One Night

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Emil can't sleep. Not only that, but the reason he can't sleep is because of solely the phrase I can't sleep. With an emphasis on the I. It makes him wonder... Who am I? Who can't sleep? Emil Castagnier? Ratatosk? Aster? Ratatosk in Aster's body going by "Emil"? What defines who you are, your name or your soul?

He thinks about this as he lies awake in the large, overly-soft bed. Altamira's suites are nice, of course, but such a drastic change from camping out and staying at the cheapest inns they can find. Marta and the others have all been given different rooms, despite Marta trying to make him share a room with her. An awkward, "It's too soon for that kind of thing," had been sufficient, and the brunette had gone on a tangent about how cute and shy her new boyfriend was, still giggling and squealing to herself as she went into her room.

Well, he's glad she can keep her spirits up, at least.

Trying to sleep is useless. He throws the blankets off, debating whether or not to get dressed again. Although he had left his house with nothing, so long ago, and although his normal attire was enchanted so he'd need nothing else... Well, it was nice to have pajamas. Marta hadn't been opposed to stopping to buy pajamas; he'd chosen black silk pants and a matching button up shirt a few sizes larger. It's more comfortable for sleeping, almost worth the few minutes of Marta pining, asking to wear the shirt while he wears the pants. She says it's romantic, and tries almost every night.

Emil sighs, and makes his way out of the room, to the elevator. It plays relaxing music. Magitechnology in Tethe'alla has a lot of uses, he supposes, whether they're important or not. The woman at the front desk waves, and he feels himself smiling back and giving her a nod as he exits the hotel.

The breeze is cold. It easily passes through his thin pajamas, but he holds his arms and steps farther from the hotel. The beach is emptied, he supposes. Watching waves is relaxing, but he doesn't want to get sand between his toes. Well, the small carts and stands have cleared out; he takes their spot and leans against the railing. He can still see the waves from here, and smiles gently.

They distract him from his thoughts.

When he hears footsteps approaching, he sighs. Tenebrae probably told Marta he'd left his room; he should have known she'd follow. Well, not that he minds speaking to her, but it can be a little draining. He'd rather she got some rest, and turns around to tell her as much, leaning his arms on the railing.

The wind blows his hair in his eyes and the words catch in his throat. He can't see properly between the blond, but he can see enough.

"Uh," he manages. "Richter."

The man stands a short distance away at first, but soon walks up beside the blond. Emil tenses in mind, but his body refuses to be so on-edge. He still wants to trust Richter.

"Why are you here?" Emil asks, trying to give his best defiant look, maybe to convince the man that he is not so open to an attack.

Richter tilts his head down, though he still meets Emil's eyes. He looks as though he's pouting, almost, and it makes Emil smile a little bit despite himself. "I wanted to see you again," he says.

Emil's smile fades. All he hears is I wanted to see him again. He thinks I'm not Aster, but says nothing.

As if reading his mind, Richter emphasizes, "You." Emil looks at him curiously. The red-head looks disgruntled at having to explain as per usual; Emil's smile almost returns.

It's somehow reassuring, but he doesn't know what to say. He just nods.

The man leans against the railing, but keeps his eyes on Emil. At first the blond looks away - looks to the moon and the stars. The midnight-blue sky and the midnight-blue water. Reflecting light on the waves. Awkwardly, he looks back to Richter. Green eyes are still on him, unwavering. He shivers.

"Cold?"

Emil shakes his head. It's a lie, and the man sees through it in an instant. His expression seems conflicted, and Emil tilts his head to the side curiously.

"You should go inside, then," Richter says eventually.

"Not if you came all this way to see me," Emil replies, secretly somewhat proud of how confident it sounds. Richter looks proud too, in his own way, and the faint smile makes Emil smile wider. He tries to keep his cool tone, and suggests, "We could both go inside, if you like."

"That sounds good," the man says. Emil isn't sure if he's surprised or not. "Wouldn't want you to get sick."

He feels nervous the whole way up to the room. The lobby would be nice, but he doesn't want to risk the staff seeing him with Richter for too long, lest it somehow slip into conversation tomorrow and cause all sorts of questions from the others. He knows that if Marta wakes up in the night suddenly wanting to visit, his room will be the first place she'll go.

So he scouts ahead of himself through the lobby and down the hall, and quickly locks the door behind himself when they reach the room. Richter raises an eyebrow at the way the blond’s eyebrows furrow, at the way the boy's eyes linger on the door as if plotting against something.

Emil listens at the door for a moment. He heaves a sigh of relief at the silence, at the lack of footsteps, and turns around in time to see Richter sitting down on the edge of the bed. Richter observes the room, nodding as if in approval. His lips remain pursed. Emil takes too long to peel his eyes off the man's mouth, and when he does feels his cheeks heating, ever-so-slightly.

"S-so..." Is all he can think of to say - the only conversation prompt he can come up with. Richter doesn't take the bait. Instead, he just stares. His eyes follow Emil as the blond crosses the room to sit at the table near the bed. For a moment, Emil's inner child demand's that he make an unexpected lunge to the side to see if Richter's eyes would calmly trace that motion, too. He resists.

