Archive of Our Own ^beta

"... Ah, Sir Flins. Perfect timing," Illuga's voice echoed lightly through the quiet space, though the stiffness in his shoulders betrayed how long he had been sitting there. He tried to put his words together casually. "I just arrived myself."

Flins appeared suddenly, Illuga was used to it. No footsteps, no sound, no presence to announce him—he suddenly appeared with his wilted smile.

"You are most considerate, Bocchan," his voice flowed smoothly, warm and composed, as though appearing out of thin air were the most natural thing in the world.

"But in truth..." Those tired, half-lidded eyes rested upon Illuga with unsettling ease. "I know you've been sitting here for quite some time."

Illuga's posture visibly jolted. "I–if you knew that," his words stumbled over themselves, irritation and embarrassment colliding violently.  "Why didn't you say anything?"

Flins smiled with that same calm, infuriating smile. "I was curious. Want to see how long you could endure sitting still."

For a moment, Illuga could only stare. His blue-violet eyes—striking, luminous—held an arresting ring of warm amber at their center, glowing softly beneath the light.

"... You're unbelievable, Flins-san," A sharp breath escaped him as he dragged a hand through his pale white hair. "And shouldn't I have sensed you approaching? That's rich coming from someone who moves like a ghost."

"That would imply inattentiveness on your part," Flins replied smoothly.

Illuga scoffed. "Oh, don't start it with me," He crossed his arms tightly, glaring. "And how many times do I have to tell you not to address me like that? 'Bocchan,' 'Master'—honestly, I don't qualify for any of those ridiculous titles."

"I beg to differ," Flins stepped closer, utterly unbothered. "Why should a young man as charming as yourself not deserve such regard?"

Illuga froze. "... Charming?"

"Oh... Right, or should I call you cute, instead?"

Heat rushed violently to his face. "I am not charming! Or cute! Flins-san, no—ugh!" His voice cracked mid-protest, completely betraying him. "Flins-sama, I beg you, stop flattering me like you do with everyone else!"

"Bocchan," Flins placed a hand lightly over his chest, gaze softening. His tone dropped into something dangerously gentle. "You are my beloved. My cute little boyfriend. Naturally, you would be the one I praise most—"

"Flins-san... stop talking, please," Illuga spun away sharply, his face burning. "You just love puffing people's egos up until they become big, happy balloons of nonsense that floats away into the sky."

Illuga fingers curled tighter against his sleeves. "Floating around without a shred of self-awareness..."

Flins blinked a few times. The question slipped from Flins's lips with devastating calm. "Oh, pardon me. Are you jealous?"

Illuga nearly choked. "W-what?! No!"

The denial came far too quickly.

Far too loud.

"I am not jealous!"

"My apologies," Flins dipped into a small, polite bow, though amusement flickered unmistakably in his eyes. "Then I shall ensure the balloons return safely to the ground."

Illuga groaned audibly. "Can we be serious for one second?" The warmth drained from his expression almost instantly. "... Is the situation truly that dangerous?"

Flins's smile faded—just slightly.

"Yes."

And though softly spoken, the word landed like stone. Flins explained everything. Nod-Krai's instability, the creeping threat, and it's all Dottore's looming interference. Each sentence was delivered in Flins's usual measured tone—calm, composed—yet the gravity of the information pressed heavily into the air.

Illuga listened without interruption. The irritation vanished. In its place stood the Nightmare Orioles' Squad Leader. He's focused, sharp, uwavering. That's why Flins always called him the wonderful young master.

"... Alright. I see," Illuga's voice emerged quieter now after hearing all of Flin's explanation. "In short, we evacuate the Pyramid. We'll need Lightkeepers dispatched to the outer regions immediately. Civilians must be cleared before panic spreads. Okay, I’ll start working on those tasks after this. I'm sure tou-san Nikita will help too. And we can recall those on patrol to prioritize this."

"Good," Flins nodded once. He had no doubts about Illuga's performance. His gaze softened. "Thank you. Ah—and Bocchan, once you've completed this task, make sure you evacuate to either Snezhnaya or Natlan as well..."

"Of course. I'll go with the rest of the team," Illuga answered automatically. He then realized something, but he hesitated. Those blue-icy silver eyes, lit by a sharp flicker of amber-red at their center, lifted toward Flins. "... Uhm. You'll follow us too, won't you?"

"Hm? As I said before, there are matters that still bind me here. So no, I shall remain..."

Illuga's chest tightened. "... How... how difficult is it going to be?"

"I doubt it will be easy," Flins answered calmly, his voice as steady and untroubled as ever. But Illuga knew that tone. He knew it far too well. Beneath that composed exterior, beneath that infuriating serenity, something was being withheld.

Illuga's chest tightened.

Even if Flins still carried countless truths he had never shared... Illuga knew.

