Dancing Mad

Kefka/Edgar. NC-17. ~2200 words. Dubious consent. Pastfic.
Edgar pays the price to keep Kefka from finding out the secrets of Figaro castle.

Someone groaned.

Biggs twitched. He snuck a look at Wedge, standing stock-still on the opposite side of the doorway and boring a hole in the worn stone hallway with his eyes. The torches guttered.

Wedge glanced over before jerking his gaze quickly away again. Biggs sighed and straightened his shoulders.

It would be a long, long night.


Candles flickered, the light from the wall sconces creating deep shadows that dipped and swayed. More candles were strewn around the chamber, thick pillars of wax that melted to trembling pools. Heavy red velvet drapes spilled down cool stone, swept out to cover the edges of thick-furred mats. Leather boots and fine woven clothes lay scattered across the floor.

Edgar sprawled on his bed, light blond hair trailing over blue satin sheets that brushed cool as a whisper against bare skin. The draft did little to stir heavy night air. Dim light caught the fine sheen of sweat on his skin, made long, pale limbs gleam like the gold of the Figaro crest mounted above his head. His expression was mild, relaxed. The same expression he wore when chambermaids swooned at his promises and dignitaries bellowed at his policies

Hair the colour of the desert sands crested his line of vision. He looked up into eyes a paler grey than morning skies. This one was no swooning chambermaid, and Edgar had never heard him make a sound close to a bellow. Kefka howled, he screeched, he screamed.

One pale hand, whiter than Edgar’s could ever be, casually touched the darker circle of his nipple. Naked, Kefka crawled up over him, slender thighs pressed close to Edgar’s sides, muscles flexing smoothly under soft skin as he moved. That manic grin stretched across crimson-painted lips. Graceful lines of red swept out from Kefka’s eyes, highlighting madness and something a little darker but just as wild.

“Oh, now, Edgar.” Tone disapproving, his face dropped close to Edgar’s, warm breath touching skin. “You’ve tensed up again.”

Kefka’s long-fingered hands slid over the hard muscle of Edgar’s chest and started massaging his shoulders. He purposefully dug in with just a little more pressure than was comfortable, teeth bared in a snarling smile at the flash of pain behind deep blue eyes.

Edgar forced himself to relax, concentrated on keeping his mask of calm from slipping rather than the feeling of another man leaning over him. “I thought you’d be back, Kefka. I’m starting to think you’re obsessed with sand in your boots.”

“I’ve got plenty of obsessions, my dear King.” Kefka sank down against him, lay spread over Edgar like a living blanket of flesh. Hand playing across warm skin, Kefka enjoyed his unease. “I know this little backwater castle of yours has secrets, Edgar.”

Edgar managed a smile despite the thick line of heat digging into the hollow of his hip. “I’d imagine it does. I don’t even know all of the passages in this old place.”

His lips thinned with impatience. “I know you’re building something here,” Kefka hissed and scratched his nails over Edgar’s collarbone, instantly calming as angry red welts rose. His voice dropped down to a sultry purr, the edge gone, lurking just under the surface. “Tell me what?”

“I really have no idea what you’re talking about.” Edgar spread his hands in a show of helplessness.

“I think you do,” he replied, rising up slowly, pressing his groin against Edgar’s stomach and smiling again with wicked delight at the slight tremor that went through the man under him. “And I’ll find out one of these days.

“Soon,” he whispered. He cupped Edgar’s cheek and gave it a little condescending pat. “Very, very soon.”

“Perhaps you’d do better spending your time chasing down the rebels,” Edgar suggested, “instead of chasing mechanical ghosts through my halls?”

“Your halls?” Kefka tilted his head to the side, the dark blue feather twined in his upswept hair tipping with the movement. “Your halls?” he echoed again. “Are you forgetting that Figaro belongs to the Empire? I think you need to remember that, Edgar.” Kefka lowered his head, one finger tapping against Edgar’s lips with each of his words. “It’s very important.”

