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Edmond can’t remember if he has ever cried, but if he has, it must have been a long time ago.
Surely he did when he was young, too young for him to remember. Surely, he had been held in his mother’s arms once, and she had wiped the tears away from his face with her thumb while singing to him softly, a lullaby, a sweet song.
Edmond can’t remember his mother though. He had been taken away too early to form any concrete memories of her, and had been raised in preparation to become a noble, and eventually a knight in service to the Klein Kingdom. There, in the midst of daily sword training and etiquette lessons, there was no time or space for tears. In fact, any outbursts at all were severely punished.
Edmond has inadvertently carried these ideals into adulthood. He has learned to arrange his disposition just so, and dress and act in accordance with his many years of training. He has never allowed himself to fall victim to extraneous emotions that may distract him from his end goal.
Yakumo, however, has no such reservations.
In fact, the man is currently tearing up already, after noticing that Eiden had left a few bites of food behind on his plate at breakfast, which none of the guild has seen him do even once during his stay at the mansion. Eiden’s justification is simple enough—he hadn’t had much of a sweet tooth that morning (which Edmond couldn’t possibly understand, but that’s neither here nor there). Therefore, Eiden couldn’t find it in him to finish his stack of souffle pancakes that he would normally dig into and devour with an alarming amount of vigor (and a complete and utter lack of decorum, Edmond might add), and had left his last pancake only half-eaten.
Edmond had already heard the soft sniffles coming from Yakumo’s end of the table at Eiden’s words, but the sound has increased in intensity now, only amplified by the sound of Eiden’s chair scraping as he begins to stand, waving his arms frantically in an attempt to calm Yakumo down.
“Your cooking is always good, you know that-” Eiden is saying to Yakumo, briefly glancing over to Olivine to mouth help me not-so subtly, receiving a sympathetic look from the priest in return. “It’s just too sweet for me today, that’s all.”
“I thought I balanced the ingredients in the batter correctly,” Yakumo says quietly, the tears welling up in his eyes only continuing to accumulate, like water at the edge of a too-full glass, threatening to spill over. “Unless there was something wrong with the syrup? I-I’m sorry Mr. Eiden…”
“S’good,” Quincy says simply, in an attempt to alleviate some of the tension in the room, stuffing yet another bite of breakfast into his mouth. Aster hums, and, after giving the incubus a swift kick in the shin under the table, Morvay nods in agreement, patting his stomach with perhaps a little too much of a dramatic flair to be believable—Aster and Morvay’s opinions about the quality of the breakfast food are not likely to hold much weight, Edmond assumes, considering that they each drink blood and ejaculate—respectively—for nourishment. Kuya simply sits watching the affair with one leg crossed over the other, his gaze flitting between amused and disgusted as he glances over to watch Garu gobble up his pancakes with his bare hands, his fork left untouched.
With a group this lively, it isn’t long before one of Morvay’s interjections causes Aster to respond with an equal amount of aggression, and the tension is suddenly broken, the various voices ricocheting in the room causing quite an awful din. Thus, the pancake fiasco is all but forgotten—to some.
Edmond watches Yakumo curiously, taking in the downward slope of his body as he starts to curl into himself, being forgotten due to the chaos ensuing in the room—Aster is now attempting to put Morvay in a headlock while everyone else watches on, and Morvay seems to be enjoying it a little too much—Yakumo’s fingers are trembling as he plays with the napkin on the side of his plate, his pancakes almost entirely neglected as he sits, lost in thought.
Edmond only has a rough understanding of Yakumo’s magical affinity, but he presumes that he is doing his best to calm himself, in an attempt to stop his serpent from coming out, the likes of which Edmond has never seen fully and frankly doesn’t want to see, thank you very much. In fact, the idea of seeing anything that is an indication of Yakumo feeling upset or disappointed in himself is a less-than-savory prospect for Edmond. In fact, he has half a mind to slam his palm down on the table and shame the rest of the room for being privy to Yakumo’s pain—but something about the slouch in Yakumo’s shoulders tells Edmond that getting attention drawn to him is the last thing he would want in this moment.
Instead, Edmond picks up his fork and continues to eat his pancakes, being sure to consume every last bite until his plate is completely spotless.
And Eiden was wrong, of course—the pancakes are just the right consistency, fluffy and flavorful, and the sweetness hasn’t even begun to cross over the threshold of too much. Edmond quietly drinks down the freshly squeezed orange juice that accompanies the meal, restraining himself from scraping his fork across his plate to capture a bit more of that sweetness that the syrup has left behind—he has been taught better, after all.
