Flames

Title: Flames
Series: FE10
Character/Pairing: Ike/Soren
Rating: R/NC-17
Word Count: 2,031
A/N: Kink meme, to the request of: FE 9/10 Soren/Ike, kink is Ike wants Soren to top (bonus points for big, buff FE10!Ike!). Title from VAST song of the same name. Apparently I’m cornering the market on dom!Soren.

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At three years together, (with nigh fifteen years of adoration) Soren had grown accustomed to all of Ike’s facets, Not that Ike had ever been mercurial, but after the first war, Ike had begun to show another side.

He’d begun to want.

The first night had been a surprise. Ike’s kisses had been clumsy then, still tinged with alcohol from the after war celebrations. Soren gave in even though his mind was filled with doubts and fear, though his hands were trembling, he still trusted Ike.

In the morning he had found that Ike wasn’t quite so drunk as he had thought, only a touch inebriated and in complete control of his senses. That every word hadn’t been nonsense, but sincere, if not clumsy.

They had grown more comfortable since those desperate, awkward fumblings. Soren was no longer pushed to the brink at every moment. He had calmed in the years. Under Ike’s fingertips, his very own tutelage oh humanity, through this he had managed to if not like the rest of the world to at least tolerate them. He was assured of his place in the world; he had found the treasure he had sought and he had won it over princesses and shop girls alike.

*

Soren busied himself with affairs. It was a day like any other. They had taken a client and Soren took the task of the contractual agreements.

Soren heard the door to his study open and did not turn to see who had darkened his room with their presence. He knew when he felt the arms about him, the kiss at the side of his neck, the nape with hair pushed aside and finally the lips. Soren leaned into Ike’s touch as strong arms wrapped around his midriff. Ike kissed his shoulder up his neck and to his lips again. The process repeated itself.

“I doubt our contractors would appreciate this,” Soren gasped. His attempts at composure were failing, already the quill in his hand was shaking.

“Mmmn,” Ike said as way of reply.

But Soren knew better than to think Ike would think twice of what their contractors would think. Even if the Beast King’s son himself was outside and waiting, Ike wasn’t about to be swayed so easily.

Soren sighed, and reached for a vulnerary. It was a good thing they were cheap, if not it would cost a fortune considering how many of these they went through in a month. And that wasn’t referring to actual injury related ones.

Soren splayed his legs, hiked his skirts and set to work. It wouldn’t do with them getting walked in on. Again. He felt Ike’s hand over his, stopping him from going any further.

“Let’s not go that way this time,” Ike said.

Ah, that. At least he wouldn’t have to endure the smirks of knowing fellow comrades when he limped out of there. Soren capped the vulnerary and made a move to bend to the level of Ike’s belt buckle.

“Not that either,” Ike said.

“And you’re suggesting?” Soren said.

By way of answering, Ike took the vulnerary and uncapped it. He undid his belt buckle and loosened his pants. Soren still didn’t quite get where he was going, but he waited for Ike’s command.

Ike sat on the desk, his naked buttocks right on the contract Soren had been so hard at work on, his legs resting on the chair Soren had been seated on. He knocked over the inkwell, dropping it to the floor where it shattered, a whole new vat of ink wasted. A vein at the side of Soren’s temple twitched. If it hadn’t been Ike, they very well might have been in danger of losing their life – or at the very least, getting the tongue lashing of their life. But it was Ike, so Soren settled with a clenched jaw and a gaze that never left Ike’s body.

It was about the time that Ike got his pants and shirt off and started using the vulnerary on himself (and not in the injury related sense) that Soren got just what Ike was asking for.

Seeing Ike with his own fingers in himself, grunting and bucking against the movement proved to be the aphrodisiac that untold amount of chemists had searched for. In one fell swoop, Soren had gone from half annoyed and only mildly aroused to so aroused that he might come in his robes before Ike was finished preparing himself.

And Soren got a lot closer. He ran his hands over Ike’s wide, perfectly scarred chest and drank all those details in. Ike was his. No one else’s. No one else saw Ike in this state. Soren made sure of that. He supposed he could allow them their fantasies. They could never compare.

Soren knew. He had the real thing.

Soren undid his own belt buckle and pulled his robes over his head. He undid his boots and wasted no time in scaling the desk to where Ike lay splayed out, his bulk barely fitting over the large yet not large enough thick wood desk. He had spilled the ink and ruined the papers, but Soren was in a forgiving mood.

It was good that the desk was sturdily built, otherwise it would’ve shattered to pieces from their combined weight.

“Go on,” Ike said.

To fit together took some doing on this limited space. Soren sat astride Ike, gripped his hips and went down deep until there was nothing, nothing between them but a sheet of skin and organs.
It was so tight and warm. For once, Soren had to fight for composure. Ike made it look easy, but Soren wanted to dissolve into moaning and wonton thrusting. The flesh about him, the heat, the feeling of Ike’s skin under his fingertips is all too much, too much for him.

