and spread obscenely wide, while the other moves to circle his cock, thumbing along the underside vein all the way up to the ridge at the head.]
Spend when I do. When you feel it inside you, hot inside you...promise me you will, beloved.