Title: Don't Ask
By: Harmony283
Pairing: Deak x Lavi
Summary: Lavi thinks that maybe they're not so different, but then, how much are they alike?
Written For: The D. Gray Man Kink meme. The original prompt was: "Rough!Surprise!Wall!sex Lavi and Deak somehow separate, Lavi doesn't want it at first but gives in. And some dry-humping please!" I'm not too sure how well I filled it out in the end (heck, I'm not even sure if it's AU or not -sigh-) but here it is, enjoy!
Warning: (other than what the request suggests), language, mention of rape/character death/necrophilia, Deak being, well, Deak...um, and late-night writing -blinks-

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This was not the way Lavi wanted to spend his evening. Stuck in a barely lit library, copying pages worth of records from yellowed paper to crisp, eggshell white pages of new tomes--with his mirror image, smirking at him from the window seat in silent victory.

All because he had won the stupid bet, and now he was going to gloat. Gloat at the fact that he could very well leave if he wanted to, to join the celebrations and the fireworks--that Lavi so desperately tried to ignore, even though he could see them from the window if he tilted his head at just the right angle--but wouldn't.

Because he didn't care. And Lavi shouldn't care, and he would show him that, with that smirk, sitting across from him, on the window seat.

Lavi let out a sigh, and focused his gaze once more on the pages in front of him. With the amount of work in front of him, he more than knew he would be here for the rest of the night. With Deak, as well, being his unofficial guard--there was no way he couldn't finish.
because every good Bookman would put duty over relaxation Becase A Bookman does not care for those he surrounds himself with.

It could only be him, and master, and—of course—the occasional twin who he tried so hard to ignore, but never could.

Another sigh passed his lips before he could effectively seal them, and he could tell, without looking up, that Deak was beginning to notice. He would say something eventually—like, 'If this is so boring then you have no right to be his heir' Or-- 'Giving up already? Then hand it over.'

But Lavi wouldn't hand it over. He wasn't stupid. He would keep the pocketwatch—Bookman's only gift, and the true symbol of the heir of Bookman—close to him. He wouldn't give it up.

It was something Deak never quite forgave him for—being chosen over him. Which was more of a reason for him to be here, gloating over one of his many recent victories. Gloating over the fact that he could remain detached from these 'weaklings' while Lavi had grown a heart. Or was growing one, which Lavi wouldn't admit—and denied like hell.

But he wanted it. He wanted to be down there, with the others celebrating. It made it harder to concentrate on the words, and ink, and quill in his hand, but he had to. He couldn't get distracted, couldn't show Deak that he was.

Which was why he mentally cursed himself when Deak opened his mouth, "Getting bored?"

His tone was taunting, degrading, as it always was. But Lavi ignored it, even when he heard the others boots hit the floor, even when he heard the tall-tale creak of one particular floorboard located directly in front of the desk.

Not even when Deak leaned against the desk, arms folded, staring at his work, "You've been on the same sentence for the past two minutes." He pointed out mockingly, lips forming that same smirk from earlier.

Lavi tried not to cringe; instead, smiling in the way he had learned would almost fool the redhead, "Just tired." It was an easy lie, half believable—he did love his sleep, after all, "They made me work kinda hard today, setting everything up."

"Ah, yes," The smile was gone, but the tone more than made up for it, "You really wanted to see the celebration, didn't you?" He was now squatting on the ground, using his hands and arms to prop himself up, "It's too bad you're stuck here. But then—you don't really care, do you?"

Just like before, it was a test. Lavi knew it, "Not particularly. But y'know," he let his face fall lax, just a bit, "Right now—if I don't go, they'll be curious."

"But if you don't complete these," Deak nodded to the papers scattering the desk, "Master won't be happy. "

"That's why you're here, isn't it?" Lavi tried to turn his gaze back to the words, motioning to them with his quill, "to make sure I fill 'em out, and don't sneak away all incognito like?"

Deak barked out a laugh, "Like you could do that anyway. Yeah, that's why." His one eye flickered up—darker than Lavi's own, but not by much—to focus on his face, before dropping back down to his hand, squinting, "Funny how I have to watch you all the time."

"Yeah, real funny." Lavi half-heartedly agreed, nearly adding sarcasm, but catching himself at the last moment.

Deak noticed though, lips twitching upward at the edges, "Isn't it? If I wasn't watching you right now—you really would go down to that party, you'd disregard your work and then Bookman would be angry with you."

Lavi let out a laugh, but made no comment, dipping the quill back in the ink before continuing to scrawl across the page, careful to match the words directly, and doing his best to ignore Deak's one-eyed stare, following his hands movement.

He almost wished the silence between them would have lasted, even though he knew with Deak it wasn't possible. He wasn't as talkative as he was—not by the long shot. But when he wanted to make a point--wanted to humiliate beyond reason, he knew just what to say.

"You're a glutton for punishment, y'know that." His voice sounded noticeably duller than before, it almost made Lavi look up, but he didn't, "In fact—it's almost like you enjoy being punished. Like you--Enjoy the pain." Lavi tried to ignore when a sudden shadow passed over his work, only stilling his hand when he was forced to by Deak's own.

"Do you like pain, brother?"

Lavi didn't quite understand what had happened after that. But he remembered spilt ink, and a livid looking Deak, followed by the door being flung open by none other than his--their--Master.

He remembered barely blocking a punch, and maybe even throwing one, but the desk, and a rather painful hit to the head had successfully prevented any other emotions that might've turned physical.