But Soren knew how to halt the scrapings of paranoia, so desire was a minor feat. Soren took a deep breath through his nose and stared down at Ike. He wanted to ask if everything was ok, if he was hurting Ike, but the scar answers for him. A half-moon scar cascades over Ike’s chest. It is a testament to how close to death Ike has come, and how little he reacted to the pain. A little discomfort wouldn’t even compare.

So Soren moved. Small thrusts at first. His was cushioned, firm and tight and ever thrust made concentration that much harder. It was so easy to lose himself inside of Ike. He let his fingers trail over Ike’s chest hard, hard enough to feel the muscle under the skin. Hard enough to hurt. Ike groaned. He never was one for being quiet. Ike isn’t one for moaning either, but his heavy breaths, grunting and groans are more than enough to give them away.

But even playing the ‘submissive’, Ike failed at being actually submissive. He leaned into the thrusts, squeezed his body so tight Soren almost forgot his name and the entire world about them.

“Nn, Ike,” Soren breathed.

From his vantage point here he could see how flushed Ike’s face was. Sex flush, coital blush, blood vessels burning. Ike was distant in his own pleasure, and yet close as his fingers touched Soren’s skin. Ike guided Soren’s hands to where his swollen member was throbbing, desiring attention. He thrusted deep into Ike until his mind was nothing but bloodless pulsing. Soren’s hand was over Ike’s hand and the touch was intimate, as if to space the scant distance between them.

Inside was slick and tight and inviting and each thrust sent him higher. It was so good. So very, very good that words failed and fell about him. Only body language could sum up love expressed physically. The poems of lovers were insipid and wordy. Body poetry, however, said far more than a pen and ink could.

Something must have shown on his face, for Ike sped up the rocking against him and gripped tight as if to push him over the edge and give him the right away of the first climax. And climax he did. Ike must have come close about that, or he simply wished to tease the orgasm to greater heights by squeezing the muscles that surrounded him. Soren gasped, stuttered out Ike’s name and gave a throaty cry. He usually wasn’t given to such vocalizations, but perhaps that was the goal all along. Soren doubted it with what little mental processes he still possessed. Ike always made sure he got as much pleasure as could possible be gleaned from his body and their bodies together. Something like this wasn’t a surprise.

He shuddered, shaking with the warmth that coursed through him. Everything was softer now, even the familiar feel of the scars and muscles and inhale and exhales beneath him.. Soren collapsed on top of Ike, spent and dizzy. The desk creaked under them. Soren moaned, the last ripples as the pleasure descended and at last, faded. Taking Ike had been quite different from being taken. Soren made a mental note to record this for later analysis and further experimentation.

They both sighed. Their hands were coated with sticky white come still, and when Ike pushed a bit of Soren’s hair aside, some had been left there, like a fingerprint.

“We should get cleaned up,” Soren said.

Ike gave an mildly affirmative grunt, which Soren knew meant he was sated and sleepy. It would not due for him to fall asleep naked on a desk which didn’t fit him well to begin with.

“Ike,” Soren said. “I’m not going anywhere near the bed this dirty.”

Now, to add to the mess of the ink, there was suspicious white drops over the carefully detailed reports. Soren got up and collected his things, but Ike lay stretched out like a cat in the sun with its belly full of milk. That was the problem with having encounters in odd places. Ike was never up to cleaning up in a hurry; he always wanted to sleep off the aftersex glow.

“You do know our contractors are due over here within the hour,” Soren said. “It would unthinkable for them to find us in this state.”

Ike grunted again.

“I mean it Ike,” Soren said, his voice filling with irritation. “Get up now or else.”

“Or else you’ll put me in time out and make me peel potatoes with Boyd?”

“I like to think the act was punishment itself,” Soren replied techily

“Some punishment,” Ike said.

“..A punishment that will repeat itself if you don’t wash immediately and leave me to my work,” Soren said.

Ike pointedly stayed, naked and sweaty with ink and come and a once flawless report stuck to one buttcheek. Soren glared, though he couldn’t stay angry at Ike. Especially a naked, post-coital paperwork-stuck-to-one-buttcheek-Ike.

Soren sighed, his glare steadily fading. His irritation was halfhearted. Ike didn’t even have to vocalize the question for Soren to know what was being asked.

“Get dressed, I’ll be with you in a moment. But I don’t have much time to spare for bathing.”

Ike seemed satisfied with this, and pulled on his things.

The room looked as if a small deranged and frantic animal had been released within and wreaked as much havoc as its furry limbs could muster. He estimated it would take a good half hour to bathe with Ike there, for the question asked wasn’t so much about bathing so much as company which was surely to lead to other time-wasting (yet pleasurable) events. Good thing he always kept back up files should anything like this ever occur. Soren never went anywhere without a backup. One never knew when their commander might offer himself up on a desk with important papers, and Soren was always prepared for just such an event.