||[Jan. 6th, 2012|12:07 am]
Azazel & Riptide's Kingdom
Title: We Found Love
Warnings: Violence, sexual situations
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with the Marvel corporation and express no ownership over it or the characters used. I profit in no way from this use.
Summary: Janos is a lying little brat, and he'll be lucky if Azazel doesn't beat him bloody. Or, you know, other things.
Third in a series
Say You'll Haunt Me
Marry The Night
A/N Wow, I have no idea why I am still writing this series. Sheer insanity, I assume.
Janos whimpers under his hold, as Azazel twists his arm hard behind his back. It's not enough to dislocate the shoulder, but Azazel knows he's just barely skirting that line. If he does something to the boy that takes away his usefulness, he'll feel Shaw's wrath, and the more frightening, even if he would rather cut out his tongue than admit it, prospect of Emma Frost's wrath.
“You little brat,” He hisses, as Janos starts to tear up from the pain.
Janos is Emma's brother.
“Let go,” He demands, his voice breathless. “I haven't even said anything,” Indeed, Azazel surprised him, popping in behind him and slamming him up against this wall.
“Oh, but that's the problem. You didn't say anything about a certain connection, something I would have absolutely loved to know,” He meant to be sarcastically cheerful, but he snarls every word, and Janos pales even further under Azazel's expert hands.
“Took you longer than I thought,” Janos replies, managing a weak smile, a washed-out version of his normal sly look. Azazel pushes harder, and he cries out in pain.
Azazel releases him, but only so he can grab him by the neck with his tail, not quite the stranglehold he's used before, but enough to make his point.
“This again? You're losing your touch,” Janos manages to choke out, not even bothering to fight the tail this time.
“I could kill you now, boy.” Azazel threatens, but then that feeling happens again, like his lungs have been crushed, and he realizes that he stupidly left Janos' hands free. He's forced to release him as he hits his knees, clawing at the carpet, Janos' shoes coming into his eyesight.
A hard gust of wind turns him over, onto his back, and Janos straddles him, sitting on his chest with a smirk that defies his extremely precarious hold on life itself.
He leans over and presses his mouth to Azazel's, and just like that, he can breathe again.
Azazel bites his lip, and the taste of blood turns the kiss into something else, something more in line with what Azazel's original morning plans were. He buries his hand in Janos' hair, yanking his head back as he sits up, and attacks Janos' neck. The boy groans, his fingers digging into Azazel's back through his jacket before he moves to the front, blindly unbuttoning it and pushing it off Azazel's shoulders, leaving it on the floor.
Azazel adjusts himself, getting himself into a kneeling position, securing his hold on Janos' legs so he can stand and push the boy against the wall, putting their groins in full contact. Janos is as hard as him, and he moans like a good boy when Azazel's tail pushes against his dick through his trousers.
“Tell me what you want, Janos,” Azazel demands, as licks over his older marks on Janos' skin. He sees a clean patch of skin, and sinks his teeth in hard enough to draw blood, hard enough that Janos throws his head back against the wall, squirming in Azazel's hold, his legs tight around Azazel.
“Azazel, please,” He pants, his blunt nails in the back of Azazel's neck, just below his hairline.
“Please, what?” Azazel urges, but Janos has stilled in his arms. He's looking over Azazel's shoulder with fear in his eyes, fear and shame. Azazel finds he doesn't like that.
He lets him down, and looks behind him, where Emma Frost stands, arms crossed, blue eyes ice-cold, mouth in a line.
“My, my. The places I find you, Janos.”
“Emma,” Azazel turns back to Janos at the sound of his voice, the utter dejection there, a tone Azazel can't understand, not from this smug creature. “I told you, I can handle myself.” But he's so unsure sounding, and Azazel is lost, completely. He has beaten the boy sound, dominated him completely, and he doubts he could ever invoke this from him, even if he had a hundred years to try.
“You are seventeen, Janos.” Emma says it like a mantra, and he waits for Janos' smart reply, but there's nothing. “Come here, now.”
“We were in the middle of something.” Azazel growls, and he expects Janos to stay where he is, but he pushes past Azazel and goes to Emma, like a scolded dog. Azazel hates the slump of his shoulders, the way he's so defeated.
So he grabs him with his tail, pulls him close so he can get his arm around him, stake his claim.
“Azazel,” Emma warns. “Let him go.”
“He can free himself.” His grip is loose, and if Janos wants, he can slip away.
“You really never learned your limits, did you, Azazel?” Emma asks, her hips tilting so more weight is one leg.
“Did you?” Azazel taunts. He'd like to see her try, throw her best at him. That diamond form of hers isn't completely impenetrable, and Azazel has been fighting for as long as Emma has been alive. “He can make his own decisions, Emma.”