He was lying.

"... You're walking into grave danger, aren't you, Sir Flins?" The question came out quieter than intended, stripped of its earlier sharpness.

Flins's tired eyes narrowed slightly. For once, he did not smile. He turned away, steps slow and measured, until he reached the railing. His gloved fingers rested lightly against it, gaze drifting somewhere distant. "To be honest, I've been afflicted with a certain curse. I'm told it may very well trigger should I set foot outside of Nod-Krai."

Illuga froze.

Flins continued. His long dark blue hair swayed gently with the passing breeze, soft strands catching the light as they fluttered behind him with effortless grace. "As such, I cannot leave. I have to act—if for no other reason than to fight this curse."

"C–cursed...?! What?!" Illuga's voice cracked violently. "N–no... Why? What is happening to you...?"

"You needn't worry," Flins turned back, that gentle smile returning with maddening ease, as though he hadn't just overturned Illuga's world. "Everything will be fine."

Illuga's hands trembled. "Frankly, Sir Flins, I'm furious." His fingers curled into tight fists at his sides. His entire body was shaking now, rage and fear colliding painfully in his chest.

"You're making light of something incredibly serious!" Illuga snapped, stepping forward. His voice wavered, dangerously close to breaking. "You're talking about your life as if it's some trivial inconvenience!"

"... Indeed, I am," Flins replied evenly. "And?"

"And?!" Illuga stared at him in disbelief. Tears welled up, hot and unstoppable. "And, what?! Of course I'm furious about this!"

Illuga could no longer contain it. The frustration, the fear, the suffocating dread clawing at his ribs—his tears finally spilled.

Flins fell silent at the sight of his lover's tears. For a brief moment, he simply watched. Illuga had always been like this—painfully earnest, burdened by responsibility, unfailingly kind. A good child, in every sense of the word. Of course this would wound him. Of course he would take upon himself fears that were never his to carry.

"Hmm. My apologies, Bocchan. Unfortunately, there is little I can do. Things happen, and we simply deal with them," Flins sighed softly, utterly unfazed by the storm before him. He tilted his head slightly. "If you find yourself overwhelmed, perhaps begin with a large glass of water?"

"Flins-san, I am not a child—" Illuga wiped harshly at his tears, cheeks burning red. He hated this. Hated how easily Flins dismantled his composure. Hated how his concern was met with infuriating calm.

"Ugh... honestly, you're always like this," Iluga's voice dropped, thick with emotion. He looked away bitterly. "I sometimes think you must have lived far too long... that you see me as nothing more than a child."

For a moment, Flins said nothing. Then he exhaled slowly. A long, quiet breath. With unhurried steps, he closed the distance between them. The space between them vanished in seconds.

"I do not see you as a child, Bocchan," He dipped his head slightly, dark lashes lowering, and raised a gloved hand. The smooth leather of his black glove brushed gently against Illuga's cheek, wiping away the tears with a tenderness that sharply contrasted his earlier composure. "You are someone burdened with responsibility. And I admire that greatly."

Illuga's breath hitched.

"Then, allow me to express my sincerest regret. When all of this is over, come to my lighthouse, won't you?" Flins's voice remained gentle, wrapped in that same impossible calm. There was something almost indulgent in the way he spoke, as though the future he described was already a certainty. "We'll catch a few fish, have a small barbecue, play some cards..."

His fingers idly slipped through Illuga's hair, movements slow and absentminded, before carefully sweeping a stray strand back behind his ear. "... and bask in the sun."

Illuga's breathing gradually steadied. For a fleeting moment, the suffocating tension in his chest loosened.

Flins leaned closer. His voice dropped into a soft murmur against Illuga's ear. "And perhaps at night, we might spend our time together in a way you particularly enjoy. It's been a while since we had sex, I believe?"

Illuga's entire face ignited with color.

"Flins-san—!" His eyes narrowed sharply, though the effect was thoroughly undermined by the furious blush spreading across his cheeks. "Yes, I guess I'm right. I sometimes wonder if you're not even human. How can you possibly think so casually about such things when your life is in danger?"

Flins chuckled softly. "Casually? As for that matter, I think about you and that fun activity whenever I have the leisure. Bocchan is my beloved, after all. Surely that is natural?"

Illuga's blush deepened impossibly, then muttered quietly.. "... Oh... you're really... Ugh, you're still not being honest with me. And yes, I still believe you're not human."

Flins chukled, didn't answer it—not directly. The faint amusement lingering in his tired eyes was response enough.

Illuga inhaled. When he looked up again, his gaze was firm. "... Fine, then promise me, you must return safely, without a single scratch."

For a brief moment, silence settled between them. Then, Flins smiled gently. "That is a difficult request, but since Bocchan is the one asking..." His hand slid down, coming to rest lightly upon Illuga's shoulder. "How could I possibly refuse?"

