Things have been a little strained lately. Camus/Miklotov [written for LJ Lover100]
PROMPT: 82. Strained
WORD COUNT: 1137
SUMMARY: Things have been a little strained lately.
NOTES: I was re-reading through an old Cosmo I had the other day, and one of the stories gave me this idea. DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Suikoden series, or their characters.
The tip of the pen moved smoothly and neatly across his back, the brush strokes sure and confident. The wetness of the ink caused gooseflesh to rise all along his body, and a shiver that had nothing to do with the ink to slide down his spine.
He felt Camus shift and his weight settle on the small of Miklotov’s back, and the wetness of the ink continued its path across his back. His head was tilted to the side, pillowed on his forearms, as the muscles in his shoulders bunched under the caress of the pen’s tip.
This had been Camus’ idea, and Miklotov was just along for the ride. He would give in to anything that Camus wanted so long as they were able to spend the time in each other’s presence. As the end of the war neared tension was high, and things had become a little strained.
He knew that it bothered Camus how often he was gone, and how much time he spent on the battlefield. The Red Knight had been more behind the scenes as the war dragged on and grew in intensity.
Camus did not verbalize his fears but when it came to his lover Miklotov had never really needed verbalization. He only had to look into those eyes as he pressed a quick kiss to Camus’ lips as he dashed off after the rest of the army. His lover’s eyes had been his undoing several times.
Their relationship had taken a turn for the worse, and Miklotov seemed to pick fights at every turn. He was sore and fatigued, and never seemed to be able to get a full night’s sleep. Camus’ attempts to alleviate some of the pressure had become an unwelcome gesture no matter what the time.
In turn Camus had become snappish and irritable, wanting nothing to do with Miklotov save for the occasional visit. The Blue Knight had always been aggressive but more often he was unnecessarily cruel and Camus was only human. His patience had its limits.
This was Camus’ attempt to salvage their relationship.
Chewing on the inside of his cheek Miklotov fidgeted slightly. He was anxious, the situation was out of his comfort zone and that wasn’t something he normally stepped into. Camus had ordered him to remove his armor and lay on his stomach while he gathered the necessary items.
Camus had stripped himself bare, and as much as Miklotov enjoyed having his lover naked, and on top of him, he knew that this wasn’t the point of their “game”. Not that it did anything to lower his libido, but he really was trying.
Miklotov felt the pen leave his body and Camus lean back. He moaned slightly as he felt calloused fingertips traverse their way down his spine. The tenser muscles in his body relaxed as Camus stretched his body along the length of his.
Resting his chin on one side of Miklotov’s shoulder Camus bumped his face against the Blue Knight’s. He laced his fingers with his dark haired lover, and closed the slender fingers around the length of the pen.
Taking this as his cue Miklotov turned his body so that Camus was now sitting on his stomach, and the temptation to run his fingers along the front of Camus’ body was too great to resist. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he felt the muscles of Camus’ stomach twitch under his fingers, and the Red Knight’s lips part and the pink of his tongue dart out to wet parched lips.
Guiding Camus to lie down on his stomach Miklotov took his place atop the Red Knight, pausing only to dip the tip of the pen into the ink well before continuing where Camus had left off. It was a lot easier to begin than he had initially thought; he had been a bit worried at how quickly the words had come to Camus. It made him uneasy. What if he didn’t have as much to add as Camus? What would the other man think of that? What if his secrets weren’t as grand and mystifying as they first seemed?
While he knew their secrets were not to be read, it still left him feeling slightly inferior to his lover. Camus had always been better with words, always the thinker. Miklotov was impulsive. He didn’t think about things more than he had to, and he relied on his actions more than words. Even though this constituted as actions in technical terms it relied more on his ability to use his words.
The knowledge that Camus would not be privy to these secrets helped him let go of his inhibitions and fears. The intoxication of having his deepest secrets written on the skin of his lover, marking him undeniably, helped ease the strain and drift.
The ink dried quickly, changing from the blackest of black to a deep brown and the contrast to the snow white of his lover’s skin made Miklotov’s blood race. A finger traced the ink patterns that had already dried, and he delighted in the way that Camus arched into his touch.
Setting the pen aside Miklotov leaned back and delighted in the way his secret seemed to glow in the darkness of their tent. There was one thing he had to admit, he was quite pleased with himself. He may not hold a candle to Camus when it came to words but this was one script he could take pride in.
Laughing softly at the way Camus preened under his caress Miklotov ran his hands through the silky softness of the chocolate tresses. A smile touched the corner of his lips and he pulled the smaller body of his lover against him. He loved the way Camus smelled. He always smelled musky, like the earth after a rainstorm.
Burying his nose in his lover’s hair he sighed softly as he felt Camus wrap his arms around his waist. Their bodies fit together almost perfectly, and Camus always found a way to align their bodies just so and a shiver racked his body as he felt Camus’ hardness bump against his.
Miklotov’s breaths came in tiny pants, and a grin stretched his lips as Camus arched into his hand.
Things had been a little strained lately, but with the inked secrets of his lover staining his back things were beginning to look much better.