It isn’t long before most of the guild has cleared out of the room, leaving Edmond and Yakumo behind. Yakumo doesn’t even seem to register that Edmond is still there, and Edmond looks up from his plate, watching as Yakumo’s tears finally start to fall now that the room is less occupied.
Yakumo’s tears land silently onto his plate, on top of the half eaten pancakes, his head still hanging low, his hair hiding his face almost completely from view, the strands of it a silken brown, and soft enough to touch.
Edmond feels a jolt of frustration run through him. He wants the tears to stop. They’re unseemly, and unnecessary, and Edmond finally stands, pushing back his chair hard enough to cause Yakumo to lift his head up in surprise that the knight has been here all along.
“Sir Edmond—” Yakumo begins, watching as Edmond marches up the length of the table, making his way over to Yakumo’s side of the table. Edmond locates a small white handkerchief tucked into the top of his boot, yanking it out and unfurling the material until it reveals itself fully.
Edmond stops right beside Yakumo’s chair—and yanks at the chair with a good amount of force, rotating it so that Yakumo, still sitting, is pulled away from the table and turned to face Edmond fully.
Edmond stands between Yakumo’s legs at that, and feels an interesting shiver run though him at the knowledge that he is taller than Yakumo for once—before leaning in slightly, one gloved hand bracing itself on the chair back right next to Yakumo’s head.
“You mustn't cry all over your food,” Edmond says, attempting to keep his voice stern but finding it hard to do so with the way Yakumo is looking up at him, all wide watery eyes and flushed cheeks. “It’s unbecoming of a chef.”
“I-I apologize–”
“None of that,” Edmond says immediately, fending off Yakumo’s attempts at shifting the blame to himself—it’s not his fault that the guild had been less than appreciative of his cooking this morning. If Edmond had his way, they would all be complimenting Yakumo’s efforts—anyone who can make an above board dessert or sweet treat should be rewarded, after all. “Lift your chin up.”
Yakumo obliges immediately, as if pulled by some otherworldly force—and Edmond attempts to ignore the strange feeling that runs through him at the motion, at the way Yakumo is looking up at him, at the fact that Yakumo actually listens to Edmond, respects him…
And so, before Edmond can think better of it, he catches Yakumo’s chin in his hand, and begins to wipe away at his tears with the handkerchief.
“Sir Edmond-”
“Hold still,” Edmond insists, the feeling growing like an ember, heady and slow as he lets the cloth of the handkerchief press against Yakumo’s skin. Yakumo’s eyes are wide, his fingers trembling in his lap, his gaze searching as Edmond moves the handkerchief around, watching as Yakumo’s tears stain the soft material, dampening it ever so slightly.
Edmond is not sure what has possessed him to do such a thing, but he finds he can’t stop.
Edmond wants to wipe away every last drop of moisture present underneath Yakumo’s eyes until there isn’t a single sign left that Yakumo was ever sad.
Yakumo doesn’t look away—Edmond has to admit that he had been half expecting him to, had been expecting Yakumo to cast his gaze to the side, too embarrassed to meet Edmond’s gaze. Instead, his expression morphs into one both curious and trusting, his stare heavy as it meets Edmond’s own, a jolt of unexpected courage that makes itself known within Yakumo more often than one would think clearly causing him to be able to hold Edmond’s gaze as the knight dabs the handkerchief one last time on the high point of Yakumo’s cheek.
“There,” Edmond says simply as he steps away, his voice calm and composed as if he hasn’t spent the last few moments with a rapidly beating heart, his palms sweaty underneath his gloves. “It can be…difficult to control one’s emotions. However, I would argue that there is no reason your meal should suffer for it.”
Edmond cocks his hip, putting his hand on it, and Yakumo tracks the movement carefully with his eyes.
Edmond tries to ignore the way his free hand trembles slightly as he gestures to the plate of pancakes with it, still remembering the feeling of Yakumo’s chin held between his fingers. “Especially with a taste as enticing as this one,” Edmond continues.
Yakumo lets out a breathy sound then, one that Edmond can’t possibly begin to decipher, and his gaze is still fixed on Edmond’s hip, not bothering to spare a glance at his own plate.
“...Enticing…” Yakumo mumbles under his breath after a moment, before finally averting his eyes as if he had forgotten himself, the tips of his ears bright red as he focuses on a particularly interesting spot on his trousers, his hands shaking as he traces the worn mark with his fingers. “Y-you’re right. You’re always so wise, and helpful…thank you, Sir Edmond.”
