The first line of red captures the king’s attention, his eyes drawn to the stark contrast between Hanamaki’s pale skin and the bright crimson of his blood. It has his chest growing tight, wild, and he can’t stop the rumbling growl that he breathes out, the sound practically feral. He watches as Hanamaki tries to relax but it doesn’t deter Oikawa. No. It’s a challenge. He doesn’t care to hide his teeth, baring them for all to see as he lifts his arm and brings down the whip to cut a new line of red into Hanamaki’s back. Then again. And again. And again.
The only reprieve that Oikawa gives Hanamaki from his punishment is when his arm begins to grow tired. He exhales hard through his nose, his pupils narrow slits as he scrutinized the cuts with rapt attention. In his right mind, Oikawa would never admit that the other demon was at his prettiest all cut up and bleeding, hell, it wouldn’t have ever crossed his mind. But here and now, it’s all that Oikawa can focus on.
There’s no warning when Oikawa leans forward and lightly runs his fingers against the edge of one of the cuts. It was mesmerizing, the blood, the cuts, the suffering and it’s with a dawning realization that Oikawa became aware that he wanted Hanamaki to cry, to beg, no matter what it took.
“Don’t just leave me hanging Makki.” The king hums lightly, almost fond, “Let me hear you scream.” And then Oikawa is maliciously digging his claws into one of the cuts.
“You still laughed despite it being awful.” he said placing a hand on his hip. “I might have stretched it a bit too much though, you’re right. My puns are usually better than that.”
“Well now that’s such an honor, coming from you. Sir Hanger.” he said as he leaned on the other. “Thank you for such a compliment.” Mattsun stood up straight. “Your calves are so amazing that sometimes I hear them Moo.”
Despite himself, Tooru can’t stop the snort of laughter that bubbles up, covering his mouth as he bats at Matsukawa with his other hand, “That was terrible even for you, Mattsun.”
The way Oikawa was stripping his soul bare with just his gaze was equal parts terrifying as it was exciting. Hanamaki hates to admit it, but the way the king growls, from deep within his chest, it makes his knees feel weak. His slit pupils may also have become slightly more rounded as well.
He wanted to follow the hand that rose up, to see where it was going so he could perhaps prepare himself, but he dared not look away from Oikawa at the moment. The rough yank. Had it been anyone else, they’re probably have their neck broken. Makki could feel a burn in one of his neck muscles. It’d be stiff later. His slightly widened eyes tried to keep Oikawa in his line of sight.
Pale hands lifted to grip the King’s biceps, but the tone of voice his king was using stopped him. A cold shiver went through him again, and he swallowed. Oikawa could undoubtedly see his Adam’s apple bob for a brief second. Hanamaki grimaced.
His throat now forcefully bared for the king, hands still up, though now he curls his fingers and lowers them again. It’s a sideways glare that he sends his king, as he swallows a growl. If he didn’t want to get hurt too badly, he should probably use his brain for this one, and actually do as asked. His upper lip still curled up in a partial snarl, but closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
"As you wish… your majesty.“
Hanamaki opens his eyes again once he’s unbuttoned a few of the buttons of his shirt. Soon shrugging it off, letting it drop onto the floor, baring a blank canvas of pale skin for Oikawa. The pants he still kept on. Then he slowly got down onto his knees, while squinting a bit irritated at his king.
All sorts of troubles he had to go through, to calm down one gigantic adult baby. But he keeps his head bent back, keeping his throat in view of Oikawa. His hands he crosses at the wrists, laying them down over his thighs.
Finally, the other demon was giving into him and all Oikawa can think is how smart Hanamaki was for doing so. He knew that between the two of them, they were fully aware of his limits, aware of what was acceptable and what wasn’t, when and where. Although lately, it felt like his limits were being pressed all too often. (There’s that ugly little thought that maybe, just maybe, Hanamaki was abusing his knowledge.) Oikawa grinds his teeth, forcing the thought back. Had Hanamaki continued with his disobedience, Oikawa was bound to do something he would later regret.
Slowly, the king licks his lips as he watches Hanamaki strip and lower himself, his eyes tracing the line of his neck, to his collarbones and down his chest. It was inviting, that was for sure, and Oikawa was never one to ignore his desires. But first, Oikawa needed to make sure that the other understood his place in all of this.
