The Sentimental Feelings

Author: Ciissi

Fandom: Star Ocean III: Till the End of Time

Pairing: Albel Nox x Fayt Leingod

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Ocean III. It belongs to Square Enix, may they do lots of more good games. The theme song of this chapter Ghost Love Score belongs to Finnish band Nightwish.

Warnings: Eventually NC-17. Contains yaoi meaning at least two boys having sex together. I probably should have mentioned all the swearwords. Sorry, I forgot.

Author's Note 1: Okay first things first: My previous email-address for some reason died. I lost all my beta-contacts. So unbetaed chapter – again – and no beta – again. I hate my email. Albel is adult again! Yay! Mercy on me, it took only fifteen chapters. XD And lookie: Took only about year for me to realize <i>what</i> I wanted from this chapter. Sorry everybody, this was unintentional.

Answers for reviews: I am finally getting somewhere but not very fast. I am sorry about this. I must confess that your reviews really helped me when I thought I should just forget what I was doing. I definitely will finish this story. It just will take some time. Currently I am not an emotional mess that I was when I originally started this story. I guess I am getting old. ;3

*****

Interlude: The Vindictiveness (You are sooooo going to suffer!)

My fall will be for you

My love will be in you

If you be the one to cut me

I’ll bleed forever

~Nightwish: Ghost Love Score~

To say that Albel Nox was a person, who possessed a trait of revengefulness, was an underestimation of a large scale. It was like honestly claiming that a snowflake hat the highest possible chance of survival on the surface on the blue sun. In the royal city of Airyglyph or mining town of Kirlsa there were not a single person, who would not had heard the stories about the unrestrained wrath of the famed Albel the Wicked. Even in the Sacred City of Aquios the citizen were… well… *somewhat* informed about *this* Albel Nox’s less than *commendable* trait of character. Albel himself was entirely aware that, what he would be doing very could be called ‘dealing out the justice’ or ‘paying back with interests’, but – personally – he rather liked the sound of plain old ‘revenge’. It was not a fancy collection of pretty words to make the action itself sound more acceptable. It was a word full of history stained with blood and guts. It was not an amiable word and – specifically in this current matter – Albel had no intention, what so ever of being ‘amiable’. He wanted blood, wanted to bathe in it, drink it, cherish it, smear it all over his clean skin. He wanted to paint, trace meaningless, passionate patterns over his skin, over the skin which glowed as pale as the fresh snow under the moonlit sky. He wanted to reach, to teach to that luminous skin how hot, cold blood could burn through all layers of sanity, dignity, pretense directly into one’s soul, mind, spirit, core and feed the pyre, inferno within. He wanted the opaline skin to feed, to learn the taste of bloody kisses and addiction of the hottest passion which would not, could not ever fade away.

But right now Albel Nox was only revengeful and he was going to get his fill and payment in blood and humiliation. More… *intriguing* pastimes just had to wait later on. *After* he had explained to that fool of Leingod, *why* he had bothered to make it his business that the Queen’s garden was redecorated with the blond maggot’s guts and other interesting remains of *certain* female members of humanoid-like species…

Albel stood in the room which had been given to him alone to use during their stay at the Castle of Aquios. He was currently pulling on the kind of clothing he preferred over the ones he had been forced to use during his stint back to his physical childhood. Although these current clothes were indeed his, made to suit his personal tastes he had not never before used them. Albel preferred his usual – and almost trademarkish – dark purple get-up for some reason of ‘fondness’ or ‘formality’ as he had *never* used the pitch-black full-plate armor, which was the official uniform of Black Brigade. However when he had dug through his possessions and had come to across these particular clothes, he had decided to wear them instead.

The main color of the outfit was black. It consisted of simple, snug tunic with 3/4-sleaves, blood-red rimming and a few silver highlight vertical stripes here and there. The tunic was accompanied by tight black pair of pants, which also carried the blood-red and silver embellishments. The pieces of armor made for the outfit and the matching black claw lined with blood-red etchings had landed carelessly on the floor, placed carefully on the nearby table. Albel had no intention to wear the pieces of the armor aside the claw.