Edmond finds himself smiling ever so slightly at that, against his better judgment—Yakumo’s words are all true, of course, and he has no trouble believing them, but somehow it feels different when Yakumo says it. They are facets of himself that Edmond has proven time and time again through his dedication to the sword, his vast knowledge of the inner workings of the Klein Kingdom, and his willingness to aid his fellow knights. But he can’t remember the last time anyone has ever complimented him for any of it.
“Your acknowledgement is appreciated,” Edmond says hurriedly, before retreating back to his quarters before he can do something he truly regrets.
That night, Edmond takes himself in hand, and closes his eyes, and he fucks his cock into his tight fist, remembering Yakumo’s tear stained cheeks and his shaking breath. Edmond bites his pillow to stifle his whimpers, and he wonders if Yakumo would cry if Edmond pulled his hair, or raked his fingers down his back, or if the feeling of his cock around Edmond’s tight heat would be more than enough to cause tears to roll down his cheeks as he fucked into Edmond.
Edmond slips his other hand behind himself, circling his rim with careful fingers—he’s never known the touch of another, having dedicated his life to the kingdom instead, and he wonders if Yakumo will even be able to fit, if he’d have to spend hours working Edmond open—
Edmond lets out one last desperate whimper as he cums all over his clenched fist. Maybe he doesn’t hate Yakumo’s tears at all. Maybe he just doesn’t want them to come from sadness. Maybe Edmond wants to be the one causing them—
No. That couldn’t be. Edmond simply appreciates the fact that Yakumo is one of the few sensible members of their guild. His….feelings for him don’t go any further than that. Edmond’s actions tonight had come about in a moment of weakness, and that is all.
***
Edmond tries to avoid Yakumo at first, but he quickly determines that to be impossible.
Edmond has grown accustomed to Yakumo’s cooking, for one, which makes the possibility of seeing Yakumo during meal time an absolute certainty. Coincidentally, they begin sitting next to each other by pure chance.
And, unlike Eiden, who is perfectly content with inhaling his food at an alarming rate before barely mumbling a quick thanks and venturing off to find trouble for the rest of the day, Edmond has manners. Which means he always ensures that he thanks Yakumo properly.
Edmond comments are specific, and sincere. He always makes sure to compliment a particular aspect of the dish Yakumo has made for that meal, whether that be the consistency of the broth or the texture of a flaky dessert. And, to Edmond’s chagrin, Yakumo never fails to tear up at Edmond’s remarks, causing Edmond to sigh in defeat before reaching over and dabbing at Yakumo’s face with his handkerchief—which he has taken to wearing on his person at all times now, for no particular reason.
Other than a few intrigued hums from Kuya and the sound of Olivine whispering in Quincy’s ear and Quincy nodding, the guild doesn’t mention it—although Edmond can practically sense Morvay and Eiden bursting with the need to speak before Aster shoots them a glare that renders them silent. As the days pass, they seem to get used to it, barely acknowledging it save for the occasional curious stare in between the loud din of mealtime.
“Not at the table,” Edmond always tells him, and his tone is always barely scolding, his mouth twisting into a frown whenever he holds Yakumo’s face in his hand. After getting over the shock of it, Yakumo has begun to sit still, waiting patiently for Edmond to finish his fussing.
“It’s not my fault,” Yakumo says one day, and there’s something in his eyes that’s different this time, more sure. “You’re the one always saying such nice things about my cooking, Sir Edmond..”
“I only speak based on observation,” Edmond scoffs. He doesn’t know why their voices drop to mere whispers whenever they do this, why Edmond often forgets that there is anyone else at the table but them for a moment. “I have a keen enough eye for my own skill to recognize it in someone else.”
“You are very skilled…” Yakumo says, his face flushed in a way that Edmond hasn’t seen before—this isn’t the expression Yakumo makes when he’s embarrassed, or when he’s being kind. This is….something else entirely.
Yakumo nuzzles his cheek into Edmond’s gloved hand, and his gaze is piercing.
That night, Edmond cums with his hand wrapped around his cock and the memory of Yakumo’s flushed face and intense stare etched into his memory, and he tries not to dwell on it.
***
Edmond wakes to the sound of tapping at his door.
The knocking is quiet, so infinitesimal that Edmond almost doesn’t register it at first—but he has gone enough days with barely any sleep on long missions, has long since trained himself to wake up upon hearing the slightest of sounds, ready for a threat.