It hadn't stopped his words, though, if he could remember, spitting out a violent, "Do not call me that!" followed by an equally retorted "Like I want to." had been exchanged.

Then he was dragged rather forcefully from the room by elderly hands, and told, through no words of kindness, to go to his--their--room. And he remembered going, without complaint, without recognizing the loud sounds coming from the library still, and the knowledge that, even with the distraction elsewhere, footsteps would soon follow.

He hadn't wanted to be there when that happened.

Thus, he found himself; face first, in a very fluffy pillow, wondering why his gut still hurt. But then, Deak hadn't meant to be gentle at all—he had said that to get him riled up, just so he could punch him in the gut. Lavi didn't even need a reason why. Bookman would probably tell him later, or at least have them avoid each other until Deak cooled off.
Lavi wouldn't mind that. It always meant he had more freedom, which meant he could—if he wanted to—celebrate with the rest of them. If he wanted to get up. Which he didn't—and if the party hadn't already ended. He hadn't checked the time, but it had been late before, and the party had started at sundown.

For all he knew, he had probably missed it, and really, his lie wasn't so much of a lie anymore. He really couldn't see himself caring all that much that he had missed the party, even if he wanted to see the completed project, along with everyone in their fancy getups.

He probably would've ruined the mood anyway, not mention Lenalee would be worried, maybe Allen too, if he noticed, and Kanda wouldn't care worth crap anyway. They didn't need to know what happened. They didn't need their mood to be ruined by him.

Lavi let out a silent sigh and rolled over onto his back, 'They deserve this, after so long.' he wasn't even technically a part of this anymore. Or he wouldn't be, once everything was said and done.

He had to pretend it didn't hurt when he thought that.

But when the knock came at his door, he couldn't help but try to feel lighter, like nothing was wrong. Especially when the voice that followed it was so distinctly Lenalee's that he couldn't not pretend, "Lavi?" she called out, knocking softly again, "Are you asleep?"

He more than willingly hefted himself up, ignoring the painful sting from Deak's hit—it was probably bruised, but he'd check it later—and maneuvered towards the door, carefully avoiding the precariously stacked books that he had acquired sometime during the move. He was almost thankful he could still see the floor—and that Deak had actually cleaned up his side of the room for once, but now wasn't the time to think about that.

His hand found the doorknob a moment later, and he carefully pulled it open, narrowly dodging another ill-placed stack of books, to reveal—
It wasn't just Lenalee standing in the doorway, still dressed in her evening attire. Allen had joined her, as well as Miranda, Krory, and even Kanda (though he really looked like he didn't want to be there). No one had changed out of their formal wear, and each (excluding Kanda) wore varying degrees of worry on their faces.

Lavi was sure then, they knew, or, at the very least, they heard something, whether from Komui or because Deak really had screwed up—he would have rather not guessed. But he knew then, his smile wasn't necessarily needed, and if he wanted to get a word in, now was the time.
"Oh—hey you guys," he could feel the smile turning thin and worn on his lips, "what's up? Something happened?" Kanda snorted in the background, but Lavi ignored it, "I mean—you guys are still all dressed up, was the party canceled?"

"No." Lenalee answered, glancing past him like she half expected someone to be in there with him, though looking relieved when she saw no one, "It just ended."

"Really?" Try as he might, he couldn't bring any emotion in his voice, "Looks like I really did miss it."

"Yeah," Allen butted in, "We looked for you, but it seemed Bookman was really angry at you earlier, what'd you do?"

"Neh, just goofed off a little too much." Even the laugh lacked the usually emotion he had behind it, "Y'know how he is—Jiji's always strict. He stuck me in the library and made me recopy some of our records." He shrugged his shoulders, but even that simple movement lacked force.

"You were in the library?" Miranda sounded nervous , "Ah, um, but—" she cast a worried look to Lenalee, who shot her one back—just as worried.
They definitely knew, Lavi decided, 'Maybe I should just ask and get it over with?' but as he opened his mouth to ask, he was cut off.

"But we just went by the library," By Krory of all people, looking concerned and pushing himself in front to stand next to Lenalee, "Are you okay?"

"Wha--?" And why he almost felt like lying—something his—something Deak would do, he didn't even want to ask.

"We saw what happened." Lenalee butted in, "It's--ruined. Were you there when it happened?" The dark haired teen somehow managed to force her way past him, knocking over a few books in the process—making Lavi cringe—before turning to face him again, "And where's Deak?"

"I don't know." The words were blurted out too quickly, "I…jus' saw 'im though." At least that was a partial truth.

Except Lenalee didn't believe him. Not entirely, from the look on her face. Lavi almost cursed the fact the girl could be so intuitive, but they all knew how Deak was. She would blame whatever state the library was in on him, because it was always Deak's fault in their eyes.

He was just the loveable baka Usagi that happened to get caught up in things.

"Really?" her voice was colder than he remembered, "Was he in the library with you?"

He felt his head nod automatically, "Yeah 'e was. Watching me fill out stuff—and makin' sure I didn't run off."

"So he would've been sent back with you?" Allen piped up, "I mean, if you're done then that means he doesn't have to watch you so—"

"Nah, nah," He didn't know where the words were coming from, but they tumbled out too fast, "Jiji's the one who said I didn't have to work anymore. He sent me back here and—"

"Took Deak with him?" Lenalee cut him off.

