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Originally Posted by gg's
As promised, Schneizel x Kannon’s Hat.
Kannon Maldini had been off somewhere all day. Schneizel remarked to himself that this was hardly surprising. After all, Kannon was a very busy man whose mere presence exhumed an aura of debauched sluttiness, and he was probably living up to that reputation right now. It was difficult to pinpoint the exact source of Kannon’s slutty nature. Perhaps it was those silky black gloves, god knows how many people they had touched. Or those retarded little coat-tails he had, which had the unfortunate tendency to conceal his ass. Perhaps it was his slutty green jacket or those epaulets which weren’t really epaulets or the hat. Yes, of course, that hat.
Schneizel was glad he had remembered the hat in time, because after all he was already getting quite excited while trying to, academically mind you, define the exact cause of Kannon’s sluttiness through a mental itinerary of his wardrobe. He had been concerned that had he not found the cause in time, he would have soon been unable to think and would have to throw open the doors of Kannon’s closet, pull out the nearest item of clothing, and **** it to pieces. But hats were somewhat easier.
Furtively, Schneizel excused himself from whatever important matter he was attending to, and headed to Kannon’s bedroom. On the way he could have sworn that Nunnally gave him a funny look, but of course he had imagined that, and even if she had, he could have always violated her wheelchair. (Then again, something so mechanical was probably best reserved for Lloyd, who was so unfortunately not around at present.)
Letting himself into Kannon’s room, Schneizel ignored what appeared to be a shrine dedicated to him, slutty clothing strewn everywhere, and some certain files marked property of Naoto, and went straight for the hat. It was surprising enough that Kannon had gone out without it. This was surely a sign of fate. Schneizel did not believe in fate or anything else, so perhaps Kannon had left the hat there with the deliberate intention of letting him **** it. So understanding.
Schneizel lifted the hat with both hands and studied it. It was carefully crafted, still quite new and kept in a perfect state of cleanliness. The damned thing would usually sit atop of Kannon’s silky hair all day, taunting him with its ridiculous shape. He caressed the gold trim and soft fabric of the hat, and smirked at the thought of its imminent defilement. “You want this, don’t you,” he muttered in a harsh whisper.
The hat, being perfectly insolent, gave no response.
“You dirty piece of cloth,” Schneizel said to the hat, breathing more rapidly. “You’re no better than Rolo a dishrag.”
The hat’s silence was similar to, if not equal to, assent. The gold trim gleamed wryly.
“THAT’S IT,” Schneizel exclaimed, and threw himself and the hat onto Kannon’s bed. Normally when defiling someone in this manner, he would rip off their clothes, but the hat being clothing itself made this act impossible. This was also frustrating. “You…dirty…little…son of a…” he muttered. (Again, an anachronism. Hats did not bear children, or so he hoped.) For a moment he stared at the half-crumpled hat clutched tightly in his hand, and wondered exactly how terrible this was going to look if word of it got out. But of course he didn’t care. Schneizel hastily threw off his own clothing, pressed the hat close to himself, and began ****ing it with much more than 50% enthusiasm.
“Oh god,” Kannon heard his liege moan as he walked down the hallway back to his own room. This hardly surprised him; Kannon was aware that the second prince had various vices and was often called in to fulfill a number of them. Nevertheless, he had had a long day running errands, and was slightly less than pleased to hear Schneizel apparently pleasuring himself in his own room.
“Oh god…yes…you dirty little piece of…” Here was a sound of shuffling of what sounded like paper and a pause, and then Schneizel’s voice read out in an official and unemotional manner, “80% cotton”, before resuming moaning obscenely. Kannon paused before the door. He considered knocking, or walking away, or any number of reasonable options. He decided the hell with it. As he had something quite heavy in his hands at the moment, Kannon kicked the door open.
He was met with the sight of Schneizel furiously ****ing his hat, on his bed, with a look of decidedly strange and previously unknown purpose and enthusiasm on his face.
“Your Highness,” Kannon said in a choked voice, as he realized why he was always ordered to wear that hat during sex.
His blue eyes became unfocused and teary with despair.
He dropped the object in his hands to the floor. It was a cake with Schneizel’s face on it, which he had coerced Cecile into making after much persuasion. A present with which he had hoped to charm his way into exactly the kind of encounter the hat was enjoying now.
The cake frosting spattered in a not entirely decent manner on the floor.
Schneizel looked up as if nothing was unusual in the world.
A bird flew by outside.
CLAMP wept.
“Y-your Highness,” Kannon stammered out in a half-sob.
Schneizel looked at him pensively. For a moment Kannon felt hopeful and wanted again. He tried to look at the face of his beloved, tried to speak to him with his eyes. He tried not to look at the hat.
“Oh, for ****’s sake, Maldini,” Schneizel finally said, “the cake could have joined in too.”
END
I don’t ever want to mention this again.
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Rest in peace Mara Sig
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