Token Resistance


by Tenshi


Glass shattered, and Folken watched as a trio of Dragonslayers hurried out the door, one of them clutching a hand to the red imprint Dilandau's glove had left on his cheek.

"You are endlessly amusing to watch, Dilandau."

Dilandau tugged his glove back on, irritably, and poured wine into the unbroken glass remaining. "Why? Are you looking for a new hobby?"

Folken's eyes slid from Dilandau's boots to the ruffled silvery hair, and he shifted inside his cocoon of cloak. "It had occurred to me."

Dilandau snorted, polishing off his wine in one swallow. "Perhaps you should take up bird watching."

"I was thinking of something more... active." Folken pushed himself up from the wall, crossed the room in three swift strides, and removed the goblet from Dilandau's hand. "And you have had more than enough of this."

Dilandau's features contorted into an unflattering sneer. "Oh, really? Something more active? What did you have in mind? Dragon hunting? I know how fond you are of it. Or perhaps king hunting? Shall I pretend to be your darling Vaaaaan?"

Folken's burgundy eyes narrowed, ever so slightly. "You could start by pretending not to be a spoiled child." He refilled the glass and sipped at it thoughtfully, gazing at the sunset outside the window of Dilandau's chamber.

"What was that?" Dilandau spun on his heel, crowding against Folken like a fighting cockerel eager for blood. "What did you call me? I don't answer to you."

Folken lowered his glass with a sigh, and with a faint click of metallic fingers his arm flashed out, faster than flesh and bone, and caught a startled Dilandau by the face. "You are nothing more than a spoiled little child," he said, not looking at him, drinking his wine as calmly as if he were sitting in banquet at court while Dilandau gripped the metal sinews of Folken's wrist with both hands and tried to struggle free. "Would you care to contradict me?" He turned, and Dilandau found himself suddenly very close to his fellow officer.

"No, Sir," He growled, making the title an insult, glaring ineffective daggers at Folken's impassive features.

"Good boy." Folken ran the thumb of his gloved left hand over Dilandau's lower lip, listening to the sound of his breathing quickening. It would do nothing towards keeping Dilandau in line, he knew, but he had not been lying when he said he found the young Zaibach General amusing to observe. Dilandau went very still in the steel grip of Folken's hand as he was kissed, his hands slipping under the voluminous folds of Folken's cloak. Folken let Dilandau pretend to resist, then applied subtle pressure to the young man's jaw, feeling it yield pleasantly under his mouth. "Very good boy," He whispered, pulling back, and watching Dilandau's eyelids droop in spite of himself. "Are you going to behave?" One fingertip slid down the harsh line of scar on Dilandau's face, and he flinched. "Or am I going to have to restrain you?"

"I'll do what you want," Dilandau said, his hooded lavender eyes dangerous and impatient, voice warm under his surly tone. "I know what you want."

Folken was not to be hurried, undoing the first three toggles of Dilandau's uniform and sliding his gloved hand inside the warmth between clothing and skin. "You're showing unusual perception today, then." His fingers curled against the back of Dilandau's neck. "To presume to know what I want."

Dilandau's sneer faltered, his pulse visible in his throat. "Oh, that's obvious. You have him written all over your face."

Folken's laugh was low, and surprisingly pleasant. "No, my dear boy," He ran a slow kiss down the white line arching over Dilandau's cheekbone. "You have him written all over yours." Dilandau made an inarticulate noise, trembling with rage and any number of other interesting emotions as Folken nuzzled the not-quite-adult softness under Dilandau's jawbone. "Your pretty little precious face."

Dilandau was seething, a slight tic beginning under his left eye. He would have squirmed, Folken was sure, but did not for fear of gaining five new wounds from the sharp tips of Folken's fingers. "How would you feel if I gave him a scar to match?" Dilandau hissed, "If I got my vengeance on him, right in front of you?" His eyes gleamed hotly, impotent even in their challenge.

Folken smiled slowly. "Are you attempting to get a reaction out of me?" He ruffled the hair at the base of Dilandau's neck, as if cosseting a favorite hound. "You're welcome to do to Van whatever you please... provided, of course, that you can catch him. However, if you're implying that you would like to use him as you do your underlings," he shrugged, "it would be a charming little distraction, I suppose."

