A slice of Caike (GONE fanfic)

Perhaps

Caine, with an air of indifference, would push Drake to the bed with invisible hands. The blonde hated it, as the feeling of a palpable but unseeable force was very unnerving, but he hated more so that Caine refused to look at him with anything other than passive superiority.

Caine kept his back facing Drake as they took their clothes off, trying to placate his embarrassment with thoughts of Diana who he could only fantasize about fucking that night. Still, the company of his henchmen was better company than the likes of his own hand. He still had to pretend, still use his imagination, but this was better than before. Not as good as actually fucking Diana, but good. Much better than fucking himself.

He turned around, with a ginger step out of his pants. Drake had done as expected, but like always, he kept his articles of clothing pulled to his bare skin, concealing what lay beneath. But unlike always, the blonde wasn't completely looking away.

Caine couldn't say that he was ungrateful for Drake hiding himself, but he only slammed the blonde across the bed and into the headboard because he had been staring for too long.

Drake crumpled against the headboard, now shed of any decency, and clutched his scalp. Blood began to well up between his fingers. He whimpered silently, and although shielded adequately by his arms, he could have died from embarrassment and hot rage.

"Don't stare at me." Disregarding Drakes head injury, Caine finally broke the silence as he slid onto the bed.

Drake didn't apologize. He didn't think he had been staring, if anything, he felt like Caine was the one embarrassing him. It was just... Weird. To see Caine, a king by all accounts and whom Drake hated, completely naked and even a little turned on. Drake lied and told himself that he didn't also mirror that last state.

"I'm not going to be rough because you looked, Merwin, I'm going to be rough because it's been a while." Caine gingerly tipped Drakes hips upwards, and he admired the view. Drake had a nice ass, for a dude, and if one didn't look too much in detail, a body like that of Diana's could be imagined.

The blonde buried his face in the pillow. This was the most degrading part, just barely worse than the actual fucking, because it made Drake feel like Caine actually cared enough to prepare and look him over.

The slippery fluid was room temperature to Caine's fingers, but cold enough to Drake to make him seize up. Caine's telekinesis made it a lot easier to maintain the position of Drakes trembling body, but that didn't mean that Drake wouldn't have collapsed otherwise. It was the cocktail of sensation and humiliation that made the blonde feel like he was falling apart.

Caine was done stroking his fingers over the rim, and had ventured deeper to coat the inside walls. It would be a lie to say that he didn't go a little deeper then necessary, just to watch the sadist squirm. With just a touch of the blondes most sensitive spot, he would become easily under the control of Caine's fingertips. Caine got off on it, the absolute control and dominance serving to a complete erection. That rush was something difficult to achieve with anyone else. Especially Diana, who was so difficult to control much unlike Drake.

"Done." Caine pulled his fingers from Drake with a slick popping noise. "Now, is that really the hard part about this entire experience?"

"S-shut up." Drake knew what he was referring too, and closed his legs even tighter. He couldn't help it, and he was angry that Caine had managed to make him feel good, but not angry enough to protest. Although, an invisible force pressing his face into the pillow did contribute to his complacency.

"Good advice. Remember the rules."
Drake grit his teeth. Right, the rules. He had to be as quite as possible, not only because they could be discovered, but because Caine wouldn't have anything get in the way of his Diana themed fantasy. There would be no looking, no touching other then at the hips, and absolutely no indication that Drake wasn't Diana.