( 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 — 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 boy—
( 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 — 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 — Gods, anything but that, especially not when Balthus takes him to bed and fucks him stupid while he's borrowing Dorothea's face — 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}
no subject
( 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 — 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 boy—
( 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 — 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.
no subject
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.
no subject
( It's true that no-one fucks him like Dima fucks him.
That isn't to say his other lovers don't please him — Gods, anything but that, especially not when Balthus takes him to bed and fucks him stupid while he's borrowing Dorothea's face — 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?
no subject
[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.