Chapter Text
Cyrus smirked as Giratina's squirming form flung itself from the mountaintop, seeming almost to limp in mid-air. The former desirer of a world without spirit couldn't help feeling a sense of vengeance at seeing the creature that had once been his bane fleeing before him. He had changed so much, but it still felt like a little bit of justice for his failed plan.
"Are you serious?! A god, running away?" Volo shouted into the icy mountain air. Cyrus turned his intense gaze on the man who apparently preceded him. It was interesting, how, apparently, he was a part of some sort of karmic cycle. "Pathetic!"
"Your tantrum is pathetic," Cyrus pointed out, "there is no point to it. Your loss was a certainty, your failure even more so." He wasn't going to mention the costume - a man's aesthetic (or a woman's, for that matter,) was none of his business. It did show off his muscles though, which were impressive, and was very likely why Volo had chosen it as an outfit despite the cold. Fair enough. "As I told you - I attempted something very similar, in a far superior manner, to near success, only to fail. If my plan didn't bring out Arceus to personally intervene, then yours, by basic deduction, also wouldn't."
"Because you stopped me!" Volo snarled. "Why? You said you tried to make a new world. Why would you care about what I'm doing if you hate the world so much? Why did you oppose me? Why do you hate me?!"
Cyrus shook his head, a little disappointed as the man became more unhinged and out of control in the wake of his loss. It made his skin itch, but he was used to it - the intense emotions of others burned like the sun he was named for, and he had resigned himself to enduring it.
It was easier now. And I have something to pass on, don't I?
"I do not hate you, Volo. In fact," he said, completely deadpan as ever. "I must express my gratitude, because you have shown me why this world needs to exist, spirit and all." He looked away, over the view of the Coronet Highlands. "Because even though you are, and have been, blinded and maddened by your own imperfect human spirit, it was that same spirit that caused you to reach out to me when I was exiled. Without spirit, logic would have dictated not to make contact with me, volatile as my situation was – yet contact, your basic compassion, was needed to close the rift in the sky.” Cyrus sighed. “Therefore, I must conclude that while humanity is out of balance, removal of spirit is not the answer. I see, now, that I must find the root cause of the imbalance, the illness for which this is a symptom," he clenched his fist, "and medicate it somehow so that humanity can thrive.” He looked back at Volo, glaring at the man who, for once, matched him in intensity. There was a tension to him that Cyrus noted, as if he was barely restraining himself, like a bow about to loose. Dangerous. “Meanwhile, you project your own negative feelings onto me in a vain attempt to justify yourself and make yourself feel better…”
“Shut up.” Volo snapped.
Very well. Cyrus knew that they were approximately the same age, yet in this moment, he felt older, wiser, and very much as though he was taking the high ground as he stoically began to walk away. He didn’t even glance as the flute by his side morphed and warped, he didn’t care. He had done what he come here to do, after all.
“Don’t you dare walk away from me!” Volo yelled. Cyrus was halfway through the ruined temple, no longer feeling nostalgia for the sharp spires. Honestly, he was done with this place, had passed what felt like several tests of his character, and he didn’t think that it had any more to teach him. “Hey!” Cyrus could hear his sandals on the stone floor, and stopped, turning in case he needed to use martial arts to defend himself. Instead, Volo stopped running a few feet from him, flushed and furious, his intricate hairdo already falling apart. “We’re not done here!”
“I won the pokemon battle, defeated Giratina, and removed the ghost plate from your possession. I believe that does mean that we’re done here.”
“No, it does not!” Volo said. His gaze was intense, angry… and searching? “Aren’t you going to say anything?!”
“About what?” Cyrus was patient. It was probably safer to keep walking, but he felt like he did need to hear Volo out, if only out of sheer curiosity.
“About how you make me feel!” snapped Volo, “about how you have made me feel this whole damned time!”
“Your hatred and envy are none of my concern,” said Cyrus, “I cannot control how you feel, only what I do in this world.” Cyllene’s words had been so wise. Truly, an incredible person…
“Lies. You must have some sort of… of… power! Yes,” Volo’s eyes flashed feverishly as he began to pace, “some sort of attractiveness boon, or… something!”
“A… what?” Cyrus blinked.
“Arceus must have blessed you with an aura of sexiness to distract me from my mission! Well, it didn’t work!”
“An... an aura of what?” Cyrus asked, taken aback.
“Well, fine then, you are totally oblivious… Ugh!” Volo keened in frustration, tugging at his hair, “Why does that make it worse?! I guess if you have no idea, then at least you weren’t insulting me on purpose when you ignored my flirting…”
“Flirting?” Cyrus felt a sudden uncertainty stir within him. “… when?”