And before Illuga could respond, Flins leaned down—closing the remaining distance. His lips met Illuga's in a kiss that was soft, unhurried, and impossibly tender. A kiss filled with quiet reassurance. Flins hugged the tiny body—embracing it lovingly like a promise that he would return.

🪦 🕊️

A month later, Nod-Krai no longer carried the suffocating tension of imminent collapse. The skies had softened. The winds no longer whispered of instability.

Life, against all probability, had resumed its rhythm.

And Illuga stood before a lighthouse.

The air here felt different—lighter, salted by the sea, brushed with a quiet that felt almost sacred. Graveyards stretched across the surrounding landscape, dark and silent beneath the pale sky. White stone markers stood in solemn rows, their surfaces worn smooth by wind and time. The resting place of Lightkeepers who would never return. Names etched into silence. Memories anchored in earth. 

Illuga adjusted the strap of his bag for the third time in under a minute. "... This is ridiculous."

He exhaled sharply.

Why was his heart racing?

It was just Flins. Just the same infuriating, impossible man who had vanished into danger with that calm smile. The same man who had returned without a single visible wound—though, if one looked closely, faint traces of past injuries still lingered, long healed yet impossible to forget.

Just—

The door creaked open.

No footsteps. Of course.

Flins leaned casually against the doorway, long dark blue hair spilling loosely over his back, as though he had been standing there for quite some time. "... Bocchan," the sound slipped softly from his lips, familiar—and yet laced with something dangerously soothing. "I was beginning to wonder how long you intended to hover outside, huh?"

Illuga froze mid-breath.

"... Flins-san," heat rushed instantly to his face. His eyes looked at the man. "I wasn't hovering!"

Flins's tired eyes glimmered faintly with amusement. He tilted his head slightly. "No? How curious."

Illuga clicked his tongue, stepping forward with wounded dignity. "I had to mentally prepare myself."

"For what?" Flins asked gently.

Illuga opened his mouth. Then, he closed it.

His cheeks flushed faintly, warmth creeping across his skin. He refused—absolutely refused—to make a fool of himself by admitting that he felt embarrassed about the kind of intimacy they had shared here before. More than once, during previous visits to this very lighthouse.

Naturally, that had only been after they had clarified the nature of their relationship.

"... For dealing with you," Illuga replied instead.

Flins smiled. That devastating smile. "How cruel."

Inside, the lighthouse was warm—sunlight streamed through the tall windows, spilling gold across the polished wooden floors. The air carried a faint trace of sea breeze, mingled with something distinctly, unmistakably Flins.

Illuga barely had time to take two steps before—

An arm slipped around his small frame.

Flins's slender body folded around him with effortless ease. The movement was smooth, gentle—almost careful—as though he were handling something delicate, something precious. As though he feared harming his little golden bird.

Illuga's face ignited instantly.

"F–Flins—?!"

His embrace tightened subtly as he lowered his face into the curve of Illuga's neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his hair. Like a creature both spoiled and territorial.

"You kept me waiting an entire month, Bocchan," Flins murmured.

Illuga sputtered, brain scrambling to recover. "You and I... were busy saving the region?"

"A trivial excuse."

"T–trivial...? Really?"

Flins pulled back just enough to look at him. His tired eyes swept over Illuga's face with quiet scrutiny. "... You appear thinner."

Illuga blinked. "... What?"

Flins's fingers rose, brushing lightly along Illuga's cheek. The touch was soft, lingering—intimate in the most casual, unsettling way. "Have you been neglecting yourself again?"

Illuga's irritation faltered instantly. His gaze sharpened.

"You're one to talk," Illuga retorted immediately, his gaze sharpening. "Those shadows under your eyes are getting ridiculous."

Flins let out a quiet, thoughtful sound. "Oh... Ridiculous, you say?"

He brushed his fingertips beneath one eye, the gesture slow, absentminded to his dark circle—as though Illuga were commenting on the weather rather than his condition. Naturally, that maddening composure never left his face.

"My, my... Should I be flattered? That sounded suspiciously like worry, Bocchan," Flins murmured. A faint glimmer of amusement stirred within his weary eyes. "And yet, you remain blissfully unaware of your own state."

Illuga clicked his tongue under his breath. Before he could stop himself, his hands moved, settling against Flins's arms with quiet insistence.

"You look far worse than you're pretending," Illuga muttered.

Flins's brows lifted slightly.

"How am I supposed to stay calm? You were out there fighting a being that dared call himself a god. And now you're standing alone, bringing yourself to finish off the Wild Hunt like it's some trivial nuisance," Illuga exhaled sharply, his fingers tightened. "So no, there is nothing unreasonable about my concern."