"Well—"

"He's the one who ruined the library, isn't he?" Lavi didn't want to say 'I didn't see it' or 'I don't know', he only shrugged. It was a good enough answer for her to continue, "Bookman sent you back here because he did—" her eyes scanned his body as she said those words, habitually checking for words, "You aren't hurt are you?"

Again, he habitually shook his head. It was just a bruise on his stomach—nothing to worry about, it would go away in a few days, "I'm fine. I—Jiji got me outta there before he—" an explanation on broken incoherent sentences, something Bookman would surely punish him for later, but with Lenalee, and Allen, Kanda—Miranda—Krory—it was okay.

It was enough to make them relax, anyway, "It's hard to believe you two are twins." Miranda stuttered out, "I mean, you're…so different that…" she trailed off, nervously, picking at the lace on her dress.

"It happens," Lavi raised a hand in comfort, "I mean, y'know it'd be creepy if we were alike." He tried to laugh, to smile, to make them relax even more, but it didn't work. Not quite.

"Che, more like annoying." Kanda snorted from the back again, arms crossed, sounding ever so much like he truly wanted to just run off.

Something Lavi could easily play off of, "Aww, yeah, we'd annoy Yuu-chan like heck." His smile didn't seem so fake anymore, "And we'd prob'ly drive Jiji up the wall." That thought immediately calmed him, "Which's prob'ly good—us not being alike, an' all." He tried another smile this time, and it didn't seem quite so hard, "It'd be fun though. Lotsa fun. But it isn't gonna happen, so there's no point bringing it up, 'specially now," the yawn he gave definitely wasn't one to be faked, and it seemed to help.

Lenalee immediately backed away, "Ah, right, it…is getting late, isn't it?" she glanced towards Miranda—the only one sensible to carry a watch at all times—and the brunette nodded her head, "I'm…sorry you couldn't make it to the party. " Lenalee turned back to face Lavi, "But I'm glad you aren't hurt."

"Ah, yeah," the words were fumbled, "I am too—I mean. When Deak gets like this there's no tellin' what he'll do."

That didn't settle on Allen's nerve, though, judging from the scowl that suddenly made its way across his face. Lavi wasn't so sure what the snow-haired teen would ask, but he knew it would wait.

Would wait until Lenalee maneuvered her way back out of the room, and bade him a swift goodnight—after Miranda, and Krory took their leave (Kanda being long gone by this point). Allen stayed, staring at him pensively before asking—

"How long will he be gone this time?"

Because Allen didn't like Deak, and Deak certainly didn't like Allen.
"Neh, I dunno." Lavi answered as honestly as he could, "I'm sure Jiji'll send 'im back to sleep, and gather some of his stuff." He paused, noticing the tensing muscles in the younger boys shoulders, "But I wouldn't worry about it. He won't hurt me."

"He'll just completely trash a library." Allen replied back, voice hallow, "And completely maim a desk—which looked like you had been working on."

'Ah,' Lavi hadn't known that. That made things more complicated.
"Just be careful." Allen continued, backing up slightly, "I don't know what…happened but, Deak doesn't really need a reason, does he?"

"To be an asshole?" Lavi tried to joke back. He didn't even know why, and the thought almost scared him.

"No, that's Kanda." It almost relieved Allen, though, which was a good thing. A very, very good thing, "I mean—he doesn't have reason to hurt someone."

Lavi didn't have to think that over before answering. Not that he had a chance to, Allen was already turning away to walk down the hall, and Lavi could see—at the end of it—Lenalee was waiting. She would always wait for him. It was sweet, if he could call anything that.

"Good night!" Allen called at the last minute, raising his good arm in a wave, before joining Lenalee –Lavi could still see, even from this distance, the pensive look on her face, and the way she stood, too rigid, even when Allen's hand dropped to grab hers –and disappearing around the corner.

Leaving Lavi. Alone. And—he hated to admit it—worried. Tired and worried.
He let out a soft exhale. Worrying wouldn't do any good. Deak knew better than to hurt him—especially after what had happened. Even if the reason was his fault—even if Deak was more than angry at him, if Bookman said no—and with the punishment—Deak would stay away as best he could.

But it would be only a matter of time, before the redhead came back—to get his things, maybe, or even to sleep, if Jiji thought he calmed down enough. It made Lavi's stomach twist in painful knots. He wasn't afraid, just pensive, and maybe just a bit paranoid as well. It was normal—he always felt this way after Deak did…something. Acted out. Was too violent.

'I need a good book,' The thought calmed him a little. Reading had always helped, and it certainly would now, if he truly wanted it to. So, turning back to his room—closing the door, tentatively, behind him, but remembering not to turn the lock—he searched the room quickly for a book to read.

He found one, easily enough, in the stack that Lenalee had accidentally tipped over. It was still partially standing—more or less leaning, in a way that Lavi was sure he could fix—but due to the tumble, one of the books he normally wouldn't have seen was uncovered.

He recognized it immediately as one Deak had horded some time ago. Knowing his look alikes preferences in books, Lavi had steered clear, but now--now--he was more than a little curious.

The cover was plain, made of a dark thick material that was much nicer than Lavi thought, it almost felt like silk, though he knew it must be fake. The spine of the book was patterned with arches and ovals, and small circles, in splashes of dark blue, navy, and deep fuchsia, in an eerily familiar pattern Lavi was sure he had seen sometime before.

He ignored it though, and opted to open it, treating the cover carefully, as he had been taught, he read the first words scrawled on the title page.
Butterfly Memorial
Lavi felt his lips twitch, certainly not what he had been expecting.

No Author was mentioned.

He turned the title page to the next.