Instead, he pulls out a seat for himself, and falls into it trying to keep a linear train of thought. The only thought that doesn't stray off into some obscure, incoherent mess of an idea is Why did he come here? So he keeps thinking it. Over and over, as he stares at Richter. The awkwardness goes away after the first few minutes of clock-ticking silence and eyes-on-eyes.

Richter's eyes are green. Well, Emil already knew this, but now he's much more aware. He tries to find new details to learn, so that all this staring isn't in vain. But Richter's eyes are just green. Emil's own eyes are green. Somewhere in his brain, this is amusing. He brushes it off, and looks for something else to notice. Dark skin? Not enough of it is showing. Richter has smooth, nice, tan skin that Emil is certain would be beautiful on a girl, but it’s all covered up by gloves and coats and undershirts and too much clothes.

"You wear too much," Emil says, caught up in his thoughts. Then again, Lloyd and Colette are usually fairly covered up too. Maybe it's half and half? The others reveal a bit more skin. Perhaps he is too used to Marta's legs and shoulders and her stripping in front of him because that is how you seduce any other boy, apparently, and she loves him but sometimes wishes he weren't so clueless, God, and look now, he's gone off-track again.

Either way, he's much too caught up in this mental clothing-poll that he doesn't quite notice the odd look Richter gives him, or go over his own words again to realize how embarrassed he should be. Furthermore, Richter is far too baffled, despite his look of only mild interest, to say anything or point it out. He does, however, begin to feel slightly odd under Emil's unwavering stare. It's a strange sort of turnabout, only the blond isn't really paying enough attention to notice. Instead he just continues to think himself in circles and watch the man distantly.

The next time Emil speaks, it's when his thoughts have slowed a bit, and hearing himself ask "You have bad eyesight?" startles him out of his reverie.

Richter shifts uncomfortably, and nods. "We spent a lot of time reading," he explains, a bit relieved to have Emil back to normal. Then he adds, "I read in the dark a lot."

Emil smiles, content to be back in reality, and furthermore to be hearing about Richter's past. He wants to ask about Aster, but isn't sure if the thought will upset him too much. He doesn't know if 'him' is supposed to mean himself or Richter.

The redhead pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, as if suddenly aware of them, and eyes Emil for a moment. After a long pause, he decides to add to his story.

"It really bothered him when I would read late. The light would keep him up."

Surprisingly, this doesn't seem to upset Emil, and Richter's expression seems... Well, unreadable as always. But not unhappy. So Emil goes ahead and asks, curiously, "You shared a room?" (Yet briefly, just briefly, hesitates, wondering if he should say 'we.')

Richter tilts his head down, and chews his lip for a moment through a bit of a scowl. "Yeah."

"You two must have been really close," Emil comments, with a friendly smile.

But that's enough, and Richter gives him a quick, piercing glare to tell him he's overstepped some sort of boundary. Emil winces, and bows his head as if to apologize. He'd been nervous, then gotten calm and thought it was okay. But, he should have known how sensitive this would be, how much more careful he should have been.

He sighs, and apologizes with words; "Sorry," he says, and after a pause, as if to explain himself from the man's bright green eyes and the way the light is reflecting off them, "I just..." But he doesn't have anything to say. "... S-Sorry."

Emil waits for the man to reprimand him for apologizing.

Somehow it hurts more when Richter just says, "Apology accepted," still looking a bit miffed. After yet another long, awkward silence of Emil staring at his feet, Richter sighs. "Come on," he prompts. Emil assumes this is his version of a reassuring smile, and looks up to return it. He nods.

The man leans back on his elbows, his fingers intertwined over his stomach. With his legs stretched out, he lies half on the bed, and makes himself comfortable. He has to tilt his head up to continue to meet Emil's eyes.

The blond thinks he looks somehow... Inviting. With his chest leaned back, his shirt no longer falls over his thighs. His pants look tight. This brings Emil back to his old thoughts, and he wonders if the tight pants counter balances the cover up. Honestly, he think he would prefer both. This time he's not nervous. This time he's aware of his thoughts, and he hears himself think Wait, what? No, no, that's weird.

He tries to think about Marta.

It doesn't work. He just looks at Richter, with long red hair all messily sprawling across the bed behind him, and wonders what the uncomfortable feeling of familiarity is about. Something about this is nostalgic. His body feels comfortable, though his mind races curiously. He remembers pointed ears behind thick red hair, and dark skin under his fingertips.

No. That's not right.

His hand remembers touching a cheek, his palm remembers running up thighs through tight, smooth pants. But he doesn't remember. He feels his hand twitch as he tries to piece this body-memory with what he knows.

Richter is eying him with an eyebrow raised, yet again. Emil stretches his arms and pops his knuckles idly, unsure of what to do.

The man moves his elbows out from under himself, and leans back. He lies flat on the bed, and bends his knees over the edge. His legs are too long to do so straight, so they remain at an angle as he stares up at the ceiling through the canopy.

Emil watches him curiously.

"We were, though," he says eventually. Emil has to think a few moments to remember what he's talking about. Has to think a few moments to understand what the man had said and to tear his eyes off Richter's thighs, and his hips, and the way that shifting around on the bed has started to push up his shirt and his unzipped jacket is falling to the sides and Emil can see skin right there. It shouldn't be so interesting, but he stares and thinks he knows what it feels like. His body does.