Flins sighed softly. He did enjoy Illuga's concern, but this was not a conversation he wished to linger on—it was not what he needed. Instead, he drew Illuga into his arms once more, the embrace firmer this time. His lips finding Illuga's neck to press a gentle, kissing it softly.

Illuga nearly combusted. "F–Flins-san—"

"Illuga, I missed you," Flins interrupted quietly. The words were spoken with disarming simplicity, his voice low, almost tender. "Terribly so. I'm afraid I may have to claim you entirely for a while," he murmured, his breath ghosting softly against Illuga's skin. "We may defer the fishing and card games... if you would indulge me, just this once?"

 "... Oh," The response slipped out of Illuga in a fragile whisper, his entire face flaring crimson as heat rushed unrestrained across his cheeks. His lips trembled slightly when Flins's hands began to wander, tracing slow, deliberate paths along the soft fabric of his white sweater.

"... R... really, you can't just say things like that so casually..."

Flins's gaze softened. "Why not?"

"Because it's unfair," Illuga muttered weakly, unable to meet his eyes. "Oh, my... am I really the only one who gets this nervous and embarrassed about these things?"

Flins hummed softly, his voice low and unhurried. "Bocchan, my composure does not mean I do not desire you. My heart may not betray me so easily, but in truth... it has always quickened whenever you draw near."

The embrace loosened.

Those strange yellow eyes—pupil-less, shadowed by faint, weary circles—held Illuga's gaze. Though his expression still carried that fatigue, looked tired and lifeless, there was something they seemed to desire him. Something that made Illuga's thoughts scatter helplessly.

Without breaking eye contact, Flins reached for Illuga's hand. Slowly, he guided it to rest against his chest. Illuga stilled. Beneath his palm, he could feel it—steady, undeniable, alive.

A heartbeat.

The heartbeat was real. Warm. Alive—despite the man's face, which remained as pale as ever, almost eerily devoid of color.

"I want you," Flins murmured quietly. "Very much so, in fact."

Illuga found himself momentarily robbed of speech. Heat surged across his cheeks, a vivid crimson blooming without restraint, yet clarity settled within him at last. So Flins did feel it too. Of course he did.

Ah... this man had undoubtedly lived far longer, seen far more, experienced things Illuga could scarcely imagine. It was hardly surprising that he remained so composed, so infuriatingly calm, while Illuga felt as though his entire being might collapse under the weight of his own racing heart.

"... Uh, well," Illuga began, voice noticeably less steady than he intended. "I'm not saying that I do not miss you as well, or that I..." His gaze wavered for the briefest second. "... that I don't want you."

"... Then allow me," Flins's eyes softened, he murmured gently, "to make amends."

With effortless grace, Flins closed the distance between them. His hand slid to Illuga's waist, drawing him nearer, while the other rose to cradle his cheek with unmistakable tenderness. 

Their lips met in a kiss that was slow, warm, and impossibly gentle. And in that moment, there remained no space between them at all.

🪦 🕊️

Flins wasn't human—Illuga had lost count of how many times that thought had crossed his mind. Yet, in truth, he could never quite find any proof, evidence, or visible flaw—except for those perpetually tired eyes and the faint shadows resting beneath them.

Flins's body, like now, stripped bare, was otherwise entirely normal. His skin was not particularly warm—cool to the touch—though Illuga had long since assumed it was simply the way Flins's body adjusted to its surroundings.

His skin was pale. Pale white, strikingly so.

Heat rushed to Illuga's face as Flins began calmly removing his clothes. Illuga's gaze traced him—Flins's body was slender, lean, the elegant curve of his hips almost begging to be touched; to be held, squeezed, admired, for they were unfairly beautiful. As a man, Illuga wanted to touch him too. Maybe next time, when courage finally finds him. 

And... His chest was firm, subtle lines defined his abdomen, and that penis was large and long, perfectly neatly tucked inside the fabric of his underwear. Illuga's breath nearly caught.

Flins was... Beautiful. Handsome. And undeniably, devastatingly lovely.

"Do you like what you see, Bocchan?"

Illuga turned his face away the moment he realized he had been staring far too long.

Flins chuckled softly. "Perhaps you should begin taking off yours as well? Or would you prefer assistance?"

"Uh—... did you really have to ask?" Illuga muttered, already shrugging off his coat. The movement exposed the faint scars lining his neck, drawing a slight narrowing of Flins's golden eyes.

"No. My apologies, Young Master. I should not have asked something that already falls within my duties," Flins replied smoothly, sounding every bit the devoted servant. His hands moved with quiet ease, slipping beneath the soft wool of Illuga's white sweater, undoing the fastenings with practiced grace before tugging the garment away. A moment later, Illuga's trousers followed, until the two of them clad in nothing but their underwear.

Illuga's body was small. Slender. Youthful—yet often mistaken for that of a child.

And Flins could hardly blame them.