Dedicated to my Dear Son. To Extend your time beyond the chime of an hour

Even poetic, certainly not something Lavi would have dreamed Deak would be interested in. Interest fully piqued now—after all, Deak wasn't interested in this sort of thing, so why had he picked up the book in the first place?—Lavi turned the page once more, and began to follow the words.

From prose, to poem, line, verse, exclamation, question, sonnet, song, descriptions, he followed each word, letting them sooth him as he knew they would. It was the proper distraction, yet, still, something so remotely unlike Deak, that he almost wanted him here—to ask him why he had chosen this book, and—why he hadn't noticed it before, or at least, noticed it in a too vague way that a Bookman shouldn't be allowed.

He had just flipped to the next page—the lovers, as they would be, Lavi figured, by the end of the book—when he heard the doorknob rattle and be forced, rather roughly, open. He was almost glad that—habitually—he had made his way back over to his bed, because just as the door connected with the already half demolished pile of books, they were sent careening even more violently to the floor—and in all directions.

But Deak—Deak didn't look like he cared.

It startled Lavi a little, with the completely dead look on his look-alikes face. Almost enough for him to--no--he wouldn't be worried. How could he be worried? Yes, despite what others said about him, it was in his current persona to joke about Deak, but to worry. He didn't need to keep up the act now, when they were alone…did he?

Of course not.

He watched silently as Deak shoved his bed covers aside, actions so violent in comparison with the expression, that when he suddenly fell still, covers have jerked off the bed, eye still that odd vacant—and looked at him.

He couldn't swallow the lump in his throat. But he knew Deak was expecting something. Anything. A word.

"I heard." Dammit that's not what-- but he had already said it, "From the others—about—the library." He tried his best not to sound accusing, only to sound—informative.

"Really?" Deak's voice wasn't as expressionless as his face, but it was close, "You mean you didn't notice?" Of course he'd say that. Try to make it look like he hadn't been doing his job.

"Jiji pushed me out."

"Did he?" Now he sounded bitter.

"What did you expect?" Lavi hadn't meant to match the bitterness, "You don't exactly pay attention to what you're doing when you go psycho."

"I don't go psycho."

"Of course not," Again, he put sarcasm there—when it wasn't the time. He couldn't even look Deak in the eye anymore, instead, dipping his gaze back to the book in front of him. The two would-be lovers were quarreling over something all too natural, on a sunlight porch somewhere in Italy, by the ocean. Lavi almost wished he could go there; he always liked the ocean anyway. Even if Deak hated it, and Jiji disliked the sun—it would be a good place to relax.

And it could be fun, he could convince them that they both needed it, that would be a 'Lavi' thing to say, right? But he wasn't 'Lavi', not really, but he did like the sun, and waves, and being outdoors. Those things hadn't changed, no matter what persona he took on.

He felt his lips twitch into a smile, but knew immediately that the action wouldn't go unseen. Almost immediately he felt the mattress dip down with added weight, and then breath, puffing, right in his face, near his ear.
"You're reading that?" He asked, too close for comfort, before shifting and leaning against the wall.

"Neh, I was bored." Lavi answered, trying his best to ignore the red head, and instead, focusing on flipping the page.

"You know it has a bad ending."

He raised an eyebrow at that, "For you, or for me?"

"For you." Suddenly the book was ripped from his hands, and the pages roughly turned until it was a few pages from the end, "See? Right here. He's accused of Rape, murder, necrophilia," Lavi grimaced, "oh and what's great is—he actually has an affair with the maid in the same room her body is in." he paused for a moment, a grin forming on his lips at Lavi's pained expression, "the thing is, too, everyone could hear them! Isn't it funny?"

"No, no it's not." But Lavi doubted Deak heard him, as he thumbed through the pages again, "Actually—I…don't think I wanna read the rest now." Before Deak could say much else, he forced himself up off the bed, and headed towards the door. For all he knew, Deak would start reading aloud--something he always did, whenever he got to, what he called, 'the best part'—and Lavi didn't want to hear it, especially not now when the one thing he wanted was sleep.

"Where are you going?" He only managed to get to the door, though, hand on the knob, ready to turn it, when Deak spoke up.

"For a walk." Lavi tried not to hear when the bed creaked again, and booted footsteps hit the floor in an eerily familiar way.

"Really? This late at night?" Deak was right behind him now, and Lavi nearly cursed himself for not moving faster, "Master will get mad at you, he said we both have to wake up early tomorrow."

"Really?" His voice was strained but he managed the word out, "You really musta pissed him off." Maybe that hadn't been the best thing for him to say, but it was the first thing he could think of.

"Yeah, I think I did." Lavi saw the hand coming, out of the corner of his eye, and tensed when it fell, easily, over his own, "So you shouldn't go out." Deak continued, squeezing his hand, almost painfully, before extracting it from the doorknob, "Don't want to make Master any angrier, do we?"

"Nah, I guess not." Lavi agreed, "But I'll avoid 'im. An' I really think a walk'll—"

"Do you good?" Deak cut him off, "When you can just stay in here and read?" he squeezed Lavi's hand again, in a too warm grip, "I can read to you if you like."
"I'd rather not." But he couldn't pull his grip away, no matter how hard he tugged, Deak only squeezed tighter.

"But it helps!" Deak chided in a falsely sweet tone, "It's been proven multiple times, especially in young children. You should know this."

Lavi exhaled, "One, I'm not a kid, two, I don't think a kid'll fall asleep to whatever you'll be reading."