Tonight, however, he doesn’t reach for his sword tucked under his bed, nor does he yell to figure out who is there. Instead, he climbs out of bed, his hair askew and falling loose around his face and shoulders, his feet bare and a white silk slip and spandex shorts covering his frame as he makes his way to the door. And he opens it without a thought, confirming his suspicions once he sees Yakumo on the other side of the door.
Yakumo is crying.
He isn’t tearing up this time. The tears aren’t pretty tear drops that cascade down in almost parallel lines down his cheeks. His face is scrunched up, his head hanging low, his shoulders hunched, shaking with the weight of it.
“S-Sir Edmond, I-” Yakumo begins, before cutting himself off with a hiccup, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands as he attempts to speak. “I have something to-tell-m’sorry, m’so sorry-”
“Hush,” Edmond says at once, his heart wrenching in alarm, and he brings Yakumo into the room without a second thought, shutting the door behind them and leading Yakumo to the bed, sitting him down. Edmond is not one for comfort, so he tries his best—sitting beside Yakumo, his hands automatically reaching for the handkerchief in his bedside table, using it to begin to wipe the tears from Yakumo’s face. Yakumo folds into Edmond instantly, his fingers curling into Edmond’s shirt as he looks up at him with tear stained cheeks. “Do you…do you care to tell me what has happened?”
“Y-You’ll hate me,” Yakumo says softly, his eyes closing, his eyelashes fluttering ever so slightly, as Edmond brings the cloth right under his eyes to wipe at the moisture there.
“That is doubtful,” Edmond says immediately, and he means it. “It may….help to share what’s currently troubling you.”
Yakumo’s eyes open at that, still looking up at Edmond, his lips parted slightly to speak.
Pretty, is the thought that flashes in Edmond’s mind, even though it shouldn’t. He’s pretty.
“You were just trying to be nice. By…complimenting me,” Yakumo begins, speaking slowly, as if the words pain him. “And wiping my tears…I know that. And I’ve been…taking advantage of it. I feel terrible.”
“...Taking advantage of it…how?” Edmond asks after a moment, his mouth suddenly dry, one hand still cradling Edmond’s face, the other handkerchief clad hand pausing in its motions.
Edmond doesn't want to hope. And yet.
“I’ve been…” Yakumo begins, letting out a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment, preparing himself. Edmond notices the soft white tank top Yakumo is wearing then, the way it makes the lean muscles in his arms stand out in a way Edmond had never noticed before, thinking Yakumo was frailer than he really is. And his pants, made of a similar cloth white material, catch around his lithe thighs ever so slightly, his hands coming back down to twist in his lap, placed strategically over his—
Edmond sucks in a breath.
“I’ve been….looking forward to it. Every day, at meal time,” Yakumo says, knowing that neither of them need clarification on what he means. “And…I’ve been thinking about you—no. I’ve been…thinking about you. Every night…in my bed, I…”
Edmond is sure he’s imagining this somehow, that this is all a part of some dream that he never wants to wake from. Because Yakumo’s fingers are trembling in his lap, but he’s also staring Edmond down, a mix of courage and fear mixed into his expression. Yakumo has never been one to think before he lets his emotions and whims get the better of him, and Edmond can’t be more thankful for this fact now. “If you’re upset at me, I understand—”
“It would be unfair for me to be upset,” Edmond begins, his face itchy and hot, his heart thumping loudly as he forces himself to keep looking into Yakumo’s eyes despite everything in him telling him to run. Because he’s terrified. “Given that my… nightly proclivities have been similar to your own.”
Yakumo stitches his eyebrows together, as if he’s trying to decipher what Edmond is saying.
“Sir Edmond…you couldn’t possibly–”
“I look forward to it as well,” Edmond admits, forcing himself to stay, even though Yakumo’s expression is difficult to read at first. “I look forward to….drying your tears almost as much as I do your cooking.”
They stare at each other then, their eyes both wide and searching. Edmond wants to lean in, but he feels firmly rooted to the spot, Yakumo’s skin warm in his palms.
Edmond can’t remember the last time he’s cried. Yakumo cries often, and yet somehow, Yakumo is braver than him.
Yakumo surges forward then, sealing his mouth against Edmond and pushing him down onto the bed in one swift movement—Edmond is reeling with it, the handkerchief lost somewhere in the sheets as Yakumo straddles Edmond and plants kiss after searing kiss on his lips with little reprieve. Edmond, taken off guard, struggles to keep up, his body squirming underneath the warm press of Yakumo’s, tilting his chin up to chase each desperate kiss Yakumo gives him as they breathe into each other's mouths, all spit and softness and heat.