After all, look at this body, this delicate frame was petite... it's simply adorable.

Flins gently pushed his lover onto the bed. Illuga's breath faltered, nerves visibly tightening as a sheen of sweat gathered and began to trail down his forehead. Flins leaned in without hesitation, closing the distance between them until his sharp nose burried into the elegant curve of Illuga's neck, skin glistening faintly with warmth. He gave a tentative lick that elicited a soft helpless moan from the sweet young man. His body shuddering as heat unfurled beneath Flins's touch.

"Flins-san..." Illuga called his name, his voice already unsteady.

"Bocchan," Flins called back smoothly, his lips brushing along Illuga's neck. hoarse moan escaping Illuga's lower lip, which he had been gently biting.

Flins' kisses began to wander. From lips, to his neck, then to his chest.  His mouth found Illuga's chest, lingering there before settling upon a soft pink peak. Flins kissed it with deliberate gentleness.

That pink nipple was so adorably soft. Flins had never eaten human food, but he imagined it would be like the cherry on top of a sweet dessert.

"A—Ahh, t-that—!"

"Oh?" Flins paused at once, lifting his head. His golden eyes met Illuga's flushed expression. "My apologies. You do not like that?"

Illuga quickly raised himself on his elbows, face burning. "N-No... It's not that I don't like it..."

"Ah, so you are sensitive? How fortunate. It seems I've rediscovered one of your weaker points, Master,"  he murmured calmly, a faint smile curved Flins's lips as if he were pleased to be able to study his master so well.

Flins lowered his head again, returned to kissing his right breast. His tongue flicked lightly against Illuga's nipple before his lips closed around it, sucking gently. Meanwhile, his other hand drifted to Illuga's opposite side. Bare fingers, without his black gloves. It was cold, Illuga jolted. Flins's slender fingers were supple, pressed, then pinched softly at the other nipple, the chill of his touch sending a sharp tremor through Illuga's entire body.

"A... Ahh..." Illuga breathed out once more, the sound trembling as it left him. He was going to lose his mind. His voice already felt far too embarrassing—something he desperately needed to suppress.

Flins's lips left his chest, yet his fingers remained, still teasing the sensitive peak of his breast with slow movements. Meanwhile, Flins's mouth began its unhurried descent, tracing the slender lines of Illuga's smaller frame before settling against his stomach.

A firm pull at his navel.

Flins sucked hard on his navel.

Illuga's breath hitched sharply. He bit down on his lower lip, a stifled sound escaping despite his efforts. A thin strand of saliva slipped free, trailing from the corner of his mouth, sliding along his jawline and down the curve of his neck.

Flins lifted his head at once. Golden eyes, faintly narrowed with something resembling concern. "... You do not like this, Young Master?"

Illuga's lips parted, breath uneven. "W-Why... do you keep asking that...?"

"Because," he answered calmly, fingers still idly moving against Illuga's chest, "you keep holding back your voice."

 "I'm holding it back because it's embarrassing..." he replied weakly. Heat surged violently into Illuga's face.

"... Is that so?" Flins murmured. His thumb brushed lightly along Illuga's nipple. "But I rather enjoy hearing your moans, Bocchan. Your voice carries such honesty—like a lovely hymn of pleasure melodies," His tone remained maddeningly gentle. "It assures me I am not misunderstanding what I am doing. So perhaps... when I hear those sounds again, I shall no longer need to ask."

What Flins said made Illuga blush even more. After a brief hesitant pause, he nodded.

Flins's smile lingered. Without another word, he lowered his head again, tongue gliding warmly against Illuga's navel. His hand remained at Illuga's chest, fingers resuming their leisurely torment.

Tears welled helplessly at the corners of Illuga's half-lidded eyes, slipping free as sensation after sensation overwhelmed him. His cheeks burned, crimson deepening as heat spread mercilessly through his body, pleasure coiling tighter than his mind could possibly contain.

He writhed beneath Flins.

"U-Ungh... ahhh..."

The moaned came freely now. And Flins listened.

Illuga's breath grew increasingly uneven when Flins's fingers hooked gently beneath the waistband of his boxers. With unhurried care, Flins slid the fabric downward. It revealing her still-wet, slightly-damp privates and two long, smooth legs.

"... Adorable," Flins was intoxicated. Unable to resist, he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of Illuga's thigh.

Illuga shuddered violently. "A... Ahhh... Flins..."

Flins finally straightened, removing his hand from Illuga's chest. Desire flickered unmistakably within his tired golden eyes. For whatever reason, he couldn't help it—yet even now, Flins remained Flins. He treated his partner with courtesy and care, his movements gentle and courteous.

"I shall prepare you, Bocchan," Flins said softly as he reached for a small bottle. It was the lubricant he had purchased in Nasha Town. The scent was mild, the ingredients were harmless—Flins had made certain of that himself. He poured the slick liquid into his palm.