As Albel got dressed he refused to admit to himself how much these clothes reminded him of those clothes he had worn during the Queen Aquaria XXVII Romeria’s ball. He did not want to admit that he had liked those clothes very much, because they had matched with Fayt’s attire. It had felt back then, inside that small child’s body, like those matching outfits had claimed, stated their shared lives and their rights of every aspect – in deeper levels – of other’s life. Like no-one else in this large, grand galaxy – or in any other for that matter – had any sort of right to come between the two of them.  It briefly flashed through Albel’s mind if he was with his choice of clothing trying to enforce his ownership over the blue-haired leader’s existence and being and life. Fayt Leingod was *his* prey, everybody knew that and he did not *need* any other show of this bond between them. Albel just *wanted* to dress like this.

As he finished dressing himself up and securing his claw to his left arm, Albel turned to observe the two very different kinds of collars he had placed on the small bedside table. The first one was a rough, heavy iron collar with a short, cumbersome chain and jagged, chipped dents. The second one was more sophisticated, but no less masculine with its scintillating ruby, lustrous sapphires and gleaming mythril rings. There and then Albel hesitated his hand above the cumbersome iron collar as the leather-and-mythril collar drew his crimson eyes to admire the skillfully cut jewels. His right hand fingers subtly caressed the lighter collar. Albel’s eyelids slid shut and his entire body shivered in pleasure as he felt the power residing in the collar. Now as an adult he could really feel the full force of the collar which the emerald-eyed youngster had bought from Peterny. For him. For *Albel* to wear.

Albel clenched his hand into a fist and opening his eyes he turned away from the table and the collar therein. He brought his right hand to his throat and with his bare fingertips he touched he uncovered skin, which should have – by now – been hidden under the iron collar. The skin of his throat was no paler than rest of Albel’s skin, but it was at least a little bit more sensitive than any other part of his skin mainly, because of the collar he almost always wore.

It was then, while brushing over that slightly sensitive part of his body – which he had never allowed anyone to touch for reasons he did not care to divulge for sake of others – Albel wondered if the Leingod boy even *knew*, what that crude piece of accessory really symbolized. A white-hot wave of heat pooled around Albel’s lower body parts as the thought repeated itself in his mind. He easily recognized the feel of shameless, boundless lust gripping his body and without abashment his right hand traveled in carnal need down from his throat. Albel’s form flowed gracefully, exquisitely like water, like fervor as he kneeled on the floor his legs slightly apart of each other for balance. Bending his head backwards he allowed his eyelids cover his piercing, red eyes and arched his neck in hedonistic offering. His clawed left arm lay uselessly palm up in his side and agonizingly slowly, casually his right hand fingers traced the shape of his hardening cock through the form-hugging, black pants. Albel the Wicked desired to learn, if the blue-haired fool would found it arousing if Albel would wear the collar, which the young earthling had bought for him, when telling the younger swordsman the reason, the secret, the symbolism behind the act of using the collar. Would the green-eyed scholar find him disgusting?

Behind his closed lids, inside his head Albel Nox could hear the Crimson Scourge whispering to him. From since the very first time the blood-eyed Captain of Black Brigade had come to contact with the ancient katana, he could not detect malice, hate, ill-will or any other negative feeling in the words the katana was murmuring. He could only sense salaciousness and longing. It was clear that something had changed between the Elicoorian swordsman and the living sword. As something must have changed between him and the blue-haired warrior.

Albel stayed kneeling on the floor caressing himself through the layers of fabric and listening to the whispers, the croons of the Crimson Scourge ring, sing inside his head – and agreeingly, eagerly repeating them – until he was no longer certain, if it was he or the sword, who was made those words out. Slowly most of the words died out and only a few of the most meaningful of all stayed. The feelings seemed only to grow more intense with the lesser words.

Still kneeling Albel arched his back, gritted his teeth together and hissed in pain and pleasure like he did not think he had felt never before. The room around him disappeared. Inside his own private world of mind and spirit of blinding white pleasure Albel could only feel and hear the faintest whisper of yearning…

“*Please… abuse me*…”

[Take me, cure me, kill me,]

*****

Few hours ago Cliff Fittir had not been entirely pleased, when he had returned, when he had returned to the assigned room to check, if the antidote which the girls had made, had worked as it should have.