“Are you serious, man!” Volo flung his hands up in the air, “What about the time I made a comment about the ‘view’ when I snuck up behind you that one time? Or how about when I told you that your eyes looked like the sea? When I fondled two pokeballs around in my hands while grinning at you? No?!” Volo shook his head, “I cannot believe this. You’re fucking brilliant, and I was being so obvious… Why couldn’t you figure out what I was doing?!”
“I… am not very good at recognizing… that sort of thing. But…” Cyrus cleared his throat awkwardly. “But even so,” his voice found its steel once again, “those were more attempts to manipulate me anyway, and so none of that should matter now.”
The sound that Volo made next was uncannily like a teakettle, and Cyrus half expected steam to start coming out of the mans’ ears. A ridiculous thought, he determined, stuffing it in the bottom of his mind with all the other stupid notions that sometimes passed through his thoughts. Steam does not come out of ears!
“This again! Your stupid aggravating… blunt honesty! That blank face of yours! I can’t read it at all! You’re a terrible person for making me feel this way. This…” Volo clenched a fist. Cyrus could see that he was shaking, even. He understood – feelings hurt. They raged and tore at a person like a hurricane, a torment that everyone had to bear. “Confusion…”
“Do you not hate me?” Cyrus asked, needing clarification immediately, because he was also confused. “I foiled your plan. Do you not want revenge?”
“Yes. No… Augh!” Volo exclaimed, baring his teeth at the sky.
“All right, then…” Cyrus didn’t permit himself to truly feel the desire for vengeance himself, but to hear Volo say that surprised him. Didn’t anger come with vengeance? “Then how do you feel about me?”
He made the effort to make eye contact with Volo, trying to figure out the puzzle behind the intense grey eyes. Volo opened his mouth and closed it several times, as if the words just would not come to him, and the rage in his expression intensified each time. Finally, he straightened his back. “Fuck it.”
Cyrus, caught off guard, didn’t have time to leap out of the way of the other mans’ lunge. He was pushed against one of the ruined altars to the nobles of Hisui, hands instinctively grabbing for the edge for balance as the much taller man grabbed him, pulling him closer. He had only a moment to process this fact as his face was suddenly angled upwards and lips were pressed against his.
They were soft. They were so very soft.
That was the only sensation that Cyrus could register as the electricity of the sensation coursed through him, short circuiting him completely. Volo held him there for a long, thought-free moment before pulling away, panting.
“There,” he said wrathfully, breath hot against Cyrus’ face, “that’s how I feel.”
Cyrus just stared at him. “Huh?” he said, his thoughts completely blank. 404 - Concept not found.
“What do you mean, ‘huh?!’” Volo said, sneering, his hands still holding Cyrus - It was the only thing really holding Cyrus upright.
Cyrus lifted his hands from the stone, only for them to hover on either side of Volo, unsure of why he had raised them, or what to do with them, or what to do at all. “What?”
Furious eyes searched his face, so intense that Cyrus almost wanted to flinch away. “You’re not joking.” He declared, brow furrowing as he pulled away further, removing his hands. It was a relief, almost, to be given some space from the man’s intense and magnetic aura. Cyrus gasped as he fell back against the plinth, eyes wide. His hands finally found targets – one the ridge of stone and the other his lips, which tingled in a way he’d never felt before. “You really are that dense.”
“What did you do to me?” Cyrus’s voice came out incredibly small, maybe fearful, and his body felt like it was on fire, like he had been struck by lightning. Electrocuted – but he doesn’t have any electric type pokemon, came the frenetic thought. He found that he couldn’t bury this thought at all.
“I kissed you. That’s how I feel about you.” Volo drew back further, still out of breath, just observing. “It looks like I broke you though…” he began to laugh, a choked and hysterical sound. “You might have conquered me in battle, but I just broke you with a kiss! That’s incredible!”
Cyrus couldn’t take his eyes off of the man as he leaned back, howling with laughter at the sky, before facing him again, a strange expression on his face that Cyrus couldn’t comprehend. His golden hair framed that face, the robes refracting the sun just enough to dazzle the man on the stone. “You’re… radiant…” he murmured, awed, barely even realizing that he was speaking until the words were out. What the hell am I saying? Why? Cyrus roiled with confusion as the stupid, illogical thoughts just slipped out of him, unhindered. “You’re glowing…”
“Oh? Am I?” Cyrus’s gaze was transfixed by the mans lips, watching them move with every word. “I’m glowing am I? Ha!” he was still trying to figure out what the enervating sensation that remained on his own lips was, and how he felt about it. “Maybe Arceus did bless me after all with its divine power!” Volo stalked closer, and Cyrus’s maelstrom thoughts only then found purchase on the one thing that always grounded him – science.
“A… again,” he stammered.
“Again?” Volo tilted his head.
“For… science…” was the lame excuse, but it was justifiable. After all, with science, if you didn’t understand something, you repeated the experiment under different conditions, observing it from different angles, until you did understand. “Need to do it… again…” And Cyrus understood none of this, these strange feelings physiological and emotional.