Then, with calm precision, Flins guided Illuga's leg upward, folding it slowly until the young man's knee pressed against his own chest.  Revealing the ultimate prize nestled between two plump, firm, reddened nubs. Flins's golden eyes narrowed, the puckered hole looking so tight and delicious to be touched... Delicate entrance looked impossibly snug, irresistibly inviting.

"F–Flins-san—" Illuga's voice wavered. The position alone was mortifying. His face burned deeper with every passing second.

Flins lowered his head, both arms still holding Illuga's calves securely in place. His tongue extended, flicked out to greet the still-closed hole. One sensual lick made its owner squirm.

"Ahhh!" The cry tore free, moaned loudly, no longer holding back his voice. His body quivered violently, smooth skin shimmering beneath a sheen of sweat.

Flins paused only briefly. Just long enough to feel the tension melt, his two slick fingers eased inside. Slow, measured, moving with an agonizingly steady rhythm.

"... U–uah-" Illuga was startled. The stretch was gradual, yet overwhelming. His arms moved instinctively, wrapping around his own legs as though to hide himself, to shield the burning embarrassment flooding his expression.

Flins watched him with quiet focus.

"Ah, Bocchan, you are terribly tight... It has been quite some time since we last did this," his voice remained maddeningly calm. His fingers were in the same slow, well-meaning motion, but it was torturous for Illuga.

Flins's eyes narrowed once more. The two fingers moved inside Illuga's hole, making scissoring movements inside and pressing deeper.

Illuga's breath fractured instantly. "Ah... Ah—!"

The golden bead stared at the hole. Flins's movements were constant, but each stroke was deep—withdrawing his fingers, pushing them in deeper. He pressed against the walls of Illuga's rectum. His rhythm never faltered—slow withdrawal, deeper push, each press firm enough to make Illuga's body tremble. He explored carefully, feeling and searching.

"A... Ahh— th–there...!"

Flins stilled for only a fraction of a second.

"... Here?" Flins asked quietly, feeling the tips of his fingers bump against Illuga's sensitive spot. Illuga's calves shook violently, and he gripped his legs tighter.

"Ahh, Flin-s... san, ahhh..." The prostate was pressed, gently, still constant. His hips reflexively lifted and moved forward on instinct alone. Searching for that point of pleasure. Flins raised his eyebrows—his fingers then moved faster, but not roughly.

"My, my, Bocchan. You do have lips meant for speaking clearly."

"U... Uh?" Illuga's lips trembled in confusion.

"You're moving your hips. Is it starting to feel good, perhaps?" Flins' right index and middle fingers continued their slow, slowly hitting the tip of his rectum.

"... No, I... I'm fine," Illuga replied. The blue-violet gleam touched with amber was nearly hidden beneath his half-lowered lids—lashes brushing over flushed cheeks, his sharp nose reddened from his unceasing broken sobs.

"Oh. I do not like dishonest childern, Bocchan," Flins narrowed his eyes—his fingers moving faster this time, deeper, making a sharp reaction as Illuga clutched the mattress beneath him. His body tightened when his prostate was pressed repeatedly, each touch provoking a tingle through him that he could no longer hide.

Then Flins slowly withdrew his two fingers out. Illuga's hole was wet, twiching rapidly, as though reluctant to lose the warmth that had just left him.

"Bocchan, would you like to continue?" Flins asked gently, lowering Illuga's legs back onto the bed.

Illuga gave a small nod. "I... I would."

"Good. Honesty suits you."

Flins smiled. At last, he slipped off his own underwear. Calmly, he spread the same lubricant along his half-hardened penis.

Illuga watched, waiting—quiet, flushed, beautiful.

Flins reached for Illuga's body. The younger man's sobs grew louder as the Fae began to squeeze his hips. He opened his legs, pressing their lower bodies closer until Illuga's writhing body was now completely crushed under him, embedded in the soft mattress.

"Mnh... ahh—" His breath hitched as the tip of Flins' hardening manhood lightly brushed against his already twitching hole. His moans grew louder, his urge to call out his lover's name, who buried his face in the crook of Flins's neck.

"Sir... Flins, mnh—" Illuga's lips were crushed gently, claimed in a slow, tender kiss. Softly. Flins was dangerous—like a mysterious creature who knew exactly how to handle his prey with exquisite care, savoring him unhurriedly.

Those reddened lips parted, his lower lip finely bitten, leaving out a soft moan. Flins's mouth wandered, leaving teasing licks that ignited waves of heat across Illuga's skin. Kisses, nips, and lingering sucks bloomed into marks upon the delicate canvas, resting beside every scar etched into Illuga's body.