Unfortunately – for Cliff – it had.

Immediately after opening the door and stepping into the room Cliff had realized that Nox had *not* forgotten, whose idea the thought of using the slender Elicoorian male as a guinea pig had originally been. The dirty glare which the newly-in-adult’s-body Albel the Wicked had shot towards him, had promised pure agony and torture. Cliff had almost backed out of the room and escaped immediately, but somehow he had been able to suppress the urge to run. He – however – had not been able to suppress a flinch when those scarlet-red, murderous eyes had met his darker, greyer ones.

Later on Cliff was not entirely sure, *what* he had talked with the kid while those unforgiving, predatory eyes stared at him. They were horrible, distracting, thought-draining and he still could not understand, how Fayt was able to do anything ever under the heavy scrutiny of the cold, red eyes. Cliff knew now. Because those *eyes* were *always* following the young leader’s every move, studying the Earthling’s every gesture, *considering* the young warrior’s every world and motive to find a weakness. Cliff knew now. Because Fayt Leingod was *the prey* Albel the Wicked would eventually hunt down and kill. Cliff knew now and he hated those unfeeling, cruel eyes of a murderer. He could not fathom, how Fayt could act, behave, *exist* normally, like those eyes were not *on* his person, body all the time maliciously looking for any kind of fatal flaw. Where the *hell* the kid got all that patience, because there was no way the he could be *ignorant* of those *eyes*?!

In that room, under those *eyes* Cliff had felt like he was going to go insane and *Fayt* had just *stood* there under the weight of those burning *eyes* like the Elicoorian maniac had not been in the same with the two of them *half-naked* and *unmoving*! And the way the Wicked One had regarded the viridian-eyed Earthling boy time to time had definitely been… *odd*… It had been right about then that leaving the room as quickly as possible had seemed like a good idea to Cliff.

Currently Cliff was lounging around the castle in the places where there were lots of people mingling and he was steadily inching his way towards the city proper. He was hiding in the plain sight, but he was aware that this tactic would not stall Albel Nox very long. Cliff was not stupid. He comprehended that he could only blame himself of his current predicament. He was also *very* aware that no matter, how much he would beg, *Fayt* would not ever bother to *think* helping him out. The Earthen young man was a firm believer of ‘you reap what you sow’ and ‘divine judgment’. Besides… Klausian warrior did not really *want* to hear the possible – no… *inevitable* – lecture about his irresponsible behavior he would receive from Fayt the Prim-and-Proper.

Yes, Cliff *did* know the meaning of ‘sarcasm’.

The ever-present murmur of hundreds of voices calmed Cliff down a little. But he did not nurse false hopes about escaping the retribution. He was aware that it would be one hell of a nasty experience. Cliff only hoped that big crowd like this would stall Nox until the later hour of the day. He really did not want to entire castle and city to hear him scream in pain.

Cliff raised his head to scan the area around. Across the room between two pillars, in the shadows he met the mocking gaze of crimson fire. It felt like his blood turned into something half-solid in his veins. The shadows were entwined with the slender form and long hair. And those *eyes*, unblinking *eyes* were ridiculing, belittling, disjointing him piece by piece.

And then the form in the shadows was gone and Cliff did not know if the Airyglyphian captain had really been *there* or if it had been only a trick or his mind, distortion in the light and shadow.

Cliff Fittir wanted to puke.

*****

Albel was stalking. He was stalking a prey. Stalking, learning, observing. He was memorizing patterns of behavior, ways of speaking, roads of walking. Albel was stalking. He was hunting a prey of insignificant in life. Hunting, haunting, taunting. He was searching for patterns of weakness, ways of revenge, roads of doom. Albel was hunting. He was shadowing a prey. Shadowing, stalking, hunting.

Albel had four preys to take down. Yes four of them, but they were weak, tasteless preys, but this was a matter of principle and pride. *No-one* – but perhaps *one* – was allowed to cross a line of personal space and bodily integrity and live to tell the tale. Not in or out of battlefield.