Volo’s manic and mirthless grin became something wicked. “You want me to kiss you again? For science?” he mocked, closing the distance again, “Well if it’s for your damned research, of course I’ll do it.” He moved in and embraced Cyrus, who felt his heart flutter and also, acutely, the warmth where Volo’s palms and body were brought against his. The one uncovered eye burned down into Cyrus with an intensity that he could not identify as the man’s fingers moved along him, finding the right position. They only increased in intensity as Cyrus shifted with them and the sensation that they left on his skin. “Damn you,” he hissed, before pressing Cyrus’s lips to his again.
This time, Cyrus felt the electric sensation shuddering through his body again, and this time, his hands knew what to do. They rose, holding onto Volo both to keep from falling back onto the stone and to better position his face, his hand sinking into smooth hair that seemed to be thicker than honey. This time, too, he tried to return the kiss – all instinct and fumbling, because he could not think, only feel. Eyes closed, their lips locked and parted, then returned – once started, Cyrus couldn’t stop, the sensation was too addicting. He realized, right as Volo seemed to want to pull away, that he wanted more and more of it – that softness, that warmth, the feeling of the hands against him, moving him, controlling him… yet he could not sate that need no matter how much he pressed himself to the other man, no matter how much he moved and sought out Volo’s lips.
When he pulled Volo back in, the hands at his back gripped him tightly, enough to feel each finger on his sensitive skin. He felt Volo’s growl as an incredible vibration like an earthquake, shaking him to his core. He felt himself being lowered, threatening to lay him down on the cold, hard stone. The mans lips seemed to be crushed against his and Cyrus felt, perplexingly, the slick feeling of a tongue dancing around his lips. It should be, logically speaking, disgusting, but the new sensation made his breathing hitch and, without him willing it, his lips parted slightly. When the tongue slid into his mouth, though, Cyrus couldn’t handle the way it felt, and he pulled away. He wasn’t sure whether he was fighting himself or Volo or both, but, as he looked up at the man, still holding him, his own tongue ran over his lips, feeling them for himself as if he’d never licked them before.
This close, Volo’s eyes struck him as the eerie green before a truly intense storm. The sort that swept one away and the house with it… “I want to fuck you so badly right now,” he growled, voice full of a dark emotion that made Cyrus tremble from its sheer heat, “I want to rip off your clothes and pound you into this pillar and make you scream my name.”
Cyrus had no idea how to respond to that, so he merely stared up at the man as they held each other, his heart pounding, feeling the heat between them grow into something both delicious and unbearable.
Slowly, the intense expression on Volo’s face curled into one of his lopsided grins, albeit sharper. “You’ve never done this before, have you?” at Cyrus’s mute nod, the grin sharpened even more, “with anyone?”
Cyrus swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry.
“Ohhh yes…” Volo purred. There was something beautiful and terrible about him in that moment, in the way that his hair was now messy, hanging free without the hairdo or a hair tie. In the way he seemed to revel in what was just revealed to him. Volo pulled him in again, his lips touching the edge of his ear, and Cyrus could only look up at the vivid sky. The smell of sweat, smoke, roses, cloth starch mixed with the heat radiating off of the man and intoxicated Cyrus. At least, that was what he assumed. He'd only been drunk once, when the admins had taken him out as a part of ‘office culture.’ He had wanted to fit in and, a social kecleon through long hours of study, he had tried to keep up with them. The alcohol had been disgusting, and he had hated the sensation of slowed thoughts and the headache that came after. This was similar, yet different – more welcome, easing where the other one had been stressful. Indeed, he found himself relaxing into Volo’s hold, not unlike a needy glameow. It felt… safe, somehow.
The whisper in his ear, however, was anything but safe;
“You stole my dreams and dashed them against the rocks. I can’t become a god, and I will never see my perfect world,” Volo said, making a trill of fear and… something else… run down his spine. “So... I’m going to take something from you, too.” His hand moved from Cyrus’s back to his thigh, forcing the other man, the once fearsome and much-acclaimed supergenius who had subjugated ancient deities, to hold onto Volo for some amount of support. “I’m going to claim you. No matter what happens now,” Volo lipped Cyrus’s ear, “even if you never see me again, you will never be able to forget me. I will be burned into your mind, your flesh, your very soul…” his voice caught, an intake of breath that made Cyrus’s heart race, “… as your god.”
Cyrus felt a sudden surge of warmth in his abdomen, accompanied by a desperate, urgent need that made him gasp. There were too many feelings, and they were all too jumbled and hot and he couldn’t find his thoughts anywhere. He was starting to panic and he knew that he had to say something. “Volo, I…” his words failed him again as he felt teeth lightly press into his ear and then softness press into his skin and make its way down the side of his head, towards his neck. “H.. help me,” he whimpered, immediately ashamed.
