torch, flambeau@strangeplaces.net
December 12-13 2010
Disclaimer: this is not army protocol. Written as an outtake from hungry as winter during yuletide 2010. Beta by elynross. Do not archive without permission.
hot as snow
Tenpou slowly came into awareness of himself and his surroundings: the whiteness above him that was ceiling, the whiteness around him that was walls, the whiteness wrapping him so closely, which was bedclothes. He lay quite still and tried to remain floating in the whiteness for a little longer.
The door opened. Before he had time to close his eyes and pretend unconsciousness, someone stalked in. White skin, white hair, white scales, burning red eyes.
"You," Goujun said. "You are--"
"I'm very sorry," Tenpou said, wondering when his voice got so hoarse. "I apologize."
Goujun came up to the bed and stood staring down at him. "This is not what I expected of you."
Tenpou tried to shrug, but it was difficult, lying down. He felt the bandages pull over the claw marks on his shoulder and chest. Someone had been very liberal with the gauze and padding. "I was careless. I failed to control Ryuzen properly."
"No one ever could control Ryuzen," Goujun said quietly, as if speaking to himself. His shoulders tensed, and Tenpou thought he was about to go away, but instead he came closer and sat down at the foot of the bed, folding his legs easily. The movement seemed to encapsulate the essential contradiction of Goujun: stiff and self-contained, graceful and easy.
"I'm sure I'm still unconscious," Tenpou said politely. "Or hallucinating."
"You could easily have been killed as well," Goujun said. Then, after a long pause: "Sleep."
Tenpou thought about arguing with his superior officer, but his eyelids, strangely heavy, closed of their own accord.
This time he was a little quicker to see and understand some things when he woke. Whiteness above, ceiling. Whiteness around, walls. Whiteness wrapped close... Tenpou stopped breathing. That was the dragon king of the west, tucked into his side and with his head on Tenpou's uninjured shoulder. The tip of one horn poked against Tenpou's earlobe with every breath. Scales rubbed very faintly against skin.
Tenpou drew a deep breath and told himself that the events of the day had obviously been too much for him. He turned his head enough to feel Goujun's hair against his lips, so much softer than it appeared. The only soft thing about Goujun, probably: the body against his own was just muscle and bone. And scales, here and there. And...
"You're not wearing any clothes," he breathed unthinkingly.
"It could be that you're still unconscious," Goujun said just as softly, pressing even closer, though Tenpou wouldn't have believed that was possible. "Or hallucinating."
"Yes." Tenpou's lips moved against Goujun's hairline when he spoke. "That must be it."
Goujun rolled up on his elbow, moving so lightly that he didn't jostle Tenpou at all, despite how close they were. It was odd, Tenpou thought a little dreamily, that he'd always thought Goujun would be cold. Maybe it was the way Goujun looked, all white skin and scales and hair. But he was warm, and his breath on Tenpou's face was hot. His lips were hot against Tenpou's own, hot and firm; Tenpou gasped, and Goujun's tongue curled in, heating him inside and out.
"Close your eyes," Goujun said, and he did.
The white walls were very distant. The ceiling floated high above. Goujun lay over him, a long lean weight, warm skin and hot breath. Goujun's braid slid forward over his shoulder and thumped into Tenpou's ribs. His tongue flicked slowly against Tenpou's throat, then down over his chest, teasing at the edge of the bandage for a moment and then Goujun moved lower, slithered really, his whole body in motion, his callused hands keeping Tenpou perfectly still.
"Oh," Tenpou gasped, trying not to arch and push against Goujun's hands, Goujun's mouth. Into Goujun's mouth, unbearably hot and perfect. He wanted very much to lift his own hand, to tangle his fingers into Goujun's coarse, unexpectedly smooth hair. To rub the pad of his thumb around the base of one of Goujun's horns.
Goujun growled, and the vibrations were exquisite. Tenpou raised his hand with dreamy slowness and skimmed his fingertips over Goujun's ear, along the furled edge to the pointed tip, which he couldn't resist flicking.
This growl was half pleasure, half warning. Goujun lifted his head. "Close your--"
Tenpou opened his eyes to white walls and a white ceiling. A lean shape lay along his left side, weighing him down. Goujun was fully dressed and lay on top of the covers, with his head on Tenpou's shoulder and the tip of one horn tickling at Tenpou's ear. Tenpou had an arm around him, and Goujun's braid wound around his wrist.
There was a distant ache in his shoulder, somewhere beyond the white walls and the secure embrace of the dragon king's arm across his waist. Tenpou shifted his head a little, trying to scratch his ear against Goujun's horn.
Goujun growled. "That tickles."
"Yes," Tenpou agreed. "That's why..."
"Lie still." Goujun tightened his arm. "Just breathe."
"I can't," Tenpou gasped. The bandages were loose, but Goujun was very strong, holding him down. He squeezed his eyes shut.
The heat was incredible. Maybe the walls were white, maybe the ceiling was white as snow, but Tenpou burned with blood-red heat and Goujun burned over him, in him, moving deep in slow, steady strokes. Tenpou gasped and clutched at Goujun's shoulder with his left hand, feeling scales move and shift under his fingertips.
"I can't," he breathed again, and Goujun sank down and kissed him, going even deeper, tongue thrusting deep and stealing Tenpou's breath. The pleasure went through him in heavy pulses, like a sound so deep all he could do was feel it. "It's too--"
Goujun licked up along his jaw and bit his earlobe, nibbled on it slowly with sharp white teeth, all the time rocking into him in a perfect, inescapable rhythm.
That was really very much like Goujun. Precision, Tenpou thought incoherently, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
"You feel perfect," Goujun said, his raspy voice sounding almost angry. "Perfect."
Tenpou tried to shake his head, because there was something here that didn't add up. "I'm sorry," he said, not quite sure where the words were coming from. "Really. I accept the-- Oh, there, again." He dug his fingers in, breathless, and Goujun growled.
Tenpou arched up, and he didn't even remember closing his eyes when he came.
The room was very white and very quiet. Goujun, dragon king of the west, sat curled up at the foot of the bed, slumped a little with his hands on his knees, looking as if he'd never led an army in his life. Tenpou frowned, because that couldn't be right, and Goujun looked up as if that small movement was all he'd been waiting for.
"You should sleep," he said. "I expect you'll be back to your duties soon."
"Probably." Somehow, in the stark, clean whiteness of the room, Tenpou's shoulder throbbed, and--
The whiteness of Goujun's face was lit by the deep red of his eyes as he stared at Tenpou, wordless and fierce. He uncoiled easily, slowly, and stood up; to Tenpou, trapped flat on his back, he seemed even taller and leaner than usual.
"Recover quickly," he said, the words raspy and flat and very much like an order. Goujun went to the door. He turned his head to look over his shoulder through a veil of white hair. "Close your eyes."
Tenpou did, but only because his ribs hurt when he tried to laugh.