Deak let out a laugh, leaning in closer, "True, but I think you will." Lavi tried to ignore the puff of breath, and what it did to the knots in his stomach, "Or, well, you might get all hot and bothered, but then,"

Deak stepped away before he could finish, loosening his grip on Lavi's hand, but not enough to where the other could slip his hand out easily. He let an eerie smile finish his own sentence, as he coaxed Lavi into turning around to face him fully.

All while the redhead teen couldn't help that he was walking into a trap, but with Deak—he didn't know. Who could know? With the way he snapped, teased, trapped, tormented—Lavi didn't even want to ask. He knew it was better not to, in the long run.

But he couldn't help panicking, when—once Deak had fully turned him around—he was forced, violently, against the door. It was vibrant, and bright, like the hair color they both shared, and it flared somewhere in the back of his mind, where common sense usually made its home. The flare turned to blaze as a leg was forced between his own, and, before he could even raise his free hand in protest, it too, was trapped in a crushing grip.

"That would make two of us," Deak murmured, lowly, pressing his leg harder in between Lavi's legs, pressing against the one spot that made the blaze catch fire to nearly every other part of Lavi's still-sane brain.

But Lavi didn't understand. Every train of thought that would have told him what was—what this—how to—going on—was--react--caught fire and fell to ashes before he could so much as comprehend it.

All he felt was panic. Pure, searing panic in the fact that he could feel something else there—a physical answer to his question—pressing against his thigh so intimately that--

"What the hell, Deak?!" He could struggle, at the very least. It was hard, but not impossible, if he shifted just so, he could bring up his leg and—the angle wasn't right, but all he needed to do was get out of the room. The door was right behind him. It was easy enough—

He pulled his leg back as far as he could, and brought it up. The impact wasn't as forceful as he wanted, but then, he knew it wouldn't have been, and it didn't help that Deak let out a hitched groan, and not a pained grunt. It made the knots in Lavi's stomach twist so tight he almost felt numb. That, added with the constant pressure on his groin, and the soreness of his hands, and the odd angle altogether, did strange things to his equilibrium.

But he had to ignore it—fight against it--something--because Deak wasn't—wasn't—

"You know," Lavi averted his gaze from Deak's triumphant gaze, "that felt good. Do that again," he grimaced as Deak bucked against his leg, using the leg between his own to grind, painfully, against his—his—

He was not getting turned on by this. He wasn't. The friction down there hurt. He did not like pain, Deak was a liar—a habitual one, he didn't know anything about Lavi, and what he liked in regards to…that. Lavi would never tell him, he would never—
"Fuck, Deak!" He tried once more to get his reflection away, chancing to grip the others hands with dull nails in a grip that was sure to draw blood, "Get--off!"

Finally, a hiss of pain slipped past the other's lips, and Lavi could feel something other than sweat on his hands as his nails effectively bit into skin. The grip loosened, momentarily, because of this, and Lavi—almost, almost slipped away.

Deak used his bodyweight to force him back, though, head cracking painfully against the wall, making the room spin momentarily.

"You know you won't win." Deak murmured, hotly, using Lavi's moment of disorientation to retighten his grip, and press ever closer, "But I have to say—it is fun to see you struggle."

Lavi swallowed, trying hard to get the world back into focus, but all he could see was a face too much like his own, with a confident smirk, and a lone green eye, darkened by lust. It sickened Lavi that his—his twin could get off on…something like this, but as much as disgust reigned supreme…he couldn't help but feel…just a little curious.

He shook the thought away immediately, swallowing thickly as he pressed himself as far away from his twin as he could. Given the situation, the motion was useless, as Deak pressed ever closer, letting out a grunt of pleasure as he continued grinding against him. Lavi wasn't sure when his position had shifted, but now it was direct contact—clothed as they still were, but still so painfully intimate. He could feel Deak pressing against his clothed confines, which in turn was pressing against whatever arousal was budding from this—unwanted contact.

Bookman always said giving into carnal pleasure would be ones downfall, as the body often enjoyed pleasures the owner detested. It would often react unwillingly, at inopportune times, and it was something that—though natural—a Bookman must control.

Now had to be one of those times. It was unwanted, Lavi wanted it to stop, to run, get as far away from his other as he could, to self-asses what had happened, to—to gain control over his body. Something which Deak was preventing, not only for himself, but Lavi could see—passion was taking over his body as well.

Falling prey to passion of any kind was weakness.

'Is this why he won't become Bookman?' the thought was dull, banging around in his mind, which suddenly felt too empty, and too full all the same. He couldn't ponder the question, he knew, not when Deak—right in front of him—looking so much like him—

He gritted his teeth as the heat in his lower stomach rose in tendrils, snaking to different parts of his body, making his legs effectively feel like jell-o, and forcing himself to use the door as support.

He didn't like it, though, he hated those tendrils of heat, the grinding, the arousal that shouldn't be there and the fact that his twin was—making him—this--happen.

He cursed his training as well. His whole world was focused on the one person in front of him—which shouldn't be, but was--and he noticed it all. The way the sweat trickled down the side of his look-alike's neck, the way his eye was half lidded, and the eye patch looked almost ready to slip off. The hands as well—flexing against his own, though sweat slicked. He was sure Deak was too warm, warmer than he was, anyway. It was almost interesting. Almost captivating.

Lavi dully wondered if that was how he would look during sex. But he pushed the thought violently away; it wasn't something he should think of. Ever. But the thought, unlike the previous, took up each valuable piece of space in Lavi's empty, but overstuffed brain.