"F-Flin-san, I—"

Illuga let out a muffled cry, dissolved before it could fully form, Flins once again gathering his lips with quiet patiences—gently slipping into his mouth. Their tongues entwined deliberately, clashing softly in the warm depths of Illuga's mouth. Flins tasted him thoroughly, stirring slow, intoxicating chaos behind that kiss—muffling the fragile sobs and breathless sounds of the sweet young man now trembling beneath him, his body gradually numbed by the firm, deliberate motion of Flins pressing deeper.

Such a large, heated, swollen organ moved with deceptive softness. His movements weren't wild—no, Flins was not that kind of man. His penis rubbed with intense friction, but not at a fast pace. So when his penis began striking deeper within, unpredictably brushing those hidden inner walls of his rectume, Illuga knew—the head penis was finding that sensitive place with unforgiving precision.

"Augh—mmn..."

"Is it alright, Bocchan?" Flins asked politely, pressing a gentle kiss to the tears spilling from Illuga's icy blue eyes.

"Y... Yes. Yes."

Illuga whimpered faintly. His hands, which had been gripping the mattress beneath him, loosened and rose instead—circling weakly around the man above him. Flins's skin was cold, stark against Illuga's overheated, trembling body, yet the embrace only seemed to draw more warmth from him. "Sir Flins... please... move..."

"Mnh. Very well, Young Master Illuga."

Flins finally moved. His motions were patient—easing in, deep, withdrawing again, then slamming into Illuga's hole. Illuga breathed out. Flins' movements were intoxicating.

"My Young Master... you feel exquisite," Flins murmured, restraining a low groan. The praise made Illuga's rectal walls constrict, making the yellow eyes of the man above him narrow; he felt a strange, painful sensation as his penis squeezed inside him.

"S–Sir Flins... faster..." Illuga pleaded. "Faster, please."

Flins' movements slowed even more—very deliberate. Every thrust measured, every withdrawal drawn out just long enough to leave Illuga trembling between sensation and anticipation. There was no roughness in his movements, no reckless lust or wild movements.

Only patience and control—it felt unmistakably like torment for Illuga. Slow, heated, exquisitely torturous.

Illuga's breathing grew uneven.

"S–Sir Flins...!"

Flins exhaled softly against the shell of his ear, voice as calm as ever. "I would rather not hurt you, Bocchan."

The slow, deep movements were still the same. His penis moved, hitting Illuga's prostate—still at the same tempo. Unhurried, relentless, mercilessly slow. Illuga's fingers clutched helplessly at Flins's back. "T–That's not—"

His words dissolved into fractured. Flins's restraint was undoing him. The steady rhythm, the relentless depth, the slow, merciless climb of pleasure without release—it unraveled Illuga's thoughts, his body answering with restless, aching need.

"Please... faster..."

Flins lifted his gaze. Those golden eyes, now shadowed with something darker, held his.

"... If you insist," he murmured with his low voice. Then, with a smooth, effortless motion, Flins guided Illuga's hips and rolled them over in one fluid turn. The world seemed to tilt with them— until their positions were reversed.

Illuga scarcely had time to breathe.

Flins lay beneath him. Dark blue hair spilled across the sheets like a dark, silken halo, golden eyes watching him with a quiet intensity that sent heat rushing through Illuga's chest all over again. Flins's hands settled at Illuga's waist, firm yet impossibly gentle.

"Well then, Bocchan," Flins said softly, a faint smile touching his lips. "Show me, what pace do you prefer? How fast can you handle, hm?"

Illuga wanted to be angry, but ultimately, he moved on his own. With a slight shudder, he lifted his hips; the shaft of Flins's penis pressed tightly against him slid in only at the tip—before brutally dropped his body down onto the grown man beneath him with a force that bordered on reckless.

"A... ahhh!" Deep—so impossibly deep. This position drove Flins's penis further inside, enter his deepest part. Pleasure rippled through Illuga as the tight, burning walls of his rectum around him began to pulse and draw Flins in, the penis within him twitching. A single downward thrust sent them both reeling, drowning into a sea of ​​ecstasy in one thrust.

"... You've taken me so well, Master. Look, I'm clearly at your deepest point," Flins's mapped Illuga's stomach, just below his navel, right where the head of his penis was embedded. The fae's voice alone made Illuga's ears burn crimson. The thought of Flins inside him—despite the undeniable reality of it—sent sharp tremors racing through his body like sparks beneath his skin. Like a sudden sting of pleasure.

The movement continued.

Illuga bounced, his strength melting away even as his body reacted with desperate need. Illuga's body lurched wildly, his body limp. Flins savored it, letting Illuga take over. Illuga moaned, the sensation of Flins's enormous penis taking over almost the entire contents of his rectum. It pounded right into his pleasure point over and over again.