He felt as vulnerable as a minior core, his shields down as Volo’s powerful arms took him by the shoulders and pushed him away, enough to look him over. “What is it?” Volo said harshly. Cyrus could not parse the expression on his face. Was it concern? Rage? Cruelty? Shame? It was no emotion he’d ever studied. “Why should I?”
“Please help me,” Cyrus pleaded, his voice frustrated and scared despite his attempts to frantically regain control. Futile attempts because his core – his true, emotional core - was now exposed for better or worse. And, like a minior, he felt as though he either had to move forward or perish. “I don’t understand what I’m feeling. I… I feel like I’m on fire, like I need to be near you. I want you to touch me, and I want to touch you, and I… I just… want…” he trailed off, unable to find any more words that would describe it. “I… I want, so much, like I’m starving, and I’m scared of it. Volo,” he searched his face, seeking something he could trust. Not that he’d ever truly trusted the merchant, but now he needed to – he needed trust along with the rest of it. “What the hell is this?”
Volo’s eyebrows raised and, for a moment, he was the old Volo, the mask he had presented at first – kind and jolly, so much like Cynthia (except somehow more irresponsible.) “You want me, do you?” His voice was husky, as if caught in his throat, and then he chuckled. Cyrus could feel something in the other man relax, a tension releasing harmlessly into the blossoming morning. “That’s called desire, you strange, strange man. You’re horny! Don’t tell me you’ve never been horny before? Ahh...” there was something affectionate now in his voice. Or was it pitying? "You are a strange, strange man, Cyrus!"
“I’m… horny?” Cyrus said, blinking stupidly, “I thought it would be different…” he murmured.
Volo laughed, and a little more of the tension dissipated into the air. A hand moved to Cyrus’ face, stroking along his jawline, down to his chin. It was so gentle, almost kind. A marked contrast to the wrath of before. “You’re so innocent.” He chuckled again. “I can’t believe what you said, that you’re like me…” the caress traced its way along his chin, down to Cyrus’ throat. “A wannabe god, who wanted to destroy the universe and remake it. A blasphemer against Arceus. A villain. A manipulative bastard…” Volo’s hand reached the ridge of Cyrus’ collarbone, his fingers dancing lazily around it. “But maybe that’s why Arceus chose you, hmm? Because of that innocence… yes…” Volo’s voice grew breathy, his fingers stopping to rest at the edge of the uniform’s fur-lined cloth. “That must be it. It’s so… so delicious…”
Tentatively, he began to pull at the fabric of the galaxy team uniform that Cyrus was wearing, the seven stars he’d earned proudly emblazoned right under the symbol of the team that would be passed down to him in 300 years. He was very slow now, watching Cyrus, and Cyrus suddenly understood that he was being given a chance to break away and get out. He could say no.
“I’ll have to do this right,” Volo mused as he decided, “forget about pounding you raw,” he licked his lips at what Cyrus only belatedly realized was a lascivious comment, “I’ll need to be the very best, to make you go so mad with pleasure that you’ll be ruined for anyone else…” The hand separating the cloth grew more confident as Cyrus allowed him to do so, fascinated by his face. “You’ll be mine forever… that’s the best kind of vengeance.” His smile now was strange, equal parts kind and mean, “the only kind of vengeance worthy of a god, don’t you think?”
To be honest, Cyrus wasn’t really processing most of Volo’s words – the meaning was lost amid the sound of his voice, which was suddenly so very wonderful. “I don’t know about that,” Cyrus said, beginning to tentatively take over the undressing. It was strange – he’d frequently disrobed in front of people before and had never been particularly concerned about people seeing him naked in the appropriate contexts. Decontamination zones and cleanrooms had no room for modesty, after all. Touching was a whole other story, of course, but he’d never felt this way about taking off his clothes. This strange… reluctance? Excitement? Anticipation? Nervousness? It felt more like anticipation, like when he’d stood up here on Mount Coronet, right before he began the scientifically planned ritual to summon the primordial dragons of creation. A taste on his tongue and a flutter in his chest and a profound reluctance to his movements, because completing that movement would change everything. Still, he sat back upright, shifting out of his overcoat and undoing his satchel. “But I don’t know if that… matters.” He frowned thoughtfully as he asserted some control, setting the uniform aside. “I’m not sure if I care why you’re doing this,” he searched Volo’s face as if he could make all of this make sense, “only that I want to do it, too.”