But—he didn't want it. Didn't like it. Wanted to filter it out as soon as possible, but that was impossible. He could feel his brother's quickening breaths, puffing against his face, eye now shut tightly against the pleasure. It was almost interesting to watch. Watch, through rising tendrils of heat, and acute vision, as he lost control.

His arousal twitched, and he felt a soft gasp fall from his lips before he could seal his lips. It caught Deak's attention, causing his eye to snap open and focus on him. Lavi shuddered at what reflected there, and the lazy grin that was so much like the ones he gave the others—

'Are we really so different?' no time for contemplation, though, when Deak opened his mouth.

"See? You're…enjoying this…too." The effort of speech almost seemed too much, his breathing was sharp and heavy afterward, tongue running tantalizingly over lips as he leaned in closer. Lavi flinched when their foreheads connected, noting the sweat that, at some point, had begun to form on his brow.

"Why don't…you enjoy…this, just once?" the words were a little more collected, and not as much slurred, but they held a sort of…implication…that Lavi didn't want to know the meaning of, "I know…you're such a…goody-goody," Deak continued, his hips slowing fractionally in their once-frantic thrusts, "But…you know…you'll need this…at some point."

Lavi opened his mouth to respond, but no words would come. His throat was dry, lips chapped, and suddenly the world seemed just a bit clearer. Need? A Bookman never needed anything. Unless the old man had been lying, but Lavi thought—knew—now wasn't the time to mention…
that person. Not during a situation that shouldn't be happening to begin with.

"We're…human, you know," Deak panted against his ear when the silence extended, his thrusting now only a sporadic jerk, "We're…allowed to do…this…"

"N-No," Lavi's answer was stuttered, but immediate, as he gasped for breath he knew he shouldn't need, "We—don't…it's…not." the words didn't seem to want to come, though, and it was embarrassingly weak. He swallowed another gulp of air and tried again, "we don't need this. It isn't allowed." He panted at the effort of complete sentences, "where the fuck did you get that from?" he managed to end on a complete one as well, though his voice waned. He didn't want to admit it, but now—with the friction between nearly stopped—

He wanted it back. Or—no—not him, but his body did, and the arousal between his legs screamed it nearly tenfold. He ignored them though, it was his body after all, it listened to his mind (which was, albeit, a little empty, and too full), and his heart (or what was left of it to say "No", but even that had grown weaker).

Lavi was almost glad to see the livid, pained, angered expression on Deak's face, "I got it from," he started, words dripping with a kind of frustration Lavi couldn't place, "knowing I wanted you ever since I kept having those fucking dreams about you."

Well that hadn't been what Lavi was expecting.

"But I'm not going to be some fucking priss and try to do this the right way." Deak hissed out, and, with one last grind, and one last squeeze, his hands were suddenly set free—or at least, Deak was only holding them with one hand, the other dove between their bodies to the zipper of Lavi's tight white pants.

And he didn't need to ask, really, to know what the redhead was up to. It made the clenching in his stomach come back, and it turned red hot tendrils into ice, chilling his boiling blood, and making his body burn in a way that flames never could.

Lavi didn't have to ask, but he found himself forming the words anyway, hoarse, and tinged with as much fear as he would allow, "Why?"

--are you doing this?

--did it have to be me?

--the hell are you forcing me?!

"Because if I didn't," Deak murmured, working the zipper down, "if I went slow and—fuck—you'd be taken already. I'm not an idiot, I know you haven't been with anyone before." The zipper caught on the fabric, in his haste, and he slowed down, easing it until it became unstuck, "It's probably some sick fantasy of mine—you know it is."

'No,' Lavi wanted to say, 'No I didn't.'

He felt air hit what had once been covered by fabric, as Deak worked his pants down his legs, as far as his hand could reach without jeopardizing his grip on his hands.

"But fuck if I care, sick fantasy or not. I'm not passing it up anymore." His knee was back, pressing, and Lavi tried his best to ignore the tent forming in his boxers, which Deak himself seemed all too happy with. "I don't give a damn if someone hears—sees—it'll just be like that maid." He leaned in closer, foreheads touching again, for a split second, until Deak shifted again, resting his forehead on Lavi's shoulder.

"You'd be just like that maid that Celso(1) fucked," his fingertips brushed lightly against the waistband of Lavi's boxers, before dipping underneath, teasing. Lavi bit his lip, but it was too late. A soft groan had slipped past his tightly sealed lips, and Deak had heard. The redhead grinned in the almost manic way he had so much earlier—when they had been in the library—and Lavi couldn't help the way his muscles tensed. This wasn't going to end well.

Strangely, though, Deak pulled away, hand extracting itself from inside his pants, to tap at his stomach, poke his navel, make his breath hitch—because Deak knew he was ticklish there—before said hand ghosted over to one hip, gripping tightly.

"You aren't a bitch though," Deak's tone was contemplative, as he ran his fingers over Lavi's thigh, fingers hooking, and unhooking, at the waistline of his boxers, "Nor are you female, but," the fingers dipped in again, running along his hip bone lightly enough for it to tickle, "I wonder if I can take you like one?"

Lavi's muscles tensed at the—he hoped, theoretical—question. Judging from the near predatory smirk crawling its way across the others face—he knew it was literal. Who was he kidding? This was Deak, of course it was literal—of course he was going to go through with it—

Of course the pit of his stomach dropped out in fear, and not excitement. Or at least, that's what Lavi told himself. He didn't get much chance to think it over before he was roughly manhandled for the second time that evening. For another split moment the world became oddly disoriented, and Lavi had to vaguely wonder how hard he had hit his head earlier, but before he could gauge the damage, the world righted itself—and he was facing the door, hands still pressed against the door, bent over.

