The devil coos

The marble floor felt chilly beneath Luca, unyielding and harsh against his knees, almost as if it were trying to anchor him down.

Kain was just a breath away in his chair, leaning forward with one arm on his knee and the other casually holding onto Luca’s neck. The grip wasn’t aggressive, just firm enough to be controlling. He would tighten it a bit, then relax, as if testing the pressure, as if he relished the sensation.

The bag remained over his head, now sagging a little, one corner crumpling where he must have bumped it. Those eyes behind the fabric were unblinking, steady, and observant.

Luca stayed silent, lacking the breath to respond. He could feel his pulse racing beneath Kain’s fingers. Each shift of the grip sent a jolt through his back, as if his body sensed impending doom. Yet, Kain never escalated it, just gentle squeezes, intentional pauses, then more silence.

“You’re feeling embarrassed,” Kain finally remarked in a calm tone. “But that doesn’t matter to me.”

The words felt blunt, devoid of cruelty, simply a truth.

Luca glanced down, his eyes landing on the gun and rosary still sprawled on the floor, everything persistently in place, like Kain wanted him to keep seeing them.

“Your shame,” Kain said, tracing his thumb along Luca’s jawline, “means nothing now.”

Luca struggled to formulate a response. His mouth parted for a moment and then closed again, the heat radiating from his chest contrasting sharply with the coldness in the rest of him. Though he was sweating, he couldn’t stop shivering. An unfamiliar feeling brewed low in his stomach, uninvited and overwhelming, and he despised it.

“You sense it, don’t you?” Kain asked gently, shifting in his seat but still watching. “The confusion, the warmth. There’s a part of you that fights it, yet it reacts anyway.”

Luca’s breath hitched.

It was happening once more, this thing he had attempted to dismiss earlier. His body kept betraying him, the air feeling thicker under Kain’s touch. Every inch of his being was acutely aware, his spine, stomach, and thighs; even the tightness of his skin across his chest. And he loathed feeling every moment of it.

“I’m not doing anything,” Kain replied. “You’re the one doing this to yourself.”

His voice wasn’t arrogant, merely a soft explanation.

Then came the initial touch.

Kain’s hand drifted from Luca’s neck to the space behind his ear. Just a gentle brush, fingertips gliding softly over the skin. It wasn’t rough or punitive, just a delicate connection, barely there.

Luca instinctively flinched.

Kain persisted, tracing slowly now. From Luca’s ear down to his collarbone, the air suddenly felt louder, and the lights dimmer.

His fingers explored the curve of Luca’s back, still gentle, as if handling something delicate or valuable.

Kain remained mostly silent for a moment. One hand found its way to Luca’s shoulder while the other rested on the seat of the chair, leaning in closer. Luca could even hear the mask shifting slightly as Kain bent nearer.

Then,

He didn’t kiss him.

He didn’t press his lips to Luca’s; he simply hovered.

Luca could feel warm, slow breaths against his neck. Kain's lips didn’t land; they lingered close enough for him to imagine it, but still too far out of reach.

Kain peeled back one side of the paper bag.

Not all the way, just enough to reveal the lower part of his face.

Luca kept his gaze downcast, avoiding Kain's features. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to handle what he might see.

But he felt it.

Kain’s mouth glided down the side of his neck, tantalizingly close but not quite touching. He parted his lips as if to speak, though he stayed silent.

He wanted Luca to lean in, to yearn for it first.

Luca remained still.

“Mm,” Kain finally murmured, the sound more contemplative than satisfied. “I find beauty in watching delicate things unravel, especially those that still believe they're whole.”

The words escaped Luca before he could hold them back. “W, We’re both men. Y—You shouldn’t be—men shouldn’t—”

Kain’s quiet chuckle cut through him.

It was soft, yet it stung.

Before Luca could shy away, Kain moved, an abrupt shift of leather and breath, and in an instant, Luca was lifted off the floor as if he weighed nothing. His knees buckled with the unexpected motion, but Kain remained steady, sitting back with a broad stance, drawing Luca down onto his lap. It was as if he were carefully placing something fragile in its rightful place.

Luca squirmed instinctively, trying to escape, but Kain’s arm around his back held him firmly in place. The positioning pressed their bodies together, Kain’s warmth piercing through the fabric separating them. Luca froze in place.

Then,

A sharp tug at his chest, through his shirt.

He gasped.

Another.

His back arched against his will as Kain pinched his nipple, sharp enough to sting yet slow enough to linger. The sensation coursed straight down into his stomach, causing his thighs to tighten. His breath caught as Kain leaned in, his lips grazing Luca’s mouth but not allowing a kiss, not yet. One hand traveled from Luca’s chest to cradle the back of his neck.

“Don’t,” Luca managed to whisper, his voice trembling. “Don’t—”

Teeth grazed his lower lip, first a light scrape, then a bite.

Hard. Deep.

Luca whimpered as it broke skin, feeling the warmth of blood seeping between them, mingling with saliva.

“That’s it, little lamb,” Kain whispered, not withdrawing. “Let it shatter. Let it out. That’s the first genuine prayer you’ve spoken all night.”

Luca's breath caught, then again.

Soft sounds escaped him, embarrassing little hiccups and gasps that didn’t even sound like him. And it was spiraling downward. Every movement pulled him harder against Kain’s thigh, and Kain was still moving, grinding into him steadily. The friction lacked rhythm, deliberate, cruel, and patient.

“You look so enchanting like this,” Kain murmured, lips brushing against his ear. “Ruined. Desperate. I can already sense that this will become our favorite position.”

Luca shook his head in protest, yet it bore no weight. His hands unintentionally grasped Kain’s shirt, his face ablaze as warmth surged through him, faster and deeper. The pressure between his legs was unbearable. Everything down there pulsed, tight and stimulated, feeling trapped. He could sense Kain, hard against him, moving just enough to keep Luca gasping, just enough to prevent him from slipping away.

He buried his face in Kain’s neck, avoiding the gaze that felt more daunting. The scent hit him, rich, almost chemical. Cologne, mixed with the metallic tang of blood.

Not his.

Kain’s mouth found his throat, without request. He parted his lips and sucked eagerly, leaving his mark, holding Luca so tightly that escape was impossible, his voice low and warm,

“You belong to me before you become a man,” Kain said. “My possession above all else. This—”

He rolled his hips once more, this time slower.

“—is ownership, Luca.”

The sensation crashed over him suddenly. Luca’s body jolted forward, his stomach tightening as everything faltered, like a snap beneath his skin, as if something unbearably hot had burst forth.

He came.

He couldn’t resist it.

It surged out of him, soaking everything, his pants, Kain’s lap, the layers that separated them. Tremors coursed through his body; his knees pressed into the chair, and he clutched onto whatever he could to remain upright. Shame struck him like lightning, but his mind was already slipping into oblivion. He struggled to breathe, lost in thought.

His vision began to fade.

Blurry. Warm.

Fuzzy around the edges.

And in one impossible moment, he truly saw him.

The mask was gone.

And underneath was something haunting. Something stunning. Beautiful in the way fire is beautiful before it consumes everything.

A face that looked at him as if he was the last soft thing on the planet.

Then, darkness.

Kain caught him before he fell, holding him not as a lover would, gently, but rather protectively, like something prized. Fragile. His.

“Rest now, Luca,” Kain whispered near his ear. “You’ll need your strength. My house doesn’t forgive weakness.”