He's starting to understand the implications, but thinks he would feel guilty if he assumed wrong, and pushes the ideas - the images - from his mind.

He must have gone too long without making a sound to show he'd been listening, because Richter speaks again, not drawing his eyes from the ceiling. He breathes, "We were close..."

And he sounds something like nostalgic, and something like lonely, and suddenly Emil wants to be beside him because the chair and the bed are far too far away. His body is pulsing inside with memory, filled to the brim so much that his own life is falling away and he doesn’t remember what it's like not to be beside Richter.

But his mind doesn't know how to be close to the man, and knows he can't. He knows better, or doesn't know enough. His fingers know what his mind doesn't, and it feels tantalizing like it's at the edge of his mind or body and he's thinking himself in circles again.

"We worked together," the man continues, and Emil is impressed with how wordy he's being tonight. The man adds, "We lived together, we studied together, we ate together," and continues to list things while Emil listens to them all contentedly.

He loves to hear him talk. More importantly, he's glad that Richter isn't looking at him while he talks; he's sure his face is flushed, and it only gets worse each time Richter shifts his hips or his legs. But Richter is nervous, despite appearances, just slightly. Just enough. This isn't something they should talk about yet, but they are anyway, and it's too much.

... But they are anyway. Richter just keeps listing things, in a slow drawl that makes it sound as if he was annoyed

Emil tries to distract himself from Richter's hip-bone and stares out the window beside the bed. He only sees his reflection. He stares at it deeply, but for once his mind is blank on the subject of self.

"We slept together," Richter adds, slowing down, and finally, maybe, starting to sound just a little bit nostalgic. He finishes, "We did everything together."

Emil doesn't know what to say, so he says, quietly, "I know."

Richter arches his back off the bed ever so slightly, tilting his head back to look into the reflection in the window behind him. He looks at Emil's reflection. But the arching moved his clothes again and Emil can see his stomach now and he has to tear his eyes away and look at Richter's face in the reflection of the window with guilt on his face.

"Do you?" Richter asks, and sounds genuinely curious. He shifts more, and his gloved hands snakes it's way to his hip. He smoothes his shirt, vaguely aware it's riding up, but since he can't see himself he fails to fix it.

Emil isn't sure if he's glad or not. He says "Maybe."

Richter's reflection shows the arched brow again. Calmly, and with an air of patience, he says, "Come here."

Emil does so, nervously, nearly tripping over the chair and his over-sized pajamas. He stands by the bed, looking down at the man and tilting his head quizzically.

"Sit," Richter commands. Emil does so, dutifully watching his hands on his knees so he doesn't stare at Richter's exposed skin. The man sits up anyway, shirt falling back into place over the area. He looks to Emil on his side. He says slowly, "You should know, Emil," and pauses almost hesitantly, "I lied."

"What about?" Emil asks, and tilts his head once again.

The man averts his eyes. He doesn't just look away, like he's done many times, but he avoids looking. Emil tries not to let his shoulders sag. "About wanting to see you."

"O-oh," Emil says. And nothing else.

He hears the clock ticking. Richter lies back down, finding that it had been more comfortable. The silence drags on far too long, and seeming to eventually realize that Emil is not going to say more, Richter explains himself.

"I wanted to see him."

Emil seethes. It’s not in battle, it’s not about Marta, it’s not about Lloyd or his parents or any of that. It’s just him, and he’s angry. His shoulders shake for a moment, and he clenches his fists over his knees. His knuckles twitch with the urge to do something, and he whirls over Richter, letting all his weight in the hand he lets fall beside the man's head.

So maybe it's because his eyes flicker red for a split second, just a small fraction of a moment, or maybe it's because he has tears welling up, making the back of his throat itch, or maybe it's because he looks ready to punch Richter in the face, but either way it leads to one thing. Richter looks completely caught off guard, and a little bit...

Emil had been about to shout.

A little bit hurt.

Somehow the words lose their impact and come out as a quiet whisper. "Then don't lie."

And he's straddling the man, he has him pinned, and he's sure his face is flushed with anger, but he just doesn't care right now. He looks down at himself, avoiding Richter's gaze, and letting his bangs hide his face. His voice shakes, and he isn't sure if he's still enraged or just sad now but whatever he is it's making his heart pound out of his chest like a dizzying typhoon, and it's hard to breathe. "It's fine if you only came for him," He has to pause so he doesn't choke on his words. "Just don't lie."

They look in opposite directions, and Emil is too busy trying to get back in control of himself that he doesn't notice how easy this position is to be in, how comfortable, how nostalgic. He just knows that Richter lied to him when he had a clear chance to be honest, and he's jealous because he isn't Aster and he isn't Ratatosk, he's Emil and he thought Richter knew that. He thought Richter, more than anyone, despite all odds, would be the one to know that.

"I wanted to see you, too," Richter says. The blond looks at him sharply, eyes narrowed with a vague disbelief. Richter doesn't meet his eyes for a moment, but when he does it's through crooked glasses, and he has a stray hair at the corner of his mouth. He says, "I'm sorry," and it sounds more genuine than any other apology Emil has ever heard.

