It was very warm when he woke. Wrapped in a thick blanket, bundled against the chill of the morning air, resting against something soft but not too yielding. His bed, then, at the winter estate. He didn’t want to open his eyes, because something told him that would make this all unreal. A sweet aroma was all around him, a swaddling of sensation that stirred something in his stomach, a pleasant tingling, a faint arousal. He shifted, reaching out his arms for his pillow, curling slender limbs around something long and firm - a body pillow? He coiled his hold around, clinging against the soft object, only to find that it wasn’t soft at all. Curious digits trailing their way upwards and then down, pressing against the firm material inquisitively, before finding a part which yielded to his ponderous kneading.

     A deep, resonating chuckle shattered the fantasy mercilessly.

     Vibrating through his form, the individual provoked to such being close enough to touch - no, closer. As startled violet eyes opened to take in the reality of the situation, he found himself cradled in a hold against a larger male, the strange warmth the heat given off another body, firm arms encircling him as he slept. The rush of color that flooded his cheeks was increased as self awareness told him that he was currently fondling the very naked man’s rear, and that he was also stripped to nothing.

      Instinct had him retreating before he really understood the situation, before his mind took the time necessary to piece together the memories which would lead logical deduction to this scene, and he felt immediate and excruciating regret for that. As he leaned up, his back and hips spasmed a protest, causing him to cry out from the shock of it all, and then those arms around him constricted and pulled his form back down onto the bare flesh of his companion.

     The rush of memory was more painful than the soreness of his body, and brought with it a hefty dose of shame, but it was punctured by the soft voice of his companion, the tone once more that gentle allure that seemed more apt to hypnotism than normal conversation; “Don’t try to run, it will only hurt worse. Just stay like this.” Tilting his head upwards to inspect Angeles, to attempt to read the expression which accompanied those too gentle words, he was caught between being convinced and spiteful.

     The weakness of his body persuaded him to yield, and when his muscles relaxed, so too did the hold around him. “When I said ‘hurry up and fuck me’ I did not think you would take it quite so literally,” he managed to pout, shifting his eyes away to inspect further where they were. To some growing realization of horror, he noted that they were surrounded by walls, upon a soft surface, and were slightly shrouded from the faint, perveiling blue glow of the hidden chamber. They were resting in the sarcophagi. As the tension began to return, a soft touch to his cheek brought his focus back to the other male, whose fingers began to push aside stray hairs from his face, lightly tracing the bone structure beneath his flesh.

     “It was not my intention to do so, but you cried so endearingly. And you have been quite cruel to me, it was lack of patience mixed with revenge,” he spoke clearly, in a tone which seemed earnest enough, if not lightly laced with some level of amusement. It roused a darker crimson to saturate Kirin’s cheeks, and he could not decide whether it was from embarrassment or anger, or some perverse combination of the two combined with his fluttering heart at such a blunt admission. His emotions were becoming increasingly exhausting, he decided.

     His body sagged back into the embrace once more, and this time it was Angeles who shifted, sliding his rigid form out from under Kirin’s and shifting their position so that he could lean up beside the slighter male, assessing him with a curious liquid metal gaze. “Did you hate it?”

     “Yes.”

     “Liar,” Angeles said with a grin, lowering his trailing fingers to stroke the young immortal’s lips. “But I will be more gentle next time. When you are recovered.”

     “Who says there is a next time?” It was a petulant thing to say, and his chest clenched in protest at the thought, which he found revolting. It was a terrible experience that he did not want to repeat, though another part of him found gratification in the fact his partner wanted another bout of it.

     Angeles answered him by leaning forward and enticing a soft, tender kiss from Kirin, his tongue slipping out simply to tease the other’s entrance, this act such a stark contrast from the passionate and aggressive kisses he had grown accustomed to, it stole his breath in a new and disconcerting way. “Don’t make me feel guilty, when you were the one who has wronged me from the start with your unwarranted paranoia.”

     It was becoming clear that this creature was one of many dispositions, and each new one discovered made the young nobleman all the more baffled than the last. This dichotomy of tenderness and judgment made him sulk in earnest, his brow furrowing as he defended himself, “That isn’t fair - anyone would be paranoid around you, and your perverted ways.”

     “Perverse? Harsh words coming from such a willing participant.”

     “Th-that is! Not the point!”

     “Then what is?” The question was effortlessly spoken, breath warm against Kirin’s skin, his companion still lingering ever so close. There was the sudden epiphany, the acknowledgment that came rushing forth that this situation was very alien to the both of them. The words came easily, and the anxiety in the pit of his stomach wasn’t there. It was almost comfortable, despite the fact his body ached and his heart throbbed painfully in his chest. This was intimacy, he decided, and leaned forward to offer a faint kiss of his own volition, pushing back the bubble of bashful unease that tossed his stomach in uncomfortable somersaults.

     “You are really scary,” he said despite himself, the admittance heavy in his throat as he looked away. The rational, intelligent, yet stubbornly prideful part of himself was still there, in his mind, casting judgment and shame upon his emotions for their erratic nature, for the yearning he was feeling, and chastised him for not ridding himself of this situation long ago. Angeles was dangerous. But, a small part of him begged the question. But was he dangerous to Kirin?

     “So, you must learn to be brave,” was the simple reply from the man in question, his voice still a gentle lull as his hand shifted, capturing the younger immortal’s chin and drawing him up. “Do we run in circles more, or can we step past this?”

     It was his turn to answer without words, but this did not prevent a moment’s hesitation to still him, to cause him doubt. Fleeting - he had to accept the consequences of his actions, and backtracking would get him no where. Flinching from the protest of his body, he pushed his torso up on one arm, fixing his features into a haughty expression that he had honed from years of privileged life.

     “Apologize first. You have done everything but.”

     A fine red brow arched over those golden eyes, the man tilting his head in a manner kin to a cat watching its prey, interested to witness it from an angle anew. When he spoke, there was a chilling amusement in his tone that made Kirin shiver. “But I am not sorry. To apologize would be a lie.”

     “You are not sorry you hurt me?” Deep violet eyes narrowed, searching the expression of his companion and, as always, unable to really determine the meaning of anything he witnessed there.

     “You told me you would not break - did you think that means you would not hurt?” Dark color tainted the pale flesh of the raven haired immortal, and he huffed mightily at the reminder. “Besides, this will likely happen to some degree any time I take you. Will you wish for me to apologize every time?” Kirin parted his lips as if to protest, but nothing came out, leaving him increasingly exasperated. “If any harm comes to you from now on, it will be from me. I won’t let another touch you. But I can’t promise I will always feel sorry for what I do.”

     The shift of the words, the direction of conversation, made Kirin pause in his fumbling for a defense. His brow furrowed, and he inspected Angeles anew. “Why do you say that?” His voice was no longer haughty, feigned or otherwise, but instead nervous, feeling his stomach constrict with anxiety at what the answer might be. The crimson haired demon just tilted his head further, watching right back. No answers again, it would seem, and this caused a new frustration. And this time, he acted upon it.

     Or, he would have, if at that very moment there was not a sudden, invasive sound into the controlled environment in which they dwelt.