This story is dedicated to Thealmightykit. It was her birthday, a few days ago and she wanted a smutty YuBo, with some Seme!Boris and a little Abbey torture. I always deliver.

Happy Sweet Sixteen Kit!

xxx

Disclaimer: Nothing.

-Forget-

''Boris…ahhh…yes…'' When blue eyes fluttered shut, his lips parted and let out a breathy moan of satisfaction.

The sinful ardor of their lust was always so intoxicating- Yuriy could not contain his passion, or the lusty sounds of their pleasure. A satiated breath hitched in his throat, as a deftly tongue left a trail of saliva down his chest. Adroit fingers caressed the flesh of his arms, from his shoulders to his wrists, as his own digits were tangled in silver locks and black bed sheets.

Yuriy's hips lifted from the bed, when Boris pulled down his boxers and as the audacious and warm hands trailed over his nude body, his back arched as well. The soft touches and hot breaths against his skin were sending shivers down his spine and those same fingers ghosted down the same path.

The flames of lust, licking at his body, like Boris' tongue, were irresistible but even the softest of touches…in that one place, caused his body to tense.

''Sorry…'' He heard a mumble, which resonated against his stomach and a hand found its way to his own, atop the covers.

Boris could touch anywhere on his body and make Yuriy crave more but…when the pads of his fingers stroked the scar on his lover's lower back, he always flinched. Yuriy knew it was an accident; Boris too was sensitive about certain mars on his flesh but his reaction was like a reflex now, after years of recovery.

The scars of their past could not be avoided, not when they wanted each other, entirely. There was understanding though, compassion and comfort. To touch, to feel, to love… they knew one another, inside and out.

Boris tried to ease his memories from so long ago, with new, softer, loving caresses to the one flaw that still hurt but their scars would always be there only to remind them that the past was real. Yuriy could not forget- the whips, the steal, the knives; they were all very real. But that one spot, his very first incision, it wounded him deeper than just on the surface.

Yuriy squeezed on Boris' hand reassuringly, as his harsh past was smothered by newfound love. He wanted to forget those memories, which lingered into the present and undoubtedly into the future, but with his prince by his side, to love him…

Maybe, just maybe, someday… he would forget…

-EndE-