Somehow Emil is tired. "It's okay," he says, taking in a deep breath. He isn't sure what at all to do, and without thinking reaches up to straighten Richter's glasses for him.

"Er," Richter says, tilting his head away. That's really the only kind of escaping he can do; being pinned under Emil has left him with no escapes.

Emil realizes what he's doing, and stutters out a, "O-oh god," followed by a strange slur that was probably an apology.

"It's fine," Richter says, this time sounding irritated. Emil resists the instinctive apology for apologizing, and instead tries to settle for an explanation.

"It was reflex."

The way Richter just nods before looking down is what really makes Emil notice their position. He feels his face heating up to degrees he didn't know were possible, and struggles to kick his brain into motion and figure out what comes next. Getting down, right? But his thighs are around Richter, and even with his hip-bones poking at him through the fabric it’s soft and comfortable and familiar.

This raises... Questions, among other things.

Then Emil is suddenly aware of how quiet it is. Not one of their awkward pauses, not one of their comfortable silences. Just... A background silent. He's used to a familiar white-noise, and though it's been absent all night, this is first time he's really noticed. He feels like if he speaks it will echo.

He speaks anyway, asks, lowering his voice, and maybe his body, just a little bit. "What... What was your relationship with Aster?"

It's a strain to reach Emil from how he had been lying, but nonetheless, Richter arches his back off the bed and tilts his head, and gives Emil a peck on the lips.

It's just a peck, and really, it's over before he has time to react. Richter's lips were dry and chapped. But somehow... It had been soft anyway.

His mind flashes to Marta, and the kiss on the bridge, just earlier tonight. Her lips had been soft and wet and smooth and nice. But Richter's were just rough. But his kiss with Marta had been much longer, and he thinks he really shouldn't draw any conclusions about kissing Richter until he's done it longer.

All of these thoughts happen in the span of about two seconds, and by the third, he's kissing the man back down onto the bed. Not because of his thoughts, but because it's familiar, and he somehow doesn't have control of himself. He feels himself move down, and watches Richter get closer with a strange look of almost-panic in his eyes, and he feels himself move his lips against Richter's in an all-too-familiar way he knows he hasn't learned yet.

The only thing he can think is that at least now he has better reference for comparison. No, that's not right. He tries to correct this train of thought, tries to think Wait, but Marta--!

But then Richter is moving his lips too, and pressing his lips harder against Emil's, and he's tilting his head just ever-so-slightly, and he's licking Emil's bottom lip, and it's far too much to think through even though it's nothing at all.

Really, Emil isn't very invested in the kisses. His mind is faltering between dizzying speeds and complete stillness as he distantly feels himself kissing back, and Richter kissing back harder. He wonders why Marta's kiss didn't do this for him, why all those times she nearly threw herself at him he felt nothing.

Richter, on the other hand, is pushing up against Emil's lips, hard. Not only his lips, but his hips, and one hand runs it's way up to rest on Emil's thigh while the other begins to reach for his back under his shirt. Emil wonders when the man took his gloves off.

His breath is warm when they part briefly, and his body is radiating heat when they come back together. Somehow the sound of Richter's deep, slow, heavy breathes is what snaps Emil back into reality. The man's quiet breathing sound almost desperate, and Emil flings himself away from Richter's face.

"This is wrong!" He announces, unable to think of anything more to say. His eyes are wide, his cheeks red, and he thinks he has a bit of saliva on the corner of his mouth. He wipes at it with his sleeve, giving an odd expression.

Richter's face is flushed too, a deep crimson combined with his dark skin. His hair is a bit messed, from all the shifting from lying to sitting up and back, and his shirt apparently is in the habit of riding up because it's doing it again. Emil's mind thinks he looks awkward and silly. His body thinks he looks hot, somehow very very sexy, and that's not at all right.

"Sorry," The man says. He brings his hand away from Emil's back, though the one on his thigh does nothing more than twitch before remaining in place. He runs his free hand through his hair, making it all kinds of messier, then adjusts his glasses. "I just..."

For once he doesn't sound so sure of himself. He's always had the correct words, and known what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. Now he pauses and licks his lips. (Emil watches the motion with interest before reminding himself No, no, no, a thousand times no.)

Richter looks so vulnerable. He still has that desperate look about him, and his lips part gently as he looks back up at Emil. His eyes scan the younger boy's face, as he tries to come up with the words. He fails, and just sighs, relaxing back to sink farther into the bed. He lets his head fall to the side, and the hand on Emil's thigh follows suit, laying limply on the bed beside him. An expression of dejection washes over him and his body language changes entirely.

Yet, somehow, he sounds determined and confident when he finally says, decisive, "I just want Aster back."

Emil wants to shout "What about me?!"

When he opens his mouth, leaning forward, the words don't come. He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, instead.

He knows it's weird, and knows it's wrong, but it seems like the only suitable thing to do; Emil lies down, lowering himself on top of Richter so that his head is craned to rest on the mans chest. (Because, Emil thinks, somehow that's less weird than resting it in the crook of his neck.)