Slowly, he releases Hanamaki from his grip and takes a step back, quietly humming to himself as he began to circle the other. He doesn’t say anything, merely walks around and around in circles until he stops behind him. There’s dark magic bubbling in his palm, forming a small orb and when Oikawa flicks his wrist, it extends. Already, the king can see the welt forming against Hanamaki’s pale skin, pink, pink, pink.
(Not red enough.)
When he flicks his wrist for the second time, the whip cuts into Hanamaki’s skin.
Hanamaki knows not stepping down isn’t the
smartest decision he’s made lately. But even
he has pride as a demon, no matter if he
acknowledges Oikawa’s powers and status.
His advice, he notes, may have all been for
naught this time around. Hanamaki is stubborn
as well. And when he’s yanked down, he has
the nerve to look a bit miffed about it. A few
wrinkles appearing on his nose, on his other-
wise stoic face, as his upper lip curls up ever
so slightly to show off sharp canines.
Even if he normally would have opted to grab Oikawa
by his wrist, he doesn’t this time. The air around the
king keeps him from acting out on it.
“You’ll run out of men if you hang us every time we
voice our concerns of your well being, Your Majesty.”
His words are laced with something akin to his
usual sarcasm, which is probably not the best
choice at the moment. It’s too late to take it back
now though. His skin prickled as he faintly could
feel Oikawa’s magic activating. He could almost
smell it, and almost feel it unleashed on his pale
skin already. A shiver ran through him again, this
time with something akin to excitement bubbling
towards the surface as well, even if it was still well
under the layers of fear.
Hanamaki answers the cold stare with one of his
own, this time doing nothing to hide his snarl from
the king. He was being utterly ridiculous. Prove his
loyalty, huh? The cold eyes boring into him keep him
from snarking anything back, even if words are
teetering on the tip of his tongue. He rather not lose
it. Speaking some sense into the king later would be
a pain later if he would have to try grow his tongue
back at the same time.
With something like partial disgust (all part of this
dance), he tilts his head slightly back, offering just a
hint of his pale throat for the king to see. Not even
close to submitting properly to his wishes.
"And what if I refuse to play your games?
Are you going to punish me, Oikawa?“
Tooru’s eyes are practically boring holes into Hanamaki, soaking in each minute detail of his defiance, each twitch, each word, down to the bare bone. He knows Hanamaki like the back of his hand, knows that the demon in front of him still holds some regard for his own life, even if it felt like the other was pushing all of the wrong buttons at this moment. Still, to see the other demon dare bare his fangs at him brings Oikawa’s rage to a boiling point.
There’s only ever been one person who Oikawa has let get away with treating him so disrespectfully and he wasn’t about to let Hanamaki become the second like this.
(The thought of Hajime’s disappointment only fuels his temper, has his heart aching in the worst of ways.)
There’s a growl rumbling deep in Oikawa’s chest, his eyes immediately drawing to the sliver of neck that Hanamaki offers. With his free hand, he reaches up in one smooth motion to grip at one of the other demon’s horns, yanking his head back to reveal more of his neck.
“Oh Makki,” Tooru practically sing-songs, the growl in his voice making the normally playful tone ominous, dangerous, “If you just waned me to punish you, you didn’t have to work so hard.” And then he smiles, all pointed teeth as he pulls Makki’s head further back, leaning in so his lips brushed against the soft, vulnerable skin of his throat, “Now, I won’t ask again. Prove to me your loyalty.”
Perhaps he should have waited. Perhaps there would
have been a more opportune time to voice his concerns
and his feelings over the current plans. Hanamaki felt
a shiver run down his spine the room turned cold. The
hairs on his neck standing up. He may have stepped
over some boundaries this time. What it meant for him,
is another thing. It was rather exciting, in a sense.
As Oikawa’s expression turns dark, Hanamaki takes
one tentative step closer. A hand on his chest, over his
heart, bowing slightly in hopes of it placating the upset king.
“My lord–” he in turn starts, being cut off soon as the
king speaks. Mouth snaps shut, and despite the icy hands
gripping his insides, he keeps his eyes on the king, even
if lowered in respect. He barely has time to blink, before
he’s met with angry burning eyes, and sharp teeth
(Hanamaki barely stops himself from baring his own
teeth out of reflex).
Hanamaki stands straight, stands his ground even if he
(and anyone else) would rather slink away at this very
moment. But he can also feel the familiar sense of irritation
bubble up from deep within. Oikawa, was being a stubborn brat.
“What I see, is a king making rash decisions, due to
some fear that has no roots. I see a king, who is
neglecting his own well being.”
In other words, you’re being a dumbass.
There’s a part of Oikawa, a deep, rooted part of Oikawa that seethes in silent rage when Hanamaki doesn’t back down. It tugs at the part of him that is so intrinsically linked with his instincts, his pride as a demon and it merely adds the pit of his anger. He can still see the signs of Hanamaki’s respect--the aversion of eye contact, the hand over his heart--but it doesn’t placate him the way it normally would. Instead, it’s almost as if something’s shaken loose.
A revelation.
This is not the way a demon should treat their king.
"You call me rash, you say that I am neglecting myself,” And Oikawa reaches out to yank Hanamaki down by his collar, the blood on his fingers staining the fabric a deep red as he once again bares his teeth at Hanamaki, “And you bring my methods into question. I should have you hanged for your insolence.”
Then Oikawa stops, his chest heaving as he inhaled deep and exhaled shaky. He can feel the well of dark magic under his skin, bubbling in response to his fury, his anxiety. He hears the whispers, the constant stream of babbling that accompanied his darkest moments, his lowest points and he swallows down the tightness in his throat.
The lower ranked demon could feel his blood turn
to ice when his king looked at him. Even if his face
didn’t show it, he was pretty sure Oikawa could see
the small blooming fear and respect in his eyes
anyway. He was attentive after all, his king.
“You have done well to keep the kingdom happy and safe…”
He starts, carefully. In a manner someone would take
when they try calm a coiling beast, ready to pounce.
“I’d still advice against picking a fight with the neighbouring
kingdoms for the time being. Your men will need to rest.
You need to rest.”
Was it a round about way of telling Oikawa the last
plan has been nothing but ridiculous, was he criticizing
the new one? Yes, and yes. But he’s no fool to say it
out loud, thus hoping it not getting under Oikawa’s skin.
Immediately, the atmosphere grows cold, icy, uncomfortable.
Oikawa knew that Hanamaki held no ill will towards him, not truly. He can see it in the way that the other demon tiptoes around his words, in the way that Hanamaki both fear and respected him; however, it doesn’t stop Oikawa from reading in between the lines, from reading into the other demon’s true intentions, his true feelings. It leaves an ugly taste in Oikawa’s mouth.
The lack of trust.
It’s heartbreaking.
The demon king can’t stop the way that his expression finally morphs, ugly and angry and dark. His fingers curl into fists, his claws digging into the soft meat of his palms and he doesn’t even flinch when he feels blood well underneath his nails.
“Rest?” Oikawa starts, his voice trembling under the growing fury that he could feel in his chest, “You know as well as I that there is no time for rest. The kingdoms around us will not wait for us to rest.” And then Oikawa is in Hanamaki’s space, his teeth bared in a snarl, “Have you become too comfortable with being by my side that you can no longer see?!”
❝ though I love Your Majesty and I’m loyal to you, in every way, I cannot disguise my distress and unhappiness. ❞
When Oikawa turns to look at Hanamaki, his eyes are sharp, the pupils slits within the demon king’s deep red irises. Tooru’s face is practically expressionless as he turns to look at the other demon, taking a moment to mull over the other’s words. Love, hell, loyalty, only went so far in the end, and Oikawa was all too aware of that fact as it circled in the back of his mind over and over and over until it was but a mantra at the best of times.When he speaks, Oikawa’s voice is level, none of the usual emotion penetrating his tone whatsoever, “What would you have me do instead, if you’re so unhappy? Haven’t I been doing what I’ve been doing to keep everyone safe here? And happy?”
Hanamaki’s insecurity has a thoughtful expression seeping into his expression, a hum filling the air between the two of them. He can understand the other’s fear, hell, he’s felt it on many occassions, but this was about Makki, not about him. His voice is light, airy, when he speaks.
“If you think you’re getting rid of me that easily, then you’ve got another thing coming.”
