Work Text:
Ramil sat on the bed. His hands clenched his clothes. His fingers shimmered red and white. The wait was agonizing. He didn't know what was happening to his beloved right now. Paytai was suffering, being beaten and mocked. And it was all because of him. And he, the damned prince, couldn't protect the person he loved most. He couldn't hug him, couldn't protect him.
The door opened slowly and heavily. A boy entered the room. He was limping, his body was shaking, and every movement caused him pain. The pain was so intense that every movement seemed like hell. Ramil jumped up from his seat. Now he was hugging a person, a living person. He was holding close to him the one who had always suffered because of him.
"Your Highness, ah... ", Paytai said through sobs and heavy breathing, ...' it hurts there."
Ramil took half a step back. Deep breaths, a tear-stained face, and suffering, all because of him. He looked at the boy in front of him, trying to figure out where the least affected area was. The prince knelt down, lifting his lover under his buttocks. They made their way to the bed, gazing into each other's eyes. Paytai wrapped his legs around Ramil's waist. He took his hand and guided it to his throat. The prince ran his fingers along his neck and grabbed his chin. And their lips met in a kiss. A longed-for, passionate, and controlling kiss. Gradually, they lay down and fell asleep on the bed.
Paytai woke up from a slight pain as someone touched his back. He turned around in fright and met Ramil's calm face. He pulled on the cane and they kissed again. This time not so long, not so passionately. The collar squeezed his throat. But it was pleasant because it was held by his beloved. The one to whom he belonged with his soul, heart, and ass. He reached for the black nightstand next to the bed and took out a small rectangle.
"Your Highness, use this." He handed him the rectangle.
"Lipstick?"
"I want your kisses to cover my wounds."
Ramil slowly unscrewed the cap of the bright red lipstick and gently ran it over his lips, as if preparing for a kiss that could heal. He leaned over Paytai, touching his bare back, so vulnerable, decorated with shadows of pain. Gently, reverently, he began to leave kisses on the bruises, as if sowing the scars with traces of warmth and care. One by one, lip prints appeared on his skin, like rose petals fallen on cold ground. There were more and more of them. And the last one remained on his buttocks.
𓆩:*¨༺✧ ♛ ✧༻¨*:𓆪
Paytai fidgeted in front of the mirror. His back was like a map of the pain he had endured: covered in dark purple and blue spots, some of which had already begun to lighten, turning yellowish. Between them were red lip prints, clear as seals of promises left with tenderness. These kisses, hot and bold, cut into the skin like reminders of the presence of someone who is not afraid to touch the pain to make it a little easier. His back looked like a canvas where pain and love were intertwined in a strange but beautiful pattern. A black collar encircled his neck.
The boy chose the angle in the huge bathroom mirror.
"Why do you need to photograph this?" came a voice from the bathroom door, from a boy with red lipstick marks around his lips.
"It's art. Come on, let's take a picture together."
Ramil pulled on the cane, and their faces were again millimeters apart. And the camera captured a beautiful picture. The prince stood in front of the mirror, leaning forward slightly, as if seeking a balance between power and tenderness. His hand held the stick that stretched from Paytai's collar, thin and black like the hoop of night, confidently but gently. Their faces were close, almost touching, and Ramil's gaze burned with something quiet and uncontrollable, like a fire hidden under silk. He breathed evenly, his lips occasionally almost touching her temple. Paytai stood with his back slightly hunched, as if under the pressure of feelings rather than force. His back was like a picture of cracks and tenderness—bruises like stars in the night sky, and between them kisses as red as poppy petals. The whole scene breathed silence, in which passion and trust reigned. There was something deeper than a role between them - it was a dance of two hearts that had learned to feel each other even without words. And Paytai whispered:
"I am only yours, Your Highness. And only you can heal my wounds."