Illuga gasped softly, overwhelmed by the sheer fullness of Flins, by the way that thickness seemed to claim nearly every inch of space within him. His throat burned, exhausted from being forced to moan constantly. "A... ahh... Flins-san..."

Flins exhaled slowly. Propping himself up on one elbow, he rose halfway and pressed gentle kisses along Illuga's shoulder, trying to calm the sweet young man who was sobbing softly. One of Flins's hands kneaded Illuga's narrow waist, firm yet careful, sliding down to his hips. The other drifted lower—fingers curling around Illuga's swollen penis, slick with pre-cum dripping from the tip. His remaining hand closed around Illuga's chest, squeezing slowly.

"Sir— ahh, Sir Flins—" Sobs melted into frustrated moans, Flins's indulgent pampering finally bearing fruit when Illuga began to gasp, pleading for more—breathy sounds heavy with need, thick with the desperation of someone teetering on the edge.

"Oh no, Bocchan... You're so tight," Flins breathed, his voice strained. "I... I might come inside you."

"Why... would you even say that..."

Just do it, Illuga groaned inwardly.

It was ridiculous. He didn't mind at all.

"I'm asking permission from my Young Master," Flins replied softly. "I could never take my release without your consent."

Illuga chuckled between moans. "And if I don't allow you?"

"Then I'll be a good boy," Flins murmured, golden eyes darkening, "and hold it until you allow me."

Illuga grinned in amusement. The Fae ruined his smile by kissing his lips—scooping them up affectionately. Illuga felt Flins beneath him begin to lift his hips, helping thrust into him. Their opposite movements made Flins' penis sink into the deepest point of his rectum—repeatedly ramming in all directions, pressing on his prostate. Each thrust pressing into the most sensitive place inside him, again and again.

"I'm going to come inside you, Bocchan... Come on, together—"

"Ahhh—!"

The moment Flins's whisper ghosted against his neck, Illuga shattered. Release tore from him in a trembling wave, pleasure crashing through his body without restraint. And at the same time—Illuga could feel a warmth welling up inside him.

As Flins lifted his buttocks and gently placed him on the mattress, he could feel it, the warm liquid slowly spilling, tracing down the inside of his thigh.

Illuga's body grew heavy.

His consciousness drifted slowly, like a soundless wave receding. The world faded into a sense of comfort—the soft mattress beneath him, and the warmth that still enveloped him. Flins's arms settled securely, holding him with quiet affection.

Illuga fell asleep in that embrace, breathing gradually evening out, the faint flush lingering on his features now softened into something peaceful.

🪦 🕊️

Illuga didn't know how long he had slept. When he regained consciousness, the world felt strange — quiet, dim, wrapped in a pale light that did not belong to morning. The air was still cold. The sky beyond the window had not yet begun to change.

It wasn't morning yet. But he was awake. Or half-awake?

What was certain was this he was still in Flins's arms.

Warm.

It was strange—Flins's always cold skin now felt like a comforting anchor. Illuga blinked sluggishly, his body too reluctant to move. A soft voice broke the silence. "Would you like some water, Young Master Illuga? I can fetch it for you."

Illuga merely shook his head. Not yet fully awake, still heavy with sleep, not yet capable of fully opening his eyes. However, he was awake enough to notice one thing.

Flins hadn't slept. At all. Not since earlier.

Illuga forced his eyes open slightly. The silhouette remained unchanged—long flowing dark blue hair spilling softly, golden eyes still awake, that pale tranquil face utterly untouched by fatigue.

Really... after all the sex they'd done?

"... You..." His voice came out hoarse, barely a murmur. "... You're not actually human, are you?"

Flins blinked slowly. His tone remained smooth, faintly amused. "And what makes you think that?"

Illuga frowned weakly, still drifting somewhere between sleep and consciousness. He took a deep breath, muttered. "... I can't prove it, but I'm sure of it."

There was silence lingered between them.

Then—

Flins chuckled softly.

"Bocchan, you're sleep talking," a low voice poured warmth into Illuga's ears, as indulgent as the arms wrapped securely around him. Fingers lazily combed through Illuga's hair, slow and possessive. A gentle kiss pressed against his forehead. "And you're still very sleepy. Go back to sleep."

"Hng..." Illuga could only manage a weak hum, drowsy sound. He was far too comfortable to argue and resist.

Flins smiled slightly as he watched those beautiful eyelashes close comfortably again. Then, in a low, almost whispering voice, he uttered a string of small words—

"Καληνύχτα, αγαπητέ μου..."

(Good night, my dear...)

Illuga heard it. Truly heard it—Flins's voice, speaking a language he did not know. But his eyes were already too heavy. His body too exhausted. Consciousness slipped away again, sinking back into that same warmth.

Ah.

That was one of the proofs!

His final thought flickered dimly before sleep reclaimed him.

Flins-san...

... is definitely not human.

END.