The man tenses. After a long moment he relaxes again, and Emil listens to his heartbeat. Emil knows this is weird, but he doesn't know what else to do.

... He knows this is wrong, but he can't stop himself. He sits up again, slowly, mind made up. He drags his hand from beside Richter's head to the man's exposed stomach, and trails his fingertips over his hips. Soon his hand is pushing under the shirt, exploring the smooth, hot flesh.

Richter sounds half distressed and half content and asks "What are you doing?"

Emil isn't sure how to answer, but he musters up the courage he can and says, sounding very matter-of-fact, "I'll be Aster."

Richter stares at him deeply for a long moment. Then let's out a "Pfft," as if he wants to laugh. Really, Emil thinks this is no time for laughing, and huffs irritably. Richter shakes his head slowly, as if to apologize. Emil waits for him to say no or tell him he's being ridiculous. Richter asks, "Are you sure?"

"Y-yeah," Emil lies.

Richter's stare is harsh, and the blond winces. He says, slowly, voice deep and rough, "If you start this..." He looks unsure for a moment, then returns his green eyes to Emil. In all seriousness, he finishes, "I won’t stop." Unspoken: Won’t be able to stop.

"I want to," Emil says. He does his best to look confident again. He knows he can't back out, and he kind of wants to. But he also wants this, wants him so badly it's starting to hurt, somewhere deep in his chest where it's supposed to hurt for Marta.

The man slides back quite suddenly, throwing Emil off balance. He leans against Richter's chest as the red-haired man sits up against the wall on the side of the bed. Emil sits on his lap, and waits for something, though he isn't quite sure what.

Something in the look of desperation in Richter's eyes makes him want to cry. That's all he thinks while he watches the man remove his glasses, setting them in the windowsill. "You, uh..." His throat feels dry, and he swallows as he examines this new glasses-less Richter. "You look good."

"You too," Richter breathes, and with that, attacks. His mouth is on Emil's neck, biting and sucking and maybe even licking, Emil can't quite tell but it feels good and from just that he can feel himself perking up.

“Fast,” Emil hears himself comment. His voice feels distant, and sounds much higher than usual. He feels his ears heating, his body heating, and wonders if it’s from embarrassment or Richter’s mouth. The man just hums in response, sounding disinterested, and works his way up Emil's neck to his jaw, and from there goes up to his ears, sucking and nibbling, and it's so overwhelmingly good that Emil stutters, "S-stop," but Richter doesn't.

He feels tingly all over, and feels Richter's own erection beginning to press against him. Something about the way the man breathes, the way his breath is like hot air against his cheek or his ear or his neck... That's what makes him moan, more than anything else the man does. He wonders why this is so hot, why after only a few kisses and some necking he’s already hard. Not just Richter, but himself.

Richter kisses the corner of the blond’s mouth, then kisses him on the lips, hard. Emil closes his eyes instinctively, but when he feels Richter shifting against him oddly, opens them again. The man is taking off his coat during the many, many fast kisses, and when he’s finished he tosses it somewhere off the bed.

His lips are soft this time. He can feel parts of them that are chapped, but it seems to disappear during the kiss. Richter breathes into his mouth, words that might have been a thank-you, but Emil can't think on it long before strong, rough hands are unbuttoning his shirt, and lips trailing after to kiss the newly exposed skin.

"I-It's um," Emil interrupts himself to bite his lip when Richter sucks on his collar bone just a little too hard for a moment. Right over the star shaped birthmark. "Embarrassing," He finishes, breathily.

"Don't be," Richter says, finishing with the last of Emil's buttons and starting on his own shirt. "I've seen it before."

Somehow that's frustrating, and Emil feels jealous. He kisses Richter, pushing up against him, putting his own hands to use to finish the job of taking off the red-head's shirt. He wants to be better, even knowing it will not happen. He knows that being Emil isn't what he agreed to, but it’s all he wants to do.

Richter kisses back, pushing him harder, until Emil practically falls over backwards despite his best efforts.

Voice starting to sound gruff and strained, Richter nods to the pillows at the head of the bed, "We shouldn't be against the wall."

"U-uh, right!" Emil obediently climbs off of Richter (which feels awkward, and not only that, somehow cold,) and shifts to make room for the man. Richter just pins him, and Emil thinks he should have known better than to expect the man to lay beside him.

Richter's hand slides down his side, then down the waistband of his pants. The man is kissing his neck again, then his birthmark, and then his ears and his lips and everywhere, and it feels like fire.

Yet somehow all dulls in comparison when he feels Richter's hand wrap around his erection, thumbing over it and stroking slowly, gently. Emil arches into it, raises his hips and groans. It feels different to have someone else doing it. It feels different to have Richter doing it, because sure, he dreamed about that once or twice, but everyone has a weird dream every now and then. But even past those awkward wet dreams, this is comfortable.

"Nnn," he manages to say, more of a moan than a word, trying to say ‘no’ and not really sure what to. Richter seems to breath heavier at his voice. Richter's labored breathes are hotter than anything else going on, and Emil thinks he wants more of that. He does his best to tilt his head to get his neck out of the man's mouth. He tries to mimic what Richter did to him; the kissing and the sucking and an occasional bite. It comes easily, and though the man doesn't appear to respond quite as much as Emil himself had, he grunts and Emil feels his erection press against his leg through pants.