Edmond is drowning in it already, all of his previous fantasies paling in comparison to the feeling of Yakumo’s clothed cock pressing into Edmond’s bare thigh, a whimper escaping him as he grinds down in one long slide against Edmond’s frame.
This had been the last thing Edmond was expecting, for Yakumo to be this ravenous, but he should have known better. He should have known that the undercurrent of emotions that Yakumo always seemed to be just barely holding at bay underneath a seemingly pleasant and agreeable disposition would turn into this, something carnal and wanton and hungry.
“I never thought—” Yakumo is saying, his mouth firmly in the crook of Edmond’s shoulder, sucking at the side of his throat as he grinds down against Edmond’s leg. “I didn’t think you felt the same—ah, feels good—”
Edmond won’t let himself be upstaged, and so he lifts his hips up in search of more friction, letting out a few desperate whimpers of his own as his cock finds Yakumo’s upper thigh, firm and perfect to grind up against.
“Yakumo–get ahold of yourself,” Edmond mutters weakly against Yakumo’s mouth, reaching up to grab hold of Yakumo’s lower back to drive him down harder into Edmond’s thigh, hands traveling lower, grabbing ahold of the flesh of Yakumo’s ass as they both rock their hips together. Yakumo is hardly listening, choosing instead to let his palms skate underneath Edmond’s slip, pulling it off over Edmond’s head before leaning down and pressing his lips against Edmond’s chest, finding a pebbled nipple and sucking down harshly.
“I can’t…” Yakumo mumbles, and Edmond lets out a cry at the feeling of Yakumo’s wet, skilled tongue against his nipple—his mouth is feverishly hot and his tongue feels impossibly long as it swirls around, his teeth nibbling at the skin there as Edmond arches his back up off the bed to chase the feeling.
“It’s your fault, remember?” Yakumo continues, removing his mouth too soon before pulling off his own shirt, Edmond swallowing a breath as he takes in the lean line of Yakumo’s bare torso in the moonlight. Yakumo’s expression is just as piercing, just as teasing as it was when he nuzzled his cheek into Edmond’s palm, his mouth slick and wet from all the kisses as he reaches for a tiny bottle tucked into his waistband, opening it and lathering his fingers with the contents of it before Edmond can even process what’s surely about to happen. “Being so kind to me…”
Edmond sputters, but any hope he had of replying is washed away as Yakumo drags his spandex shorts down his legs, throwing them somewhere on the bedspread before turning Edmond over onto his stomach.
Edmond lies there, prone, his cock impossibly hard against the sheets as Yakumo positions his face between Edmond’s legs, spreading him apart and licking a careful stripe against Edmond’s tight hole—
“W-where—where do you think you’re putting your mouth—” Edmond cries out, even as he lifts his hips off of the bed to begin grinding himself against Yakumo’s tongue. His body is thrumming with the feeling of Yakumo’s tongue licking around his rim, and he’s reminded of all the nights he’s spent dreaming that this may happen, against his better judgment— “T-that’s unseemly—”
“It’s good, Sir Edmond…” Yakumo says, sucking at Edmond’s hole to loosen it before letting his lubricant-slick finger press against it. He sounds debauched, his breathing heavy as Edmond takes his finger all the way in without ceremony, because Yakumo’s tongue has made him so loose already— "It’s so good.”
Edmond looks over his shoulder at that, and the sight of Yakumo’s buried between his legs, his eyes shuttered closed, and the beginning of tears beginning to stain his eyelashes—happy ones, this time—is almost too much to bear. Edmond turns back around and bites his pillow to stop himself from losing himself to Yakumo completely.
Yakumo plants kisses at Edmond’s perineum then, licking and sucking at the soft pink skin there as he adds another finger, fucking them into Edmond’s tight heat—he swirls his tongue around, Edmond’s muffled whimpers and pants guiding him as he kisses tentatively at Edmond’s balls before taking one into his mouth and sucking harshly, curling his fingers inside Edmond just so–
“Y-You are…trying to destroy me–” Edmond says, releasing the pillow from his mouth to let out a cry at the feeling. His toes curl, his hips still rocking back and forth in time with Yakumo’s fingers. “S’too much, your mouth–your tongue…where did you learn to—”
“S’all for you,” Yakumo says with a pant after releasing Edmond, and Edmond mourns the loss of his mouth and fingers, but only for a moment—because Yakumo maneuvers them both until he’s on his back on the bed with Edmond lying directly on top of him, boneless and panting. “I-I don’t think I can handle being inside you,” Yakumo admits, even as he pulls his cloth pants off, his free hand searching for the bottle of lubricant. He slicks his hand once more before spreading more lubricant up and down the length of him, fitting his cock between Edmond’s ass and sucking in a breath at the feeling. “I m-might not be able to stop for a while, I hope that’s alright—”
“What are you saying…” Edmond asks with flushed cheeks, and he can’t help it, squeezing himself around Yakumo’s cock and swaying his hips just to feel the slide of it between his ass, against his entrance. “N-now you’re shy?”