“Obviously not.” She replies. She says something in Spanish, directed at Janos, quicker than Azazel can follow, and he feels the boy cringe through the arm he has around his waist, the back pressed to Azazel's chest shrinking into itself. She says something else, something with bite to it, and Janos pushes away from Azazel, but he does not go to Emma.
“Ella está muerta.” Janos says, and Azazel understands that. Whatever Emma says next, the word madre stands out to Azazel.
It makes Janos still.
But then he reaches out to Azazel, with hooded eyes that give away nothing, and Azazel is only too happy to take them away.
In his bedroom, Janos grabs him by the back of his neck and pulls him into another kiss, hard and bruising, the fight back in him, and when Azazel pushes him away, just to test him, Janos throws him into the wall.
“There's my boy,” He purrs, and the sneer is back as he walks over. Azazel grabs him and slams into the wall hard enough his head bounces, pins him there, linking their fingers so Janos is helpless. “And you were a bad boy, keeping that from me. How should I punish you?”
“I cannot help it if you are too dim to see the obvious.” Janos taunts. “How else would Shaw know about me?” Azazel frowns at him, but then Janos dives forward, nuzzling into the joining of Azazel's neck and shoulder, pressing the line of his warm body up against Azazel's. “You know you want to fuck me. I thought you were going to do it right there, in the hallway. I would have loved that. And I know you do.”
Azazel smirks at him.
“One day boy, your arrogance is going to get you more than you can handle.”
“So far, it's gotten me everything I want.” Janos' big, dark eyes are on him, his lashes as black as ink, and there is one damned curl hanging just over his face, brushing his reddened mouth.
Azazel has never wanted anyone like he wants this stupid brat.
He wraps the curl around his finger, trusting Janos isn't going to fight him right in this instant, not when Azazel is being nice. The boy wants affection along with their violence, and Azazel has an idea why, from his conversation with Emma.
Janos' hair is soft, softer than Azazel's own. It smells like nothing in particular, shampoo, maybe, Azazel has no reason to like it as much as he does. And yet, Janos is right. Azazel loves his hair.
“What do you want, Janos?” Azazel asks, for the third time.
“For you to fuck me.” Janos says. He slips out from Azazel's hold, and lets his shirt fall off his shoulders as he walks to the bed. Azazel leans back against the wall and takes him in, as he takes his trousers off too, letting them lay in a heap.
Janos is only seventeen, he thinks to himself. He's only seventeen, and Azazel doesn't doubt he's killed already. He's so young, and he already knows what he wants from a man, knows he likes it when he's held down, knows he likes having someone stronger than him. And for all that they resemble each other, he is Emma's negative, dark where she's fair, warm where she's cold, and where Emma is too afraid to truly challenge him, that's all Janos has done.
Janos tilts his head at him, curious as to why Azazel is not there yet.
“What's wrong, old man? Can't get it up?”
Azazel smirks, before removing his shirt.
This time, he flips the boy onto his stomach, dragging him up onto his knees, and he takes a minute to admire the perfection of him, even from this angle, before pushing in, with only the application of oil, no preparation. He wants Janos to feel it the next time Emma tries to assert her dominance, wants him to cringe with pain and remember he's Azazel's now, that he gave himself freely. He wants Emma, nosy Emma, to see this memory, see the way her little brother fists the sheets and gasps for Azazel, begs Azazel to be harder, rougher.
Emma flies from his mind as he loses himself in the heat of the joining, digging his fingers into the bite he left the night before on Janos' hip, so that Janos makes a strangled-sounding moan that mixes pain and pleasure perfectly. It's enough to make Janos come, and the tightening of his body lets Azazel finish.
After, as Janos lies beside him, content for now. But Azazel expects him to crawl back in Azazel's lap within the hour, the same as he had the night before, begging for Azazel to do it again.
Azazel thinks he'll have Janos ride him. He likes the idea of that, Janos without support as Azazel drives into him, his hair falling around his face uncontrollably as he looks down at Azazel. He'll open his mouth in those little, quiet gasps at first, and then Azazel will make him really moan, loud enough to wake the house.
“She's your half-sister, isn't she?” He has no idea why he asks, why he cares. Janos is his, and he supposes he wants to know what will set his little pet off, what Emma will try to use against him. Azazel wants him now, even if he didn't before, and he won't share his toys.
“Yes.” Janos answers quietly. He's facing away from Azazel.
“Father?” He guesses.
“My mother was a maid in Emma's house.” He says, even quieter, but Azazel hears it, and the lack of detail is telling Azazel more than Janos ever will, he thinks. “I was born in Massachusetts, but when I was ten, we moved to Mexico. I had grown up speaking Spanish at home, and in my neighborhood. I never knew, until I was fourteen.”
“That was when your mother died?”
Janos says nothing, for perhaps a minute.
“She was knocked down by a car.” Janos sounds like he might cry, for only a moment, but his next words show no trace of the lapse. “Emma was nineteen. She came to the hospital, and claimed me, took me to the United States. I never asked why. But she took care of me.”
