Serving the Master
folder
Yu-Gi-Oh › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
732
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Yu-Gi-Oh › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
732
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own YuGiOh!, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Serving the Master
I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, the story, or the characters. Wish I did, though.
You do what the boss says, and you won’t get fired. That’s always been Kemo’s rule, whether it’s catching little boys, or keeping Kaiba Seto out of the castle. But he does wish he never had to serve the Master one-on-one. And especially not at night.
“Hold me, Kemo,” and he sits his ass down obediently on the bed and puts his arms around the trembling white shoulders. “Thank you.”
Thinking, (What the Hell else am I gonna do when you tell me to?) “Yes, Master Pegasus.”
The Master looks at him, biting his lip. “I am going to get her back, you know.” What’s weird is, his real eye glitters as crazily as the metal one. “I can do it, I just need,” looking at his hands, “I need some more things… and some time.”
It’s hard on him, Croquet says, with his wife dead, and everyone hating him like they do. And he doesn’t seem to care when the Master touches his hair, or sends for him late at night.
But the Master’s downright scary sometimes, even though Kemo could tear his scrawny ass in half with one hand. It isn’t that magic Eye of his, either; it’s the way he asks for stuff that doesn’t make sense.
Resting his head on Kemo’s shoulder, “Make me feel safe.” That means touch his hair, and kiss him a little, while the tears start rolling down his face. “I don’t understand,” his breath catching, “why does it have to take so long?” His hands are tight on Kemo’s waist, and his crying makes a wet spot on his chest. “I can’t take it, the waiting,” and he’s supposed to stroke his hair some more, and say kind things to him, if he can think of any.
He doesn’t want to fuck, but he likes to be sucked off, after he’s done crying. He’ll tell Kemo how good it feels, and say thank-you a million times; and sometimes he’ll yell out her name, Cyndia, right when he comes.
Then he cries again, and he tells him to leave. Looking up from the bed, his face wet, his mouth sort of square, “Just go, please,” and he turns away. As he goes, Kemo can hear him saying “I can do it, I can,” but it doesn’t make him stop crying.
You do what the boss says, and you won’t get fired. That’s always been Kemo’s rule, whether it’s catching little boys, or keeping Kaiba Seto out of the castle. But he does wish he never had to serve the Master one-on-one. And especially not at night.
“Hold me, Kemo,” and he sits his ass down obediently on the bed and puts his arms around the trembling white shoulders. “Thank you.”
Thinking, (What the Hell else am I gonna do when you tell me to?) “Yes, Master Pegasus.”
The Master looks at him, biting his lip. “I am going to get her back, you know.” What’s weird is, his real eye glitters as crazily as the metal one. “I can do it, I just need,” looking at his hands, “I need some more things… and some time.”
It’s hard on him, Croquet says, with his wife dead, and everyone hating him like they do. And he doesn’t seem to care when the Master touches his hair, or sends for him late at night.
But the Master’s downright scary sometimes, even though Kemo could tear his scrawny ass in half with one hand. It isn’t that magic Eye of his, either; it’s the way he asks for stuff that doesn’t make sense.
Resting his head on Kemo’s shoulder, “Make me feel safe.” That means touch his hair, and kiss him a little, while the tears start rolling down his face. “I don’t understand,” his breath catching, “why does it have to take so long?” His hands are tight on Kemo’s waist, and his crying makes a wet spot on his chest. “I can’t take it, the waiting,” and he’s supposed to stroke his hair some more, and say kind things to him, if he can think of any.
He doesn’t want to fuck, but he likes to be sucked off, after he’s done crying. He’ll tell Kemo how good it feels, and say thank-you a million times; and sometimes he’ll yell out her name, Cyndia, right when he comes.
Then he cries again, and he tells him to leave. Looking up from the bed, his face wet, his mouth sort of square, “Just go, please,” and he turns away. As he goes, Kemo can hear him saying “I can do it, I can,” but it doesn’t make him stop crying.