He makes his way up the same way Richter had, jaw to ear, but pauses for a brief moment. He hadn't seen the man's ears before. They were dark like the rest of him, though tinged red now. Pointed. Emil had forgotten that Richter was a half-elf until now. It doesn't seem important. So Emil moves forward, breathing hotly before finally sucking on the man's earlobe. Richter twitches violently, at this, and let's out a quiet grunt.

Emil thinks He was always sensitive there, with a tinge of amusement, and hardly has the time to wonder where the thought came from before Richter is jerking him off again; harder than before.

The room is filled with the sound of heavy breath and shifting fabric, and Emil wants to hear their breathing louder still, but there's just no way, so he just tries to make Richter breathe harder instead. He runs his hands up the man's sides, exploring new territory.

Even knowing that Richter is long-since familiar with his body, he can't help but think that the man is so much more muscular than him, so much more defined and, well... Manly. Above him, Richter looks strong, and big, with hair hanging down into Emil’s face and tickling his cheeks.

However, yet again, his thoughts go out the window. Richter's fingertips drag away from his cock to brush his inner thighs, brush against his pelvis, touch everywhere but where he needs to feel the man's hands.

"Please," He hears himself say, voice high and heavy at the same time. His breath is coming in short pants, and he raises his leg up between Richter’s, rubbing lightly and gently, trying to motivate the man to touch him more. He touches Richter's cheeks, pulling the man in for a deep kiss, somehow forgetting that this was supposed to be for Richter, not himself. Emil lowers his leg back down, feeling his legs rub together. Richter's hand goes to his hip and grabs tightly, fingers digging in as he holds the boy in place while grinding his own hips down lightly.

Emil moans at the light, tantalizingly light friction, and tries to push his hips up against Richter's grip. The man lets him, and then there's more friction and it's too much and still not enough, and Emil tries again, moaning, running his hands up Richter's chest, brushing the man’s hair to fall to one side, holding his arms around his neck, "P-Please... Richter,"

Richter kisses him so hard his lips feel bruised and wet, and Richter's breath and tongue are in his mouth and they're both hot. Somewhere between kisses, Richter starts to moan, and somewhere in the moans he repeats "Aster," again and again.

Emil doesn't even care anymore, and he reaches down to Richter's pants, tugging them down, though it's difficult with how tight they are on his hips. Richter gives him one last, regretful kiss before he pulls away to take his pants off as quickly as he can. Emil's hip feels cold and it stings from the nails, but he wants Richter's hand back, or maybe somewhere else. On his knees over Emil, Richter touches himself for a moment, eyes closed and head down, stroking his length a few times. Emil just watches, wide eyed and enthralled, cheeks burning hot.

After only a few moments, Richter returns to Emil, moving to take off the boy's pants, tugging them down easily. Emil shivers despite how hot his body feels, how hot his face feels. Richter stares down at him for a long moment, with something akin to a smile on his face. Emil feels the man pressing against his thigh, now bare skin against skin.

Richter wraps one arm under the boy, easily giving him a slight lift from the bed as his hand holds at the boy's back. The other arm snakes it's way to Emil's waist. Emil isn’t sure if he liked watching Richter touch himself or likes being touched more. Either way, he isn't being touched enough and lifts his hips to press into Richter. In the process his thigh rubs against Richter, and he hears the man let out a small grunt, and feels the smallest of weight as if the man is pressing back.

One of his hands finds it's way to the man's shoulder, while the other reaches down. At first he isn't sure whether to touch himself or Richter, but the breathing Richter is doing into his neck is far too light, so he chooses to wrap his fingers around Richter before sliding his hand slowly up and down.

"Mm," The sound is loud and new, perhaps just because it's by his ear, but it's hot and Emil wants more of that, so he squeezes just a little bit more, moves his hand just a little bit harder. It's amazing, and it's hot, and it's unbearable to have Richter moaning Aster's name in his ear, and he's jealous because he wants to be enough for Richter, and not only that, he wants to be touched too, damn it.

Richter whispers something unintelligible in his ear, but Emil is fairly sure it wasn’t to him anyway. This is good in it’s own way, he thinks. He feels Richter shudder against him, feels the eyelashes of half-lidded eyes against his cheek, then a small bite on his neck. The man rests his weight on one side, lowering his other hand to Emil’s dick and stroking in time with the younger boy’s pumping. Their hands knock against each other. The man’s grip is harder, and Emil’s leg spasms as Richter thumbs over the head of his cock.

For a moment he fists Richter harder, faster, how he wants to be stroked, moaning as the man sucks on his neck. He feels himself tensing, and realizes he’s close to coming; the familiar overpowering sensation and thinks God, not yet, I want this to last longer, not yet, not yet.

So he breathes out, "Richter," and slows his hand while sliding the other to rub the red-head's neck.

Abruptly, the man pulls back, leaving Emil cold and his neck wet. At Emil's distressed look, Richter leans in to give him a quick kiss, then leans over to the night-stand. He opens the drawer and pulls out a small bottle, holding it in his hand as he returns to Emil, kissing the boy's hip bones and making his way down. Again, he pulls away.