“Hmm.” Volo helped him remove the overcoat and satchel and, smirking, took off Cyrus’ undershirt. Cyrus felt his body obey, permitting the shirt to be removed. The mountain air was chilly on his now bare skin and he wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly shivering. “That’s good enough for me.” He said, moving, slinky as a zorua, to wrap his arms around Cyrus from behind, giving him a welcome warmth. “Now… the rest of it. Go on…” his voice felt like embers on the back of his ear, “keep going…”
Cyrus had to focus to repress a shudder as the cloth that Volo was wearing made interesting tactile sensations on his back. He had to, because otherwise he wouldn’t be able to take hold of his leggings and undo them. His hands would be shaking too much. With a swallow, he began to slowly remove his shoes, his insulating socks, and the leggings. He felt extremely conscious of everything around him – the cold wind clawing at his newly bared skin; the way most of his body was pasty pale, because despite having significantly more outdoor time than he once had, he still did so practically fully covered by cloth. How ungainly and bony he looked compared to Volo! Though he hadn’t ever been a couch potato and had practiced martial arts, Cyrus hadn’t been much of an athlete. He wasn’t going to be wheezing after a run, but he wasn’t going to run marathons. Even the Survey Corps couldn’t change that.
Volo on the other hand…
His arms were strong and muscular. He practically glowed with health and physical power. He looked his damn age, too, with smooth skin that Cyrus might envy if he cared – and usually, he did not. With his pack on, Volo had a sort of buried endurance. On the mountain, his pose had shown his true strength, empowered by his faith. Cyrus quietly acknowledged that he was a beautifully built man, indeed, and felt hyperconscious about how he must look to Volo at this moment. He had to be hideous and disappointing, he was sure.
Hands travelled along his torso, tracing what muscles he did have down to his abdomen, then his thigh. Volo’s sigh brushed against his neck. “Very good…” Encouraged, Cyrus finished removing the leggings, the heat from Volo’s hands lingering as they continued to wander. “I’ve thought about doing this for a long time, you know,” Volo whispered, “Not quite like this, of course!” his chuckle was breathy, and all Cyrus could detect was excitement and another impossible to identify emotion in the mix. Was it malice, anger, joy, or relief? “You’re handsome.” I am? “You’re infuriating. You’re smart. You move with so much grace and confidence, like you are sure of every step you take. I liked watching you, you know.”
Volo’s wandering hands stroked along his thigh and ribs, no logic to them. They just went wherever they pleased, like their owner, and Cyrus felt as though he was slave to their whims. He didn’t want them to stop pressing into him, their warm roughness gliding over his skin. Not ever. “No matter where you are, you own it. When you are in Kamado’s office, it’s your office. When you walk into Jubilife, it’s your town. When you walk into the Icelands, you go there as if the whole tundra is yours, and you expect it to obey you. To open its secrets to you…”
Cyrus could feel Volo’s voice vibrating through him, could feel every movement required to make the words. His breathing grew heavy as his heart rate increased, and, nervous, he reached down to his fundoshi, which was growing less and less comfortable with every movement of Volo’s hands. Suddenly, one of those hands grabbed his wrist, swift as a seviper, and held it with almost painful tightness.
“Not yet,” Volo whispered, a note of cruelty in his tone. “Not yet,” he said, more kindly. The other arm wrapped around Cyrus’s torso, holding him so close that he could feel Volo’s heartbeat through his back and the warmth that escaped the costume he wore. “Mmm… Maybe I wanted you to open my secrets, hmm? Maybe I liked it when you bossed me around, expected me to fall into line.” Volo laughed and pressed his face into Cyrus’ shoulder in a kiss. Cyrus lifted a hand awkwardly, hesitating for a moment before touching Volo’s head. He ran his fingers through the mans hair again, gently, not sure how else to respond.
His fingers tightened in Volo’s hair, however, clenching as the man bit down on the meaty place between neck and shoulder. “Ghh…!” Cyrus cried out as Volo held him there for a few seconds more, then released.
“… But you’re mine, now,” Volo said, licking Cyrus’ neck. It felt uncannily like being marked. “You’re going to fall into line right now. Put your hand down, like a good little follower… That’s it,” he purred as Cyrus’ body obeyed before his mind had even processed the fact that Volo had been watching him.
He’d suspected at times that the merchant had been following him, but this… he tensed as Volo grabbed both of his arms and forced them behind his back, locking them in place with a possessive arm. Volo’s other hand tickled at Cyrus’s ribs, made their way down his stomach, around the sharp bone of his pelvis, along his thigh, toying with the ties of the fundoshi…
“Beautiful. Just beautiful… Oh, did I say that out loud? Hmm,” Volo’s tone was playfully sharp, “It’s like you’re a statue cut from stone. Everyone’s rock to rely on. So solid…” Cyrus let out a little sound of surprise and flattery. “A statue that I get to break!”
“You…” Cyrus managed, some of his wit slipping by the strange fluttering emotion that stilled his tongue and clenched his throat, “You keep saying that you’re going to break me and ruin me. I have yet to see you try.” His voice was strangely calm, but he couldn’t hold back the dare in it. The strange impatience that wanted to writhe in protest and wanted Volo to show him what the hell he meant. Because he wanted to know – oh how he wanted to know – what it would be like to let someone break him.