"Are you saying," Dilandau said, with surprising smoothness, "that you would not enjoy watching me fuck your baby brother? Wouldn't want to see him squirm, flailing his legs, spreading wide open for me? Like to listen to him scream for help? For you? "

"I am quite capable of making him do that without your assistance." Something flickered in Folken's gaze. "Take him if you can, Dilandau. I would not mourn if you wind up dead from trying." He gave Dilandau a small kiss on the tip of his nose, and watched him scowl. "He does seem to elude your grasp, doesn't he? It must be frustrating." His gloved hand slipped out of Dilandau's hair, easing open the remaining five fastenings of Dilandau's tunic on the way down, and moved against the straining warmth between his legs. "Very frustrating."

"Damn you," Dilandau said, between his teeth, and Folken knew he had won.

The wine bottle crashed to the floor and was ignored. Dilandau, half in and out of his tunic, let himself be pressed back against the smooth surface of his map table. Folken's cloak fell around him like a tent, smelling of warm metal and dragonleather.

"Are you always so romantic, Folken?" Dilandau asked, his fingers deft on the complicated knot of Folken's belt. "Or am I just lucky?"

Folken might have smiled, as he released Dilandau's face, leaving an imprint of sharp fingers. "Impudent," he muttered, and the fabric of Dilandau's pants parted easily to the edge of his touch, needle-points trailing over the exposed skin beneath. The cloth slithered easily off Dilandau's thighs, fluttering softly around the tops of his boots. Dilandau made a low noise in his throat, his circlet slipping off as he tossed his head, pale hair tumbling wild into his eyes. Folken let the tips of his fingers linger, grazing ticklishly over fragile skin that would slice open easier than silk.

"You are not in charge of torture on this vessel, Folken." Dilandau tugged the other man's belt free. "And there is no information to be gained from me."

"I quite disagree," Folken said, holding Dilandau down with one powerful silver hand and using his teeth to tug his glove free from the other. "I find you an endless source of entertainment." Warm bare fingers cradled the heat between Dilandau's legs and he moaned, gripping the edge of the table. Folken leaned in close, tattooed cheek brushing flushed scar. "I wonder what secrets you're hiding."

Dilandau arched an eyebrow. "Nothing you could get out of me Folk-unnnnnnn!!" He broke off, choking, rocking his hips upward. "You... bastard..."

"Charmed." Folken drawled, not slowing his hand in the least. "Surprising, considering your exterior, how hot you are on the inside. I suppose it's all that fury you keep stored up."

Dilandau did not even retort, panting and clinging to the table. One side of Folken's mouth tilted up, and Dilandau found his legs pushed wide around Folken's hips, one hand lifting him easily.

"Don't think you're getting any advantage just because I'm letting you fuck me." Dilandau, for a moment, had his usual arrogance, even half-dressed and spread wanton in his own chamber.

Folken's eyes narrowed. "What makes you think you're letting me do anything?" He rocked forward and Dilandau did not stifle the cry as he was taken, Folken pushing relentlessly into him. His lips were covered by Folken's as the older man crushed Dilandau beneath him, forcing entry into his mouth, filling him with the taste of wine and the faint bitterness that was only Folken's, sweet to Dilandau's tongue, and welcome as he wound his arms around his strategist's shoulders.

"Harder." Dilandau whispered after a long moment, bodies straining against one another, Folken's shut eyes sweet under Dilandau's lips with the wine-berries he used to line them. Dilandau let his tongue flicker out, tasting him. "Hurt me like you want to. I know how much you hate me."

"As you hate me, young one," Folken murmured as both hands, metal and flesh, cupped Dilandau underneath him, lifting him.

"With all my heart, Folken." Dilandau freed a hand to slip between them, greedily wrapping fingers around himself, breathing ragged in time with Folken's thrusts. It was almost too fast, the inevitable end, and he flung back damp hair as he came, spilling over his own hand and the elaborate velvet tunic of Folken's uniform. Dilandau half-shut his eyes, combing his fingers through Folken's hair as the other man went still, sighing as he felt Folken's reluctant warmth pooling so willingly inside him.

"Good boy," Folken whispered, pulling away in one smooth motion, and Dilandau went slack against his table like a sated cat.

"Hmph." Dilandau managed to look arrogant even in his present state. "Next time you want a little boy, Folken, I'll send you one of mine."

Folken straightened his tunic, folding himself once more into his cloak. "Next time I want a little boy, Dilandau," He paused by the door, smile only in his eyes, "I'll know exactly where to come."

The door sighed shut behind him.

Left alone in the twilight of his chamber with only the sound of the moving fortress for company, Dilandau wrapped his bare arms around himself and laughed until the moons rose, spilling cold blue light across the shattered glass on his floor.

~o~





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