"Get up," He commands. His voice wavers with want and lust, and his eyes don't leave Emil's body. At the confused head-tilt, Richter explains, "Hands and knees."

He's still hot, he's still impatient and filled with want and need and all that built up tension. Now he's scared, too. Regardless, he does as he's told, shivering at the total cut-off from touching, rubbing, and body heat.

He shivers even more at the cold sensation of what he has by now figured out to be lubricant. Richter's fingers press against him, rubbing the area in a way that is both extremely uncomfortable and very very nice. The man moves up behind him, leaning over his back. His chest is warm on Emil's back, and comforting; he arches up into it, and pushes against the fingertips that push back only lightly. He pushes back harder, and thinks he might have heard Richter chuckle.

The first finger to enter him hurts at first, then just feels strange. At first it doesn't feel good, per se, but he still finds himself letting out a long breath and pushing back because it feels like if there was just more it would feel good.

After that it gets easier. Somehow he stops paying attention to what exactly is going on, and tries to stick to just the overall sensations. When he does this, it's somehow impossible not to make a sound for each thrust of the fingers. A moan or a grunt or a gasp or a breath, he makes a noise each time as Richter slowly adds more fingers, moving them in and out.

Richter is kissing the back of his neck, kissing his shoulder blades and his back when all of the fingers come out. He looks over his shoulder to see the man still bent over him, still kissing him. He feels the man pressing against him, lightly at first, and then pushing harder.

Emil pushes back with a heavy breath and mumbles something incoherent into his arm. This time he's sure Richter chuckled, but the bites on his neck distract him before he can complain. They make him push back harder, again, until Richter's entire length is inside him.

The man stays still, save for the kisses. Emil makes a small pained noise, and waits for it to stop hurting, shifting impatiently. He rubs his thighs together. Richter's length twitches, deep inside Emil, and the blond twitches in return, startled.

“K-kind of…” Emil says, intending to say it hurts, but it starts as a whisper and trails off into a low breath.

Richter kisses him, and begins to move. Emil’s mind races, and he remembers what the man had said earlier, that he wouldn’t stop, and for a moment he’s angry. Until he realizes it doesn’t hurt anymore; that the slow, too slow way the man is pulling out feels good now. Richter pushes in again, keeping his slow, steady pace, and Emil hears him grunt lightly, as if having trouble remaining in control.

The way Richter mutters under his breath, again, “Aster,” so quiet and hot makes Emil squirm. Letting out a breath, Richter adds, voice still hushed, “God…” Through kisses, while slowly drawing out a thrust, the man’s hand is wrapped around, touching Emil’s chest.

"M-move," Emil pleads, having a hard time holding himself up on shaking arms. Richter reaches deep inside him and he moves himself, trying to push against Richter, but the hand on his chest comes back to hold him in place by the hip. Emil breathes heavily, feeling hot all over again.

When Richter finally begins moving faster, it's the same as before. Emil can't help but emit a noise for every thrust. A breath or a moan or a grunt, and even when he tries not to, something comes out. He feels his eyes watering, and wonders if it hurts that badly. It does hurt, but it's mixed with the pleasure, just like the bites he's getting on his neck.

"Ah, R-Richter," Emil moans, trying desperately to push back into him. The man keeps a hold on his hip, but stops holding him in place, letting the boy thrust back against him in time with his own movements. The rhythm is strange and uneven, and it's somehow not enough and too much. "Please," Emil gasps, "Richter, mm..."

Richter thrusts harder, grunting into the blond's ear, breathing hot, uneven breaths down his neck, and Emil's vision goes blank. He hears himself gasp for a breath, and pushes against Richter harder than before, frantically.

"T-that," Emil manages to stutter, fingers digging into the pillow in front of him. "Richter, deeper, please," The man doesn't change pace, and Emil wonders if he can hear his pillow-muffled begging. "Richter," he moans. Somehow the name is comforting to say and to hear, so he does again. "Richter, Richter, Ahh... R-Richter, mm...!"

This time Richter responds. He growls, deep in his throat, and squeezes Emil's hips in time with his thrusts. He pushes in deep, and bites the boy's neck. He reaches a hand around to stroke Emil's length again, but this time the strokes are hard and fast, yet somehow keeping out of pace with his thrusts. It’s like losing control, and soon Richter is pounding into him, murmuring gruffly; "Need you," as his hand begins to pump as hard as his thrusting.

Emil goes wild underneath him; pushing to get more of Richter, to get him deeper, and at the same time to get more friction against himself. He hears himself mumbling again, Richter's name and begging and pleading, but what's most important is the way Richter holds onto Emil with nails digging in, body tensing. Hot breath on his shoulder, the blond hears him moan, “Emil," as he comes, leaning over the boy farther, hitting deep one last time. His hand never stops jerking off Emil, and the boy can't hold it for long, doesn't want to, after that. Emil comes only a moment later, finally silent, biting his lip.

Richter leans down as if to kiss him, but after a long hesitation appears to have decided against it, and pulls out and away silently. Emil all-but collapses down on the bed, lying down on a wet spot of his own cum. He's too tired to care. He hears himself take shallow breaths for air, trying to calm down, and feels his legs shaking as he lays there. He turns his head to the side to see Richter standing up beside the bed, pulling on his pants.