Red lips pulled back in a parody of a smile, parted to sink sharp teeth into Edgar’s smooth, pale shoulder. He laughed, the sound edged with insanity as sharp as broken glass, as Edgar jerked away from the stinging pain. When he drew back, blood welled up in the tiny marks, framed by the crimson from his lips. Kefka lowered his head again, pushed his cock against Edgar and lapped at the wound with quick, sure strokes of his tongue.

Edgar turned his head away. He couldn’t watch the wild gleam in Kefka’s eyes. The bite burned, the skin around it cool in contrast as the wetness dried. He felt a small trickle of blood seep down his arm, and Kefka groaned.

Kefka walked his fingers down Edgar’s stomach, drew little circles through the fine dusting of blond hair that trailed lower as he rolled to the side. He frowned, looking down to where Edgar’s cock lay soft amongst the light curls.

“Now that won’t do.” He danced his fingers over the length, smirking at the small twitch it gave. “Are you going to let me get bored and run off to play with your little mechanical toys instead of playing with you?”

Edgar tucked an arm behind his head and raised one knee, stretching his body in a long, lean line. The ease he felt with women was just a memory here. Kefka forced pleasure on him, ripped it from him with a violent rush.

Both knew Kefka let him play the distraction, but it served Edgar’s purpose. Kefka took great delight in watching him squirm from pleasure and from pain, enjoyed breaking him down and pinning him like an insect to a board.

Kefka revelled in it.

“Perhaps you’re not the lover of men you once were,” Edgar ventured.

Kefka’s desires worked against him as well as for him. As long as he wanted a king to toy with more than he wanted to discover Figaro’s secrets, Edgar had a hand to play.

Kefka smiled, a slow curl of lips that bared sharp white teeth. “Edgar, I’d be insulted if I didn’t know you were teasing me.” He took the soft length in his hand, stroked it gently and kissed the tip. Red paint stood out like a raw wound.

Edgar averted his gaze, tried not to look at the fine-boned hand wrapped around his cock. Kefka laughed again, the brittle cackle echoing in the humid room, and lowered his head. He took Edgar soft into his mouth, forced blue eyes to watch. Breath hitching, Edgar felt himself harden as tight wetness sucked at him.

Kefka drew back, slid his tongue from sac to head in one continuous lick. He flicked his tongue around the tip and pressed it hard into the slit. Coming away with a droplet of fluid on his tongue, he swallowed it with a moan meant for Edgar to hear. More paint rubbed away, but his lips remained red as blood.

“Not a lover of men?” Long fingers wrapped around Edgar’s erection again, the middle rubbing back and forth across the damp head. “My dear Edgar, there’s precious little I love more.”

He pressed a nail hard against the slit, dug in. Edgar jerked against the quick shock of pain, and Kefka slid his mouth over hard flesh to send a trickle of fresh pleasure chasing after it. When Edgar groaned, he set his teeth to the flared ridge and scraped.

Edgar clenched his eyes tight, one hand twisting the fine sheets. He’d made his decision, chose to lure the other to his bed. Kefka let him be the distraction, for a price.

“Did that hurt, Edgar?” Kefka purred, rubbing his lips across soft skin. “You taste so much better when you’re a little afraid.”

Blurry eyes opened slowly. Edgar’s mask of calm was lost, he’d never be given time to recover it. “You’d be disappointed if it ends too soon,” he said, his voice rough around the edges but steady.

“Too true, my King.” The mocking little smile returned.

He ducked his head again, sucking the tip of Edgar’s erection between his lips and working him slowly. Edgar began to thrust, straining for more depth, more heat. Kefka allowed it, fingers biting into his hips hard enough to bruise. Nails broke skin and left miniature crescent moons to fill with shining red.

Kefka let him slip from between swollen lips, let him rest curved and unsatisfied against his abdomen.

“All those women,” he whispered, crawling up to straddle lean hips, settle himself with the hard heat of Edgar’s cock trapped beneath him. “All those women, and they never make you come as hard as I do, do they, my Edgar?”