And it was terrifying.
“A-are,” he stammered as Volo tightened his grip on Cyrus’s arms, forcing the other man to straighten his back. “Are you going to just t-talk,” he gasped, as Volo’s hand caressed in circles at Cyrus’s inner thigh, “or are you going to follow through, because,” he licked his dry lips, eyes closed as he concentrated on handling his sensations and urges. He wanted to have control and lose it at the same time. He wanted to submit and taunt Volo. He wanted so many things at this moment, and, to that strange little voice in his Id, Volo was promising so much. “Because all you’ve shown me so far is an utter lack of planning and… Oh god…” he groaned, as Volo’s hand ran over his fundoshi. It was a sudden surge of intenseness, like he had been struck by lightning, but where the electricity of the kiss had stolen his body’s will, this made him tense, arching back against Volo’s torso as he gasped.
“Yes?” Volo said with an audible sneer. Another stroke applied gentle pressure and brought tears to Cyrus’ eyes. He could only look out helplessly at the ruined temple, unable to resist as Volo massaged his crotch, or as he was shifted so that he wasn’t sitting on hard stone anymore, but on soft flesh. The cloth felt amazing on him, as did Volo. He felt Volo’s breathing, the muscles of his stomach beneath his shirt pulsing against his back, something hard pressing in the space between them. “What do you want? I’m a god who answers prayers, you know.” He rubbed harder, teasing, making Cyrus struggle against his held arms and keen out a wordless sound. “Say it.” He demanded, his fingers dancing along the cloth.
It felt like torture.
Cyrus wanted more.
“Please,” he said in frustration, feeling fire blaze just beneath his skin, a sun barely contained.
“Please what?” another playful tickling. It was clear, he was enjoying this. If he wanted to break Cyrus’ sanity, this was the way to do it, because already all logic and thought was being overridden by need.
If Cyrus wanted to be broken, though, he needed to answer that question, and he had no idea what to say that would get this man to do what he needed him to do to make the unbearable tension leave. A whimpered “D-do me…” was all that he could manage.
“Hmm…” Volo’s consideration was punctuated by even more infuriating, tantalizing, frustrating rubbing. Cyrus tried to wiggle his hips, force something to slip, and make the contact that his screaming instincts told him he needed. He couldn’t even feel shame through the fire, nor did he care when Volo tightened his hold again, forcing him back. “Not yet. I didn’t say that I was a prompt god!” now the hand slipped under the rope and cloth, sliding along his skin. Of course he’d touched himself before – he’d never really wanted to do it, but a few minutes in the adjoining bathroom was an efficient and effective way to get rid of the occasional inconvenient physical distraction.
Volo’s touch was miles away from that. His hand was calloused but cool, and the sensation they left behind as they massaged his skin was… intense. Overwhelming. Amazing. He couldn’t even articulate the feeling, again the words evaded him. He could only moan and lean into Volo’s body, grateful for the fact that he was being restrained because he didn’t think he could sit up straight on his own. He could barely hold his head up, so overtaken was he by the hands as they explored within, and he rested his head against Volo’s shoulder, eyes half closing. He gasped as soft lips pressed into his neck once again, his skin on fire as he wriggled against Volo’s hands. “T… Take it off…” he begged.
“What do we say,” Volo mocked, his breath warm on Cyrus’ neck. As Cyrus moved on top of him, his body desperate for this new feeling, he felt Volo’s heartbeat quicken, his breath come faster. The man shifted beneath him and held his arms tighter, and Cyrus grit his teeth against it, dazzled by the new sensation. Torture indeed was what this was, and he could both take no more, and needed so much more.
“P… please…” he whimpered, begging.
“And who…” Volo’s teeth teased at his neck, pressing into the sensitive skin and muscle there almost painfully, licking the area before biting again, in a slightly different part. It was primal, animal… Like a beast. Cyrus had no words for the sudden surge of need that rose within him at the thought, he could only gasp and struggle – not against the restraints, but within them, needing more touch. “Are we asking.”
You egotistical bastard, he thought, wanting to scream with frustration. Cyrus knew what Volo wanted, and it was humiliating. Dignity was important to him, a core part of himself, something he strived to maintain no matter what. And his body and mind were in total agreement that it should be completely and carelessly thrown to the side. “G-god, my god, Volo, please…” he keened. “Take it off!”