He doesn’t know what to say, but finds himself pulling himself back up to sit despite how incredibly sore he is. He wants to ask if Richter is leaving. His voice won’t respond to his mental commands, so instead he reaches out a hand, fingertips lightly touching Richter’s arm and nothing more.

The man looks back at him for only a moment, then walks away. Emil’s hand hovers in place for a moment, and he watches his fingers shake before lowering it. To Emil’s relief, Richter returns only moments later, from the restroom, towel in hand. He tosses it at the boy wordlessly, and Emil uses it to wipe himself off awkwardly. He does his best to clean up the wet spot on the blanket as well. When he looks up, Richter is holding out his pajamas to him.

He puts them on shakily, all the while watching Richter out of the corner of his eye to see if the man is leaving. Somehow, he doesn’t want him to. He’s embarrassed and ashamed in his company, uncomfortable at best. But he doesn’t want the man to leave.

He wonders what he’s supposed to do. “W-was, um,” he tries curiously, fumbling and looking down at his lap as he sits on the side of the bed once more. He wants to ask if it felt good. He knows it did, but he wants to know if it was good enough.

Richter just sets a hand on Emil’s head, and Emil does his best not to flinch. The hand smoothes down his unruly hair for a moment, then trails down to his cheek, cupping it gently, though the palm is calloused and rough. The man’s expression is unreadable for a long moment, debating, until he finally makes his decision and bends down to give Emil another quick kiss.

Emil turns his head, just slightly. Enough that it becomes more of a cheek-kiss than a kiss on the lips. Richter’s hand falls away, and the man straightens. He pulls his shirt on, but doesn’t bother buttoning it. Emil gives the man a lingering sidelong look. He spends so long staring at the exposed chest that he only barely catches the expression on Richter’s face.

It’s something like understanding, and Emil hurriedly says, “Wait, I didn’t mean to turn, I was just--” but doesn’t know what else. Was just what? Was just… What?

Emil’s look of distress must have been enough, because Richter cuts off his stammering, his panicking, and says shortly “Emil.”

The boy flinches reflexively, but looks to meet Richter’s eyes straight-on, and forces the smile onto his face for however nervous it may be. “Y-yes, Richter?”

A long pause, and it’s that same head-tilted down, almost-pouting expression that Emil thinks shouldn’t be so cute on such a mature kind of guy like Richter. But it is, and the man is putting on his coat, watching his hands very carefully to avoid Emil’s gaze. “We’re going to fight the next time we meet.”

… Somehow, Emil hadn’t thought of that. Or he had forgotten during… (His face heats up uncomfortably again.) He shifts in his seat. “I know.”

The man looks embarrassed now, through a poor mask of disinterest, “You should… Forget this.”

“Okay,” Emil hears himself saying, nodding agreeably. He thinks it over, and his face contorts. He’s too used to agreeing with people, and after a pause says, “I can‘t.”

Richter is holding his gloves in one hand, and moves to put them on. Emil’s hand darts out before he can think about it, fingers only lightly flitting over darker hands.

“You…” Emil begins, and he’s looking down again. He keeps his fingers pressed against Richter’s hand, and the man stays tensely still, gloves in the other hand, waiting. Emil finally decides to look up, but turns his head first, looking to the side of Richter. Still avoiding his eyes. “You said my name,” he says.

He feels Richter’s hand twitch under his own and can’t stop himself from looking up when the man pull his hand away. Richter just adjusts his hair, pushing some of the red strands over his shoulder, maybe tucking some behind an ear. The man’s face isn’t red, but his ears are. Emil wonders if it’s residual, or if maybe the man is embarrassed.

“It was your imagination,” the man says by way of explanation. He looks a bit awkward, and the way he quickly moves to gather the rest of his possessions only confirms Emil’s suspicions.

“You’re lying again,” The blond says. He feels his shoulders tensing up with a familiar anger, feels a strange sort of flicker in his mind somewhere. He blinks rapidly, not because of tears, but to keep himself in check, to keep his eyes green. He tries to convert the anger into sadness instead. Neither is good, but bringing out the other Emil now would end in ten different shades of terrible. It works too well. His voice shakes when he says, “I said not to lie.”

He sounds too sad, too let down, and Richter was half way to the door, almost making his escape, but now he has to pause in his step. He lets out a long sigh.

He turns around, but doesn’t return to the bedside. He looks like he might have something more to say. But he doesn’t say it. He just sighs once more, turns around once more, and leaves the room for the first time.

Emil just stares at the door. The word “Wait,” is caught somewhere in his throat, and he makes a strange near-silent choking sound instead. Even if he said it, Richter wouldn’t hear him by now.

So he lies down, he stares up at the canopy, and he somehow misses the red hair that had tickled his cheeks. His bed is still over-soft and over-big, but he’s tired now; exhausted enough to finally sleep.

But the bed is so empty with just him.


*************************************************************

ahhhh, I really love writing these two together. I think at some point this wasn't supposed to be porn but then OOPS.

Also it was supposed to be really short, like, drabble length.

OOPS AGAIN.