"Soft" (c) 2002 Elaine Mae Estabrooks
"Go to bed, Gatti," he quietly ordered. "I'll join you later." Gatti frowned, then reached over and took his face in his hands, gently turning the pale features towards him. Dilandau stared at him, his face impassive, the red eyes dull. Pain lashed through his heart to see his lord look so; how could he comfort him?
"Come with me, my lord," he whispered. "Please." The red eyes cleared a little and Dilandau suddenly smirked, twitching his head from his hands.
"I said later," he sneered. "God, Gatti, don't you ever get enough?" Gatti stood, trying to hide the stab of angry pain he felt, and walked over to the bed. Bastard, he thought suddenly, why do I try? Yes, you'll never catch Van Fanal and you know it. He's blessed and you're cursed. And I'm cursed as well. He slowly got undressed, listening to the clink of glass as his lord picked up a new winebottle and opened it. Drink yourself unconscious, he thought bitterly as he got under the covers and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. I could use the break. He closed his eyes and forced himself to relax; thankful when sleep finally overcame him.
He felt soft lips pressing upon his, kissing him so gently, then moving to softly kiss his neck, under his jaw, his cheek. Gatti smiled - what a nice feeling! - and opened his eyes. Dilandau was lying next to him, his arms about him; the fire had burned down to mostly coals. He was kissing his mouth again; strange, wonderful feather-kisses that he'd never given him before. Then he pulled away and looked down at him, the great red eyes glowing in the light.
"My lord," Gatti whispered, engulfed in a sudden rush of emotion. How I love you! he thought suddenly as Dilandau bent his head and softly kissed his ear. How I wish I could be here forever, in your arms! His own arms came up and around his lord's body, his hands softly stroking his back as he arced his neck, hoping that he would bring those feather-kisses there. Dilandau obediently moved his head down; Gatti gasped lightly at the touch of his lips on his skin, his eyes closing once again. Oh, God, please make this last forever, he thought incoherently, so soft, he's being so soft. . .
"Gatti-san," Dilandau breathed into his neck, and he wanted to die, simply die rather than to have this end, to return to the cold, hard world of war and pain and fear. Sudden tears coursed down his face as the bitter reality of his life slammed into him, destroying the incredible feeling of warmth, security, love. Then Dilandau raised his head from his neck and Gatti opened his eyes to find him staring down at him once again, his red eyes troubled.
"Don't cry," his lord said softly, brushing the tears from his cheeks. "Oh, Gatti-san, don't cry. . ." He bent his head and kissed him, softly sliding his tongue into his mouth, and Gatti's blood started to pound, driving away everything but the here, the now. He slipped his own tongue around his lord's, his arms tightening around his body so that they were pressed together, skin on skin, just the two of them in the night. Dilandau pulled his mouth away from his and kissed his chest, gently breaking his hold upon him, moving over to one of his nipples, licking it, gently sucking it and causing Gatti to arc up against him, moaning in pleasure. He was already erect, the throbbing flesh aching to be touched, and he slipped his own hand down his lord's smooth body to grasp him. Dilandau drew away from his searching fingers and the second looked down to find him staring up at him.
"No, Gatti," he said with soft steel. "Tonight I pleasure you. Nothing else."
"My lord?" Gatti said, staring at him, stunned. His lord had never gone down on him. Dilandau smirked.
"Would you rather I slapped you a few times?" he asked. "Now, be still."
"Hai, my lord," Gatti whispered and ran his fingers through the silver hair, shivering as he felt those soft lips slowly move down his chest to his stomach, his tongue teasing along a sensitive spot along the inner side of his hipbone, then moving lower, lower, until he felt them touch the tip of his head.
"Ohhhhhhh," Gatti groaned as Dilandau slid him into his mouth, one hand caressing his inner thigh, fingers pushing gently in between his legs to stroke his balls. OH GOD, he thought as he felt his tongue slick along the ridge of his head, the warm mouth taking more and more of him in, then drawing away only to come back again. The sensations were unbearable; Dilandau was sucking on him now, increasing the pace; the tension was too great he was going to come oh GOD! Gatti thrust his hips up, helpless to stop the motion, and cried out, engulfed in ecstacy. . .
He woke up, gasping, staring up at the ceiling and feeling wetness on his belly. Gatti crushed a stab of intense disappointment; he glanced over and found himself alone in the bed. He looked to the sitting chairs before the fireplace: Dilandau was still there, the silver head tilted over the back of the chair and one red-armored arm hanging loosely over the side, a winebottle fallen onto the carpet beneath it. Gatti dried himself off on the sheet, got out of the bed and approached his lord, debating on whether to wake him or not, trying not to think of those wonderful kisses, that softness that he would never get from him. Dilandau was muttering in his sleep, the pale features drawn into lines of pain. Or was it fear? Gatti's heart contracted; he gently lifted his lord's head off of the hard ridge of the chair's back, his hands cupping his face. Dilandau muttered again, his body starting to shiver, and Gatti bent down until his lips were right by his ear.
"I'm here," he said very softly and immediately the warlord calmed down, his body stilling and his features relaxing into their customary beauty. Dilandau gave a deep sigh, then shifted, pulling out of his second's gentle grasp as he settled himself more comfortably. Gatti smiled a little, then sat down cross-legged at his feet and leaned his head against his lord's thigh, staring into the dying coals of the fire; feeling a little contented. At least I have this, he thought softly. I guess it's enough.
THE END
"I'll never catch him," Dilandau muttered, staring into the fire that crackled in the fireplace before them, one hand resting casually on his second-in-command's thigh. Gatti looked into the large red eyes, watching the flames reflected within, and shivered. Dilandau's hand tightened briefly on him, then moved to take up a half-full winebottle that stood on a low table before them. The warlord tipped back the bottle and drank, emptying it without spilling a drop. Gatti looked grimly at the litter of empty bottles on and about the table: he must have been drinking for quite awhile before calling his second to join him in his bedroom. Gatti touched his arm; Dilandau ignored him, dropping the bottle back onto the table and staring once again into the fire.