Lavi wasn't ignorant; he knew what this position meant, and what would soon happen if he didn't get away. He forced the panic back down, and began to struggle—trying his best to claw at the one hand binding his wrists, but to no avail.

"Why are you struggling?" He could feel Deak lean over him, chest pressed to his back one hand running underneath his shirt, in a mock-soothing way. "If you struggle this will only hurt worse, and make you more like that maid."

"Stop breaking up that fucking book already!" Lavi managed to wheeze out despite the increasing weight on his back, "And let me go—you're—"

"Don't you mean bringing?" Deak pointed out, laughing, "and I'm what?" He pressed closer rubbing his arousal into Lavi's backside, "Don't play naïve now," Deak hided, "you know I won't let you go, I'll get what I want, and you won't be able to do a damn thing."

Lavi wanted to say that yes he had a say so in it, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, he started his struggle again, pushing back roughly against the redhead in attempts to make him stumble back—lose his balance. But just like before, it only seemed to bring the other pleasure.

The hand binding his own together, squeezed tighter—digging into his wrists, and definitely bruising them—as Deak bucked against Lavi once more, hissing out as his arousal pressed into the crease of Lavi's boxers, rubbing there for a moment, searching for something—

Lavi shivered when Deak found it. His nerves were on end from the position, and the stress, and the damn fact that Deak was him, in an oddly twisted sort of way—so of course he'd know how to pleasure him—or at least that was Lavi's elaborate excuse for why it felt good.

"Like that?" Lavi just wished Deak hadn't pointed it out, gritting his teeth to stop a moan that would have come, and forcing his body still.
Or trying to, anyway.

It only seemed to amuse Deak more, as he bucked once again, against Lavi's backside. Then he stopped, and Lavi could feel the weight again, against his back, as Deak leaned forward to whisper in his ear, "There is one thing you can do." His breath ghosted warmly across Lavi's shoulder, and he found himself suppressing yet another shiver.

He didn't need to ask what it was, either.

Deak already knew, "Enjoy it." It was simple enough, almost a request, "As sick a fantasy as this is, I don't want—" He pulled away before he finished, falling oddly silent as his hand ran along Lavi's side again, hooking into his boxers, before shifting them down, lower.

Lavi let out another shiver, when the boxers were pulled down to mingle with his pants, and he didn't get a chance to contemplate on how much cooler the room felt against skin that wasn't supposed to be warm, but was.

Maybe "Enjoy it" hadn't so much been a request, as an order. Deak did have a way with words whenever he truly wanted something, but this something was not an object—or at least, Lavi hoped he wasn't one, no matter how sick and twisted Deak was—and that thought was pushed almost as far back as the rest.

Because he still didn't want this.

Except—enjoying it didn't seem to be as bad an option now.

He couldn't say he was prepared, though, for when Deak pressed in. He knew he wouldn't be stretched—he had the feeling Deak didn't give a righteous fuck about that sort of thing—and bringing it up had been so far out of the question, because he was concentrating on his breathing, and not feeling like he was going to be ripped apart at the seams.

But it wasn't working. His arms had started tugging again, in his grip, and he almost had them loose, even though now it didn't really matter. He was being pounded into the door, and he would be, regardless, and his vision was just a bit blurry on the edges where he knew tears were accumulating.

'Enjoy it my ass!' Lavi thought, bitterly, squeezing his one good eye shut, before pressing his forehead against the door. He concentrated on the way the wood creaked at each thrust, ignoring the ever escalating groans—which Lavi wished were nonexistent—Deak made.

But then, he hadn't expected Deak to be quiet, did he?

No. Of course not. He just concentrated on his breathing, on the way it hurt just to do such a simple motion as inhaling.

The door creaked painfully, and for a moment he worried that it might crack, but then the doors at the Order were notorious for being very thick. That theory had been tested—more than once—because of him, and Mugen, and Allen being righteously pissed off—and it was even bulletproof.

Lavi didn't want to remember how that happened, and now definitely wasn't the time, but with the hurt in his backside, and the fact that something was trickling down it that wasn't sweat, or ejaculate, just made his train of thought that much more desperate for a distraction.

A distraction that came when added pressure to his back, and Deak letting his hands go, shot tiny little sparks flying through his now thoroughly numbed legs. Lavi knew what it was immediately, and he also knew that it shouldn't hurt afterward—that it should make this whole thing that much bearable—

If he could get over blood being lubricant, and the fact "Enjoy it" seemed almost like an order.

He let out a gasp regardless, when that spot was hit again, and soon that was Deak's focus. If Lavi hadn't known more, he probably would have thought it was endearing that Deak—the asshole of all assholes (fighting for the crown, constantly, which Kanda still held)—was trying to make him feel good.
Except for it was Deak.

And the blood lubricant.

And the order to take pleasure from it.

His groans slowly turned to yelps as Deak's free hand snaked its way to his front and began to pump away, once more, at his member. The dual stimulus made his ears buzz, and his eyesight go blurry a few more times than necessary. Even his hands—which were helping him not ram his face into the door at every thrust—seemed to fall out of vision after a while, as slowly—painfully slowly—pleasure took over.

