I've been meaning to write something based on this lovely comm I've been continuously staring at since getting it so I finally did <3 happy valentines~
All was silent in the House of Hope as Delirium stepped through the entrance. As quiet as it ever got, at least. They were used to the debtors and had no problem blocking them out by this point; paid them no mind as they walked down the hallway, wondering where the master of the house might be hiding.
If he was in at all. He hadn't been in the Caress at least, so there was a chance.
The boudoir was empty, and so was the balcony. Haarlep must be out, and Delirium was unsure if that made it more or less likely for Raphael to be here. Surely he'd take the opportunity of uninterrupted quiet to get some work done.
They found him eventually, bent over the candle-lit desk on the interior balcony, quill in hand and books spread out around him. For a moment, they stood in the entrance and watched the idle dance of the candlelight against his figure. He had probably heard them — Delirium had yet to figure out how to approach him unnoticed — but he gave no sign of it, unhurriedly wet the tip of his quill to bring it to paper again.
With a grin, they pulled out their knife before closing the last of the distance to the desk. In one smooth movement, they pushed some of the books and papers aside before taking a seat on the edge of the desk. That did get his attention, made him look up, brow arched.
Before he could speak, the tip of the blade was at his throat, “It's time for a break, don't you agree?”
Neck arched and eyes lidded, he held their gaze for long enough to make them fight a shudder. A slight grin spread on his lips. “How much of a choice do I have in my response?”
Delighted, they ran their thumb over the hilt of the knife. “You can answer as you please.” They lowered their voice, conspiratory, “I might hold you there until you say what I want to hear, though.”
A chuckle from him, and his hand holding the quill moved up to tickle their chin with the tip of the feather. Delirium twitched at it, tightened their grip on the knife to keep it still.
“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” they hummed, a little breathless.
“Oh, but maybe I can tickle you into submission,” he pondered out loud, mischief in his eyes and a grin on his lips.
They laughed, leaned in closer and let the knife wander up his neck until its tip was right under his chin, forcing him to move his head back further to avoid getting cut. Candlelight played in his eyes, turning them orange, caressing long, dense lashes.
“You wouldn't want that.”
It was his turn to laugh, the feather in his hand wandering down the opening at the front of their shirt. Delirium exhaled, slowly, through their nose, very aware that their faces were much too close now for him not to notice.
“I would not,” he conceded after what felt like an eternity of silence.
Impatient as always, they couldn't take it anymore and bridged the gap between their lips. Clearly expecting it, Raphael returned readily, his hand coming to rest on their knee, his other presumably still on whatever page he had been writing on.
It made them itch to touch him back, but the thrill of him letting them hold something sharp to his skin was too great to give up the privilege just yet. They pressed the flat of the blade to his jaw, a cold caress, as loving as the daggers edges were sharp. Delirium had made sure it cut easily before coming here. Nothing shy of the best for the devil.
He tensed, and they revelled in it and deepened the kiss. Raphael’s lips parted easily for their tongue, his fingers digging slightly into their knee.
They did really want to touch him. And once their free hand wasn't necessary in them holding their bent over position on the desk, they would be able to. So, slowly and not entirely willingly, they pulled away from the kiss, enough to look into eyes grown darker.
He licked his lips, and they forgot what they had wanted to say. His teasing grin and expectantly raised brow did not help their memory.
Eventually, it came back to them. “Then I suggest you let the ink dry and come with me.”
“Very well,” he hummed, and to their dismay, his hand left their leg to set down the quill still held between his fingers. It did not return. His eyes met theirs again, a challenge in them, “I’m afraid there is a dagger preventing me from getting up, little mouse.”
Delirium grinned at the unsubtle dare. They could ask him to beg, or at least to ask nicely, and Raphael would refuse, and this game would go on until one of them — Delirium, most likely — yielded. Only willing to indulge him so far in their state, they angled the dagger just so the edge of the blade nearly grazed his skin, forcing him to hold very, very still, thrill undeniable in his expression. There they held him a moment, appreciating.
“I can assist with that,” they mumbled, removing the blade slowly, with the same casualness they had put it there in the first place.
Disappointment flashed in Raphael’s eyes, turning to intrigue when they jumped off the table and held out their free hand to him. He took it and they pulled him to his feet, pressed a kiss to the back of his hand before leading him out into the hallway and towards the boudoir.
Raphael’s fingers idly freed themselves from their loose grasp, wandered up their arm and down their back at leisure. “A new shirt?”
Delirium shuddered at the warmth of his touch. “At last,” they chuckled, met his eyes. “Do you like it?”
He pressed his hand flat into their lower back, pulling them closer and putting an end to their walking. They had reached the bed anyway. “It’s a lovely fabric,” he hummed, digging his fingers into it and kissing them.
All too happy to oblige him, they kissed him back and kissed him hard, delighted to finally have one hand free to run up his chest, work on undoing the buttons of his doublet. The dagger was still in the other, and they wrapped that arm around his neck loosely, breath hitching when Raphael chose that moment to slide his hands below their shirt, fingers near-scalding against the perpetual chill of their skin.
Still, they arched into his hands as they ran up their back, bit at his lip and undid the strings keeping his shirt closed at his neck. The bite earned them a pleased hum, turning into something more breathless when they ran their fingers down his bare chest, dragging their nails through the hairs on it.
“You're still holding the dagger,” Raphael hummed when they moved to kiss his jaw, breath catching when their teeth grazed his skin. “Are you planning on bringing it to bed?”
Delirium wondered how he had noticed as they had made sure not to touch him with it. The mystery did not hold half the intrigue Raphael’s question held, however, his tone still teasing in his breathlessness, his eyes bright with thrill and challenge when they pulled away enough to see them.
They took him up on it eagerly, put their hand in his hair, grabbing a handful without quite pulling. Partly to steady themself, partly because they loved how it always made Raphael’s eyelashes tremble a little.
“And what if I did?” they mumbled, replacing the now-gone hand on his chest with the tip of the blade, cool metal instead of dull nails as they led it idly along the same path.
It still did not cut, but they let it catch in the hair on his chest, which seemed to give Raphael some trouble in keeping his breathing steady and shallow enough not to cut himself on the knife.
They grinned, satisfied in how long it took him to get his bearings before answering their question, how rough his voice sounded when he did, “That, dearest, depends entirely on how you intend to use it.”
A hum was their response, for they were well aware they'd sound just as flustered as he if they tried to speak. They pushed against his chest and he went down onto the bed, Delirium following to straddle his hips and press a kiss to his throat and the dagger to his breast.
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