Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7826851.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      D.Gray-man
  Relationship:
      Cross_Marian/Allen_Walker, Cross_Marian/Nea_Walker
  Character:
      Cross_Marian, Allen_Walker, Nea_Walker
  Additional Tags:
      oh_man, this_was_a_mistake, Frottage, Blowjobs, 69, Anal, Bondage,
      foodplay, Vouyerism, lots_and_lots_of_mutual_pining, Drabbles, Kink_Meme
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-08-21 Updated: 2016-11-09 Chapters: 2/30 Words: 2947
****** Thirty Times ******
by MissFranTastic