He lost all sense of the training Bookman had tried so hard to instill in him. The pocket watch he had rightfully earned now lacked meaning, and it almost hurt to feel so empty. Or to know that he would after this height of pleasure—

Because he had fallen for it. So irrevocably, so completely, he couldn't deny anymore that the hand on his arousal, the--thing--currently up his ass, it felt good to lose control.

Tantalizingly Terrifying

Lustful, but never Love

Hurt that led to Hate

And the emptiness that would soon come.

He felt all these things, as he felt the break, slowly, easing up, and suddenly he could feel the door back under his hands, and the floor, solid beneath his feet as his muscles weakened under the crushing weight, and the feeling of someone so close to him—breathing—panting—catching their breath, being inside him in that most intimate way.

And the sticky warmth that came with it, which he had never felt before, but had read about. He braced himself for the next emotion—the next feeling—for it would be bigger, more devastating than the rest.

But it never came, with Deak, sweaty and breathless, leaning on him. Maybe it was the human comfort of skin on skin, or the fact that he still wouldn't pull out, even though Lavi's legs would eventually give—and only then was the solidness of the floor not welcome, as it crashed into his knees.

He would have bruises there, too, come morning, and even though he knew what that meant—the questions that would be asked—it didn't matter. He didn't feel the dread, in his saturated limbs, nor could he feel disgusted as Deak gained enough sense to pull out, causing seed to slither down his sides. Lavi might have thought, 'I'm glad I'm wearing white.' if he had enough sense to care that much.

All he knew was that his back felt cold, as Deak moved away, back, a distance, knocking over some scattered books in the process. Neither cared, though, and Lavi didn't mind a glance at the redhead. He just stayed there, kneeling, not really thinking, not really piecing anything together.

But he knew he would, eventually, somewhere in the back of his mind, where he had stored the other questions that had come up. The only question was--when?

-A few hours later-

Lavi had the distinct feeling he woke up too early. His back was sore, his arms, and legs too, felt like play-doh, and he would have much rather sunk back into his sheets and gone back to bed—

Except for he couldn't.

Muffled voices could be heard from out in the hall—which Lavi knew, was probably what woke him in the first place—but it wasn't the normal voices he would usually hear. It wasn't just Bookman's aged tone, or Deak's condescending words. It was Komui's, as well, and he sounded panicked, and angry.

Angry? It wasn't something Lavi heard often, or something the head chief showed often. But no matter how hard Lavi focused, he couldn't hear much more than muffled tones, and a few sparce words, and even if he wanted to get up and move closer, his body protested the movement.

He almost wanted to ask why, but it was too early, and he wanted his sleep, and he was keeping those kinds of thoughts at bay simply by being too blurry minded to focus. Maybe he would regret it later, but it was helping now. Helping now, somehow, with the muffled voices arguing on the other side of the door—

'But why're they arguing out in the hall?' if it was early, others would surely hear them, and that wouldn't be good, right? If Lenalee heard—Allen, or Krory, or Miranda—they would be angry at Deak.

They still didn't believe him when he said Deak hadn't done anything.

But then—now—they would be right, as flashes of the night before danced beneath his eyelids. Taunting him with how weak he had been, how Deak had forced him against the very same door he walked through every day, and how—
The base of his skull twinged as the voices suddenly escalated. It was almost surprising to note the other voice that joined—

"That doesn't mean a fuck." Kanda, it was Kanda of all people, "You weren't the one to fucking find him in the bathroom weeping and throwing up like a damn girl!"

Lavi squeezed his eyes shut at that. It wasn't what he wanted to hear. It—
Komui and Bookman tried to calm him, but then Deak—

"Not my fault he ran out like a fucking priss. Besides, it's not like you to care, is it?"

"It doesn't take away the fact that what you did was inexcusable." That was Allen—when had Allen come? Or was he there the whole time? "Lavi is our friend even Kanda considers him one—" there was a moment of silence, "And you hurt him."

"Ask him how he reacted to it before accusing me of anything." Deak spat back, and then Lavi heard footsteps, then the door—then—"See?" He visibly flinched when Deak—hair strewn messily and clothes crinkled like he hadn't thought to change—appeared in the doorway, "He's up. You can ask him."

It almost hurt too much that Lavi saw Lenalee standing there too, sobbing quietly into Allen's shoulder. But no one moved, even though the door hung, wide open on its hinges. And Lavi, for the life of him, couldn't make his mouth work. Maybe he didn't want to, or maybe he did.

Maybe he just wanted to close his eyes and go back to sleep, because it was just too early in the morning.

But with their stares—each in varying degrees of hurt and horror and anger--even Kanda's normal façade of indifference was cracked—Lavi could see it. It felt good to see it, but it hurt.

He couldn't remember running from the room last night. He couldn't remember being led—or carried back—maybe he would find out soon. But not now, with them staring at him, and him, feeling so open—

Open and so, entirely empty.

'Don't ask.' he wanted to say, though the words wouldn't form, 'Just…please…don't ask.'

Because you don't want to know.

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(1) Celso is the name of the main character in the book Lavi read (and Deak almost read aloud from), it's italian and means "upright/statly"...quite hypocritical given with what he does...(also YES I made up the book as well, I just happen to really like the title Butterfly Memorial so I may be using it again...)

As always, Reviews would be much appreciate, since this is my first 'explicit' lemon, I'd like to know how I did, but please be gentle -bows head. Oh and I'm going on vacation starting tomorrow, and I don't know if I'll get internet access anywhere, so if I don't answer your review--that's the reason why!

-goes off to hide in a dark corner somewhere-