Yakumo lifts his head up to ensare Edmond in another kiss instead of answering, letting the head of his cock push into Edmond before bottoming out inside of him, inch by agonizing inch.
And Edmond thanks Yakumo silently for thinking to kiss him through it, because Edmond would have woken half the house with his whimpers, because Yakumo is big, bigger than he could have imagined inside him, he never thought it would feel like this–
Edmond finally pulls away once he feels Yakumo fill him completely, and he realizes that his fantasies were right—Yakumo is crying, presumably at the feeling of Edmond around him. However, the last thing Edmond could have predicted would be the telltale prickling sensation in his own eyes. Edmond slaps his hand down on Yakumo’s bare chest repeatedly, impatient, feeling his hole flutter around Yakumo’s cock with every moment that passes.
“W-What are you waiting for?” Edmond asks, indignant, his voice trembling as he leans all the way in so that the two of them are chest to chest, forehead to forehead. “You were the one who was desperate–coming into my room late at night to have your way with me—to debase me—”
“S-Sir Edmond—don’t say things like that—” Yakumo cries out finally, before placing his hands on the flesh of Edmond’s ass, lifting his lower half off of his cock before driving his hips back up into that tight heat. “You’ll only make me—more—”
Edmond is too caught off guard to even cry out, the pleasure slamming into him like a deluge as Yakumo grips him and pushes his cock up into him, using Edmond as his own personal fleshlight—it’s all Edmond can do but lay there on top of him, his mouth parted open in surprise with each upward motion of Yakumo’s hips as he fucks his cock into Edmond. He spreads Edmond’s ass apart further, the two of them never breaking eye contact as Yakumo somehow drives himself in deeper—
Edmond lets out a broken whimper then, and Yakumo watches his expression with fascination, changing the speed and motion of his hips with each thrust just to watch Edmond’s reaction, to see the different faces he makes.
“M’cumming–” Yakumo cries out then, and Edmond groans as the feeling of Yakumo’s cum fills him up, dripping down his thighs—but Yakumo doesn’t stop his movements. In fact, he only fucks his cock into Edmond faster, whimpering at the effort and wrapping one arm around Edmond’s waist to brace himself.
It’s all Edmond can do to be at Yakumo’s mercy, moaning at the feeling of his cock grinding against Yakumo’s stomach between their bodies, because the pleasure is too much now, too much and not enough-
“Yakumo—” Edmond breathes out as he feels Yakumo cum again, his cock stretching Edmond open, the sound of skin against skin growing wet and sloppy now as all of the cum helps Yakumo thrust into Edmond even deeper.
“G-going to— be inside you forever…” Yakumo whimpers, his cheeks stained with tears from the sensation, his hand reaching up to grip at the back of Edmond’s head to pull at his hair, a sharp tug that travels down to Edmond’s cock—and that’s all it takes.
Edmond whimpers as the feeling finally crests over, and he cums between their bodies, rocking his hips back and forth and clenching around Yakumo, using his cock to chase the last dregs of pleasure that travel through his body in jolts across the surface of his skin—until he finally slumps against Yakumo’s body and kisses him, spent.
The moment after is almost silent, save for the soft kisses that they exchange in the dark, quiet room. When Yakumo pulls out, Edmond feels empty, but he lets out a satisfied sigh as Yakumo wraps his arms back around Edmond’s waist again, planting soft kisses on his cheeks all the while.
“Sir Edmond…that was perfect,” Yakumo whispers, his expression serene as he looks up at Edmond as if he's been bathed in moonlight. “You’re perfect.”
“My feelings are quite the same,” Edmond says in response, caressing the side of Yakumo’s face and watching as he nuzzles into Edmond’s palm, content.
Edmond smiles a soft smile, and he wonders how Yakumo will feel if Edmond kisses his tears away every day from now on.