Albel had one prey to take down. Yes only one, but this one was a strong, equal prey, but this was a matter of desire and gratification. *No-one* – but perhaps *this one* – was allowed to climb over the walls around his spirit and heart and live to tell the tale. Not in or out of his bed.

Albel stopped inside the shadows which the royal palace casted to some parts of the royal gardens. He leaned his left shoulder on the nearby marble pillar and watched the brown-haired Earthling wench to talk to *that person*. And no matter how much he tried to resist, his eyes returned to observe the much more enticing form of *that person*. Standing still and silent Albel saw how that person smiled warmly to the obnoxious wench and finally shook his head and laughed breathlessly.

Suddenly hunting down those four infernal maggots was not *that* important in Albel’s mind. A vision of pale, silky skin, blue hair and bright green eyes like twin jewels on sword’s pommel filled his mind. The vision of a holy demon danced in front of him. The garden around him faded and turned into a dusky, shady inn room which was hazily lit by the faint moonlight and the lightest blue from a runic ice spell. The vision vestal sin had wispy wings of purest white and it was wearing only naked skin. Hundreds, thousands runic symbols whirled around the vision as he played with deadly but beautiful ice designs. Misty hands rouse around the visions pale legs to caress the pliant, alluring body. As vision’s lips opened in wanton sigh, Albel’s and the vision’s eyes met forcing Albel out of his daydream.

Albel held the Leingod’s son’s gaze steadily and blankly. Slowly he straightened and after dismissively glancing at the pesky bitch, he left the garden behind. He heard the younger man calling his name but Albel swiftly disappeared into the palace. With every step, with every exhale and inhale he could feel the hot tempting tingle on his loins and lips and – oddly – around his heart. With every step, with every exhale and inhale he could feel himself falling deeper into velvety darkness. With every step, with every exhale and inhale Albel could feel himself coming closer and closer a full blown hard on and he quickly located a secluded place where he could gather his bearings.

Albel found a big window alcove with wide ledge which he sat. He refused to listen to his body’s plea for release and slowly he was able to somewhat will away his hard on. But he could not stop thinking *why* his body was reacting like this to the leader of their group. This was something else than ordinary sexual desire which Albel was familiar enough. Even if Albel wanted to take the blue-haired Earthling to his bed, he realized that he wanted *more* than just some pleasurable roll on the sheets and instant gratification. Albel Nox wanted *more* but he could not tell to himself what that ‘*more*’ was. He suddenly came aware that somehow *that person’s* name had become taboo, sacred. And not just *that person’s* first name but also *his* last name too.

Albel became oddly nervous and looking around himself he licked his lips. Steeling himself against *something* he cleared his dry throat.

“Fayt…” The name was a soft whisper as it escaped from Albel’s mouth and lips taking away his breath. A tremor went through his body and a new vision formed in his mind.

It felt like *that person* was there in front of Albel yanking him to his knees on the cold, hard stone floor by the leather collar around his neck. Albel could see *that person* unfastening *his* trousers, allowing them to drop to *his* angles and forcing Albel’s face nearer *his* hard, erect cock. Albel was more than happy and willing to take that length into his mouth and pleasure *this person* until *he* would *beg* Albel to finger *him*, to prepare *him*, to ram Albel’s hard, thick…

Albel lost his balance on his perch and fell rather gracelessly from the window ledge. In fury he hit his clawed hand on the floor tiles cracking many of them. As tiny chips of polished, white marble rose and fell through the air he saw a vision of a memory. His face on the shards of a mirror, *that person* sitting with him and cleaning his self-inflicted wounds, talking to him…

Albel swore loudly, stood up and decided to go and brain himself, because apparently his brains had decided for no reason what so ever to turn into a useless much.

[Take me, cure me, kill me,]

[bring me home]

*****

Fayt Leingod could see that his friend since their childhood, Sophia Esteed, was nervous. He knew why she was so agitated but he could not bring himself to do something about it. And Fayt was not even sure if he would be able to do something. After all this was *Albel the Wicked* they were talking about.