“As you wish,” Volo taunted, and, maddeningly, the hand under the fundoshi retreated, tracing along Cyrus’ ribs for a moment. Cyrus wanted to ask what the hell he was doing, because this was absolutely not what he asked for, when the arm restraining him was also removed, leaving him off balance. He could feel cloth dragging itself over his body, Volo shifting beneath him, and he grabbed at the stone – at Volo’s thigh – at anything to keep himself upright. He couldn’t figure out what was happening until he saw the white shirt and shoulder ornament from Volo’s costume flung to the side to clatter unceremoniously against the stone. He felt a very familiar emotion rise within him, one that he actually knew well – annoyance – as he was held once more, skin now pressing against skin. It was a strange feeling – he could feel that Volo was muscular, the hard knots of his muscles pressing against his sensitive back like acupressure. Yet the skin above them was unbearably soft.
Cyrus had problems with texture at times. Finding clothes that didn’t irritate him or set off a storm of aggravation in his mind had been a chore at best, a quest at worst. His team galactic uniform was imperfect, but it was the closest he’d ever come, and he’d had to get it custom made at great expense. It was both easier and harder here in Hisui, without synthetic fabrics, but also without the variety of fabrics to choose from.
The feeling of Volo’s skin against his was what he had been searching for all of his life. It was perfect.
“Not what you wanted, is it?’ Volo purred right into the back of his neck, wrapping his arms around Cyrus again, “Too bad. I am a vindictive god, just like Arceus…” The sweetness of his voice suddenly turned white hot with rage, and his gentle embrace became crushing. It hurt and made it hard to breathe. “After all of my efforts, after all of my love, it sends me you, just to oppose me…” Volo dug his fingers into Cyrus’s sides, eliciting a gasp. Maybe this, Cyrus noted, he wanted to stop, but the words died long before they reached his tongue, and some part of him was… happy? To be gripped so crushingly? Like a braviary with its prey? To be bruised by this brilliant wrath? He didn’t understand.
And then, suddenly, Volo’s grip became gentler, and he began to stroke the areas he’d pressed into, drawing away the pain with gentle, lazy circles. He likes to hurt, and then comfort, and then hurt. Does it give him a sense of power? Cyrus wondered. His body certainly responded needily, waiting for the harshness, anticipating the gentleness, needing it all…
“… But that’s okay,” Volo said, sweet once more. “Maybe I’ll keep you. My own worshipper, who will give me everything…” It was utter nonsense, mumbled into his back. Ridiculous self-aggrandizement. Cyrus couldn’t stand it – so why did he feel a surge of… fondness? Appreciation?
“I could be yours,” he whispered, not even thinking about it. His mind rebelled – no, he was no-ones, he was independent, solitary, alone! But his body wanted to be owned, ruled, mastered… and right now its whims ruled him.
“… Maybe,” said Volo, after a moment of hesitation. “We’ll see.”
Cyrus felt his id scream like a caged beast at the uncertainty, but he knew that he could do nothing… and that helplessness made him strain against the fundoshi’s cloth even more, barely contained. Too contained. Too rough against him, too. It needed to be removed. It must be removed. If Volo wasn’t going to do it, came a petulant thought, I will! He reached for the ropes, only for Volo to grab his arms and pin them behind his back again, just like before.
“No no no, you don’t get to do that.” Volo’s voice was both syrupy sweet and harsh. Fire and ice, sword and silk, caramel and spice, came the association, unbidden.
“Then, please…” Cyrus said, resisting Volo in his frustration, his sanity cracking as Volo, again, with a malicious chuckle, began to stroke him again. Tortuously. Was this pleasure? It was far from pleasurable, it was so intense and desperate, a hunger deep within, a scream of frustration that came from the same place as the rage that sometimes bubbled up inside him like magma. It was far from pleasurable, but he didn’t want Volo to stop as fingers danced maddeningly over the cloth once more. “Please, touch me, now, I beg of you,” he was whimpering now, as Volo’s hand slipped under again, pressing against him and the cloth, so cool and wonderful and terrible and taunting. “Take it off of me, this… this damned… thing… please,” he writhed, desperate to relieve this tension within him and under his skin. Volo held him back easily even as he struggled, even with just one arm, and his other hand was still there, still there – it was utter agony. “Please…” he was nearly crying, tears pricking at his eyes. He knew what he had to do, and he no longer cared about this… madness. If he couldn’t suppress his meaningless babbling, he might as well use it. “Volo, my god, please touch me, free me, do me, I can’t take anymore, I…” For a disappointing moment, Volo’s hand drifted back up and away from his crotch but then entangled itself with the rope that held the cloth in place.
“Sure,” Volo said, as easy as that, as he untied the rope and slipped it aside. Cyrus moaned with relief as he felt himself spring free. The air was so cold, but it was so much better to be hard without restraint. and Volo guided the cloth of the fundoshi away. “Oh… wow…” Cyrus heard Volo gasp, the first sound that the man had made since the kiss that wasn’t him being egotistical, in control, and mocking with his god complex and delicious words. He heard Volo lick his lips, maybe nervously, right next to his ear. “… You’re even better than I thought you’d be. It’s so… perfect.” Cyrus felt his heart, his body, his entire nervous system flutter – something about me… is perfect? Volo reached down again and cradled him with an almost reverent gentleness. It was so satisfying, to finally feel Volo over his whole length. It was too much even to moan, only watch as Volo observed him thoroughly. “It’s the perfect size and shape and…” he squeezed, making Cyrus gasp helplessly, “texture. I don’t understand… I want to fuck you senseless and I want you inside me. Are you a curse or… a gift from Arceus? Why? Why can’t I get you out of my head, why do I need you, I don’t understand…”
“Are you… thinking out loud again…” Cyrus managed.