Kefka stretched, arms rising above his head. Laughing, he rocked his hips, precome and saliva slicking him wet.

Edgar shuddered beneath him.

“It’s enough to make me think you want to be buried in me every time you fuck one, and not them!” Kefka laughed again, pleased with his own declaration, and raised his hips. He fisted a hand around Edgar’s length, squeezed hard and set the head against the ring of muscle.

Edgar dropped back, grit his teeth. He felt muscle grudgingly give and impossibly tight heat begin to swallow him whole. Kefka moaned a curse, sat back, and Edgar couldn’t silence the choked sound he made.

“Shush,” Kefka whispered, his lips touching Edgar’s as he spoke. “We wouldn’t want to wake your precious guards now, would we?”

A long moment passed before Edgar answered. “I’d have thought you’d like that,” he panted quietly, watching Kefka’s mad eyes.

Kefka sneered, then suddenly tossed his head back and laughed. He laughed as he lifted his hips again, as he dropped back down. The echo of his laughter hadn’t completely faded by the time he was rocking steadily, driving Edgar’s cock deep.

His fingers dug into Edgar’s chest like iron bands, white-knuckled and harsh. He bent low, gave Edgar’s chin the edge of his teeth and rasped, “You can do better than that, can’t you?”

The muscles in Edgar’s stomach bunched as he thrust upward. Kefka rode him, drove him hard against the sheets and clawed long furrows down his chest.

Kefka groaned loudly and bowed his body back, hands braced on Edgar’s thighs. He moved quickly, no care for rhythm, only the slap of flesh against flesh. He took Edgar’s wrist in a steel grip, drew it down and forced fingers to curl around his cock, stroke him.

Come struck Edgar’s skin like the heat of a branding iron. Kefka bore down, grinding his ass hard against Edgar’s hips as waves of pleasure rose up, left him in the thick liquid that splashed and glistened on the heaving chest under him.

He made a low sound of enjoyment as he slowed. “At least you’re good for this,” Kefka murmured, dragging his fingers through the mess he’d made. He brought his hand to Edgar’s mouth, waited for lips to part before sliding his fingers inside and caressing soft tongue.

He shifted, slid over the cock inside him, and Edgar groaned. Kefka gave him a look of false surprise.

“You’re still hard, are you?” He rose up to his knees, letting Edgar slip from his body for the second time unsatisfied. Rolling to the side, Kefka gathered Edgar close, cradled his head and stroked a possessive hand over damp blond hair.

“I can take care of that.” Kefka swiped a hand through cooling release, smeared it down until his hand fisted around Edgar’s dick. He did nothing but hold. “Do you want me to?”

Edgar merely nodded.

“Look at me, my dear King, and tell me,” he said, twisting a hand in Edgar’s hair, pulling tight.

Slowly, Edgar turned deep blue eyes to Kefka’s, his voice even as he spoke. “I want you to.”

Kefka smiled, a brilliant flash of madness in the night. He tightened his hand, waiting until he wrung a low cry from Edgar’s throat before he began to stroke. He jerked Edgar’s cock with the single goal of making him come.

Edgar’s teeth clenched tight, and his nerves exploded white-hot as endless heat burned through him, crashing over him until it ate at his vision and left him gasping and writhing. Distantly, he felt his own release strike his skin, and Kefka rubbing it back over his cock as he came.

Edgar’s lips parted as Kefka pressed against them with wet fingers. He painted them slick, dipped between into Edgar’s mouth. “My dear King Edgar,” Kefka murmured. “I’m so glad you’ve made these little forays into the desert so much more fun.”

And he laughed. He laughed until he was breathless, lost in his own humour.

Edgar turned his head away, plagued by a dozen small hurts. He lay on his soiled sheets and listened to Kefka’s wicked laughter float on the heated night air, and wondered how steep the price of keeping Figaro safe would be.


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