Azazel listens, and thinks. Why did Emma take responsibility for her illegitimate, mixed-race half-brother? At nineteen, when most girls were thinking of marriage, or maybe even university, in Emma's case, wealthy as she was. Why would she do something so generous?
He's distracted by Janos' warm weight in his lap, as the boy does exactly as predicted.
He's reading the paper the next morning at the breakfast table while Janos sleeps in his room, Azazel having decided a good way to start the day was by fucking him in his morning shower, before he shaved. It's proven a good idea, since when Emma comes in and scowls at him, he doesn't even feel like murdering her.
“I must give credit where it's due,” She says, and Azazel sighs in frustration. She just has to push his good mood. “I can't keep him away from you. You must be the best lay in the world.”
“Considering how he screams for me, I must be.”
He can almost feel her anger crackling through the air, her indignation on her brother's behalf, and her hurt pride.
“Azazel, let me make myself perfectly clear.” She places both palms down on the table, leaning over him with the ugliest expression he's ever seen on her china doll face.
He puts the paper down.
“Make yourself clear then.”
“Eventually, Janos will realize exactly how worthless you really are. How you're nothing but a cowardly defector playing at being a psychopath, and he'll find someone better, someone normal.”
Azazel hates that word, hates how she throws at him like a taunt, but before he can reply, she keeps talking.
“What can you give him? Sex? Maybe that's enough for him now, but in six months? A year? When he realizes you can never go anywhere with him, never even so much as go to the cinema, he'll grow bored. You won't seem so impressive when he figures out that the only things you can do are kill and fuck.” She smiles, in a way that makes him want to run her through.
“You are looking for demonstration of the first?” He asks, tail arching up. English is slipping for him as his temper flares, and god, he just wants to slit her fucking throat, the bitch. How dare she acts like she knows him, like she knows anything about him, when all she's ever done is look down her aristocratic nose at him? Poor Azazel, looks like the devil, grew up poor and Russian, had to flee his own country.
“That's your only answer, isn't it?” She asks, voice sweet as honey, as cyanide. “You don't know how to do anything else.”
“No, I just want to kill you. This is not new feeling.” He assures her, hands gripping an imaginary blade.
“If you ever do anything to my brother he doesn't like, I promise Azazel, you will wish I had killed you.” Her promise is completely serious, and something in him backs down. She loves Janos, he realizes. She would kill Azazel for him, without even thinking about it. Why?
“Your father's bastard, mothered by your maid-”
“She wasn't my maid.” Emma hisses, like she's been offended. “She was my nanny. She raised me. She was more my mother than my own ever was. Every event in my life, Marisol was there for. You have no idea how jealous I was of Janos, because he got to actually be her son. Of course I took him, he's my only family left! And you're just going to ruin him, you bastard!”
Azazel is shocked speechless. Which is a first for him. He has never once seen the White Queen lose her temper like this, seen her display any emotions on this scale. He has no idea what to do right now, what he's supposed to say. Women are not foreign to him, but he has never been good with them, and Emma is in a class of her own.
“I have never done anything he didn't want me to do.” Azazel has no idea why he wants to reassure Emma. He doesn't like her. He never has, But Janos is her brother. “But he is a man now, Emma. You must let him make this decision.”
“Why did it have to be you?” She demands, but it's less an insult and more a plea. And god help him, he can see her point. He has no illusions about himself, and he would not relish having a sibling involved with a man like him. But what's done is done, and he won't give Janos back.
“Emma,” He struggles for words as he stands, and settles for putting his hand on her shoulder. “I will try not to deserve your fate worse than death.” It's all he can give her, but she gives him a tight nod.
“And I will try not to hate you.” She says, though it looks like the words taste like vinegar in her mouth.
He nods to her and lets go, but when he steps out into the hallway, he catches dark hair in the corner of his eye. Janos is up, leaning against the wall, smiling at Azazel. And the way he's smiling at him isn't like any expression Azazel has ever seen on him. It's soft and honest, genuinely pleased.
“I would think you would still be in bed.” Azazel muses, but it doesn't take away the expression. That's good. Azazel likes that. He likes this look directed at him. He puts a palm against the wall and leans over him, using his free hand to gather Janos' curls up in his fingers.
“You think too highly of yourself.” Janos says, but Azazel just chuckles, and presses a kiss to his forehead.
“You are probably more trouble than you are worth.” He's thinking out loud, but he doesn't really mean it.
“But you like me.” Janos is brightly smug, but Azazel represses the urge to smack him, not with Emma so close by.
“Go get breakfast. I will see you after training.” He orders, but before he parts, he twists his hand in Janos' hair and pulls him up for a bruising kiss, making sure to bit his bottom lip so that he bleeds.
Emma would be suspicious if he is too considerate of her comfort after all.
Hearing the slam of the kettle on the stove as Janos walks in puts a smile on his own face, and he strolls off to train.