Volo fell silent, and Cyrus took it as a yes, that he wasn’t supposed to have heard those words that made him feel both confused and flattered and… wanting? More than a little scared? His thoughts raced, and then stalled, as Volo began to aggressively rub him, up and down, clutching at him. He was not gentle now, and it left no room for thoughts at all, only reaction. Bit by bit, Volo’s merciless touch eroded away at his sanity and rationality. He was so absorbed in the desperate whirling madness of sensation that he didn’t even realize that Volo was no longer holding his arms until a hand snaked around his body and fingers slid into his mouth, gagging his desperate moans. Fingers in his mouth was… new. Interesting. The texture of them was strangely satisfying as he ran his tongue over them curiously and he closed his lips around them as he leaned back, eyes closed, submitting completely to Volo mainly because he was unable to do anything else. Super-hot electrical currents ran through his skin, gathering at his core like a plasma ball, dancing through his insides. He closed his lips over Volos fingers, his sensitive lips taking in the sensations, the subtle differences of texture between the parts of his fingers… the rough knobs of the knuckles, the smooth curves of the fingernails, the calloused soft pads of his palms, the delicate texture of his fingertips… he wanted it all. Half-remembered instinct responded to his vulnerability and need for security, and he began to suckle at Volo’s fingers.
He heard a rumble from behind him, a maddened sound like before and felt the arm that now wrapped around his upper torso constrict like a serpent. The slight pressure at his throat did not choke off his breath, but it was just enough to send an adrenaline rush through his body, a sudden surge of heartbeat that made him… excited. Now he finally understood why the word was so associated with this context.
He was excited.
And the electricity within him only continued to gather as Volo continued to roughly beat him off. Cyrus’s hands were free and he used them to steady himself. Volo’s legs, still clothed, were ideal. They were firm and muscular, and he admired the tactility of it as he gripped them for support. A trail of kisses were planted along the back of his neck, the loss of control evident – if Cyrus was in any state to care about observations that were not directly on his body. They were more fervent, though. Volo’s breaths were hot and coming faster, and he played with the kisses, making little bites on Cyrus’s skin. It was overwhelming – Cyrus couldn’t feel it all at once, but only in succession, and there was no escape from the incredible sensations he was being given. He moaned again against Volo’s fingers, back arching as he felt like he was floating, weightless. Was this bliss? He could think of other words that fit it better, but madness worked all the same. As did utter obliteration. He was aware of his own sounds and the feeling of gathering inside him, the sense of closeness and anticipation as it built towards a height he didn’t think he had ever actually reached before. Consumed, He drifted slowly towards it, lost and with it as his only direction…
And then Volo stopped. His hands were suddenly drawn away, and Cyrus wobbled, addled, as he was lifted off of Volo’s lap and plunked, unceremoniously, onto the cold stone. The shock of it dragged him away from what felt like the ultimate expression of his dream, his perfect world. He trembled, making a keening, animal sound of frustration and looked at Volo, who had stood up and moved in front of him, with confusion and anger and hurt as naked as he was.
Volo was now shirtless, of course, and every bit as healthy and muscular as Cyrus had expected from his analysis. He rippled with lean muscle, was sheened with sweat, flushed a wonderful pink with blood, eyes that intense storm green as he looked Cyrus over. They gleamed in a way that Cyrus could only recognize as hunger. He stared back, shaken from his stupor right into a defiant sort of petulance, angry that the man could just stop like that, when he was right at the edge…! Volo, he noticed after the anger had rushed through him for a few moments, was very disheveled, a bulge in his pants revealing his own arousal.
Volo studied the stunned Cyrus for a long moment and then smirked, clapping slightly in a mocking applause. “Beautiful. A beautiful performance… but I can’t let you come just yet!” he waggled his finger at Cyrus just like he had before, playful – but he’s masking some other emotion. Cyrus could sense it, though he had no idea what it could be. “I’m going to get a few things from my pack.” he purred out the last word, but Cyrus had no idea what that was supposed to imply. “Will you be a good worshipper and wait for me?” his tone was playful, eager, but again, Cyrus could sense something else behind it. Inscrutable, but there. He wasn’t sure if it was positive or negative, only that it was… off.
He nodded.
“Good.” Volo walked away, leaving Cyrus to watch him leave, shivering and confused and frustrated.