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fic: my hands are searching for you
fandom: FE9/10
rating: R
pairing: Soren > Ike
a/n: kink meme archiving, because I apparently cannot stop myself when it comes to this. Original prompt: FE 9/10, Soren/Ike (as in, from Soren's perspective - nothing clear on Ike's part). Sexual fantasies with a side of angst. Please and thank you, anon.
Soren was not the kind to dabble in fantasy, everything about him was crushing realism and brutal cynicism, but when it came to Ike, the rules often changed.
At first he had simply been content to watch Ike from afar as his friend. Childish notions, his last scraps of innocence. Soren knew those days could hardly last forever, but a part of him wished for those pure, uncomplicated days when the biggest worry was that they might get scolded.
But somewhere along the way, Soren’s body had betrayed him. Weaker than he dared admit, his insatiable need of Ike’s presence grew, and the unknowing thoughts of a child had deepened far more than expected. They bloomed until Soren felt a beating, thrumming warmth whenever he was around Ike.
It was incessant, the weakness falling in him every day and making it harder and harder to simply stay the tactician and friend. At the end of each day he felt a little wearier, a little more drawn as that much more of him was spent.
With his tasks of the day done, Soren prepared himself. He Slipped off his old clothes and washed the dirt and sweat of the day from his body. He had hoped the heat of the water would melt this desire, but it only increased the need. When he sunk into it, the muscles relaxed from their tightly bound state, for the first time that day, Soren drew a long breath and felt the walls of self-control he’d so clung to begin to dissolve.
And with those walls, came down his philosophy, his cynicism and beliefs, or lack thereof.
For Ike, everything would fall.
In his mind’s eye he could see Ike, stripping the armor from his body, muscles flexing at the effort. In his mind the hands that caress against his body, desperate and shaking aren’t his slender, cold hands but Ike’s larger calloused ones. In his mind it is Ike’s fingers that are wrapped around his cock, that his wetted fingertips are in fact Ike’s lips on him.
And for that one fleeting moment before he came, when heat pulsed through him the friction was almost enough to knock reason and logic far away and leave him only with images of Ike and him. In those seconds he was senseless, gasping and biting his lips trying not to call out Ike’s name over and over, as if saying his name would turn this real.
But with the rush of pleasure, it passed. Hope was a cruel thing, the scent of food that was soon revoked to the starving child. It was a flicker of warmth that he knew that tomorrow he would be denied.
Soren didn't lower himself to the kind of fantasies and idealism that others have let themselves fall for. And even then, for Ike he would build his own fragile webs of hope only to have them torn asunder minutes later. It was a difficult process, this collection of desiring and then destroying, weaving only to burn the threads and start anew.
As he cleaned himself Soren made anew the promise to stop this. To rise above this wanting and become solely the friend that he had been once long ago.
And he knew as he finished for another restless night that he’d break that promise again.
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Seriously speaking, though, it was very sweet for a masturbation piece. Cute. ♥
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With Soren, it's all about the Ikeangst.
Oh yeah, and pass me the latest edition of the archive next time I catch ya, please? Other than being amused by your archivist's comments, I like to keep up to date with the fandom and I don't dare venture into ff.net these days (I did it the other day? IT WAS FRIGHTENING. I MAY HAVE NIGHTMARES)
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