Two days ago Albel Nox had finally regained his real, adult body. In this past two days the Elicoorian Captain had had his revenge with Peppita and Cliff and had exchanged some stern words with Puffy. For Fayt’s amazement Puffy was not that traumatized from the conversation and overall Puffy was the one who had – for now – suffered least. Poor Peppita was so badly traumatized from Albel’s ‘reprimanding’ that she had made herself *very* scarce any place where Albel were or might be. And Cliff… Well… he was *not* dead… mostly. So Fayt thought it was divine justice or something similar. Currently Sophia was the last one who had not yet suffered from the wrath of the Wicked One.

But past two day Fayt had also noticed that time to time Albel acted oddly. He was not exactly spacing out, but it was something loosely similar. He did not know if should be worried over the situation, but he had observed that those moments did not disturb the older man’s training. Albel’s form and moves were as sharp – if not sharper – as always. It was a great relief to Fayt that past weeks had not affected negatively to the black-and-gold-haired man.

Fayt smiled feebly to Sophia, but he could not bring himself to promise to the girl that she would be alright, nothing bad would not happen and he would protect her no matter what. They did not say it out loud, but such a promise was no longer Fayt’s to make and keep. Not to Sophia. Sophia would always be Fayt’s important friend from childhood, but that would be all. They did not say it out loud, but they both knew that Fayt had given his fidelity, devotion, strength, mind, *everything* to someone else.

And they both knew who that person was. Yet neither of them said that name out loud, but they both *knew*…

… and that was enough.

Fayt turned his head to meet the burning eyes of vermillion blood which dissected his body, weighted his worth, peeled him nude, ravished his mind, possessed his spirit and made him weak and strong, master and slave. There was beckoning darkness in the Wicked One’s eyes, darkness before moonrise and it called Fayt, coaxed him to take a step forward and explore what was hidden into the billion stars in the vastness of the oceans. Staring into Albel’s eyes was like Fayt’s desire, his destiny was gazing back to him and mocking him for his cowardice and for inability to decide. It burned. It suffocated. It called, mocked, freed, burned, burned, *burned*!

*Burned*!

that his legs had been spread and their attacker had positioned oneself between fayt’s legs

Insanity *burned*!

lowered his head and his hot, hot lips nibbled fayt’s chest they traveled around and stopped to suck other pert nipple

Inside Fayt screamed. It *burned*! He was going *insane*!

the scream that came out fayt’s mouth could have been he liked the feeling so much that without thinking he raised his legs and wound them around fayt raised his hands hesitantly and carefully placed them on

Fayt blinked and realized that Albel was gone. He heard Sophia calling him carefully. He knew it was not insanity which burned his insides. Not really, but it could be called ‘insanity’ as well.

“I dream”, Fayt stated slowly still looking at the place where the Elicoorian man had been moments before. “Every night of late I dream a dream of violation.” His voice was steady and beside him Sophia breathed in and out without change in pitch. “In every hour of my sleep he comes to me, strips me bare and forces himself into me again and again.” Fayt’s voice was flat and passionless and burning. “In every hour of my sleep I go to him, shed hour clothes and take him into me again and again.”

Sophia watched silently her childhood friend to tell her his current state of mind with very matter-of-factly, coldly, clinically not caring who he might shock or disgust. And she was shocked. But not disgusted, not any more. She had never known how possessive the youngster in front of her could be. Sophia wound her arms around herself and shivered understanding all the implications behind the words and scenes. Then she took few steps forward. And she took few steps into adulthood. “And what do you do to him, when he is inside you?” she inquired walking away from the blue-haired swordsman, not stopping to wait and hear his answer…

… because she really did not need to hear it to know.

Slowly Fayt turned his back to her and the royal palace and walked to the opposite direction. Warm wind rustled through the leaves on the trees and combed gently his short hair. The smile which bloomed to his face…

[Take me, cure me, kill me,]

[bring me home]

[Every way, every day]

THE END OF INTERLUDE

TBC…

*****

Author's Note 2: It is called ‘denial’, Albel. Good luck. I am rooting for you… maybe… but Fayt – and fangirls – are giving me Belgian chocolate cordials, so ‘me thinks you cheap and you lose’ Bye, thanks, see you. *chocolaty sugar over-load*

// 5 pages in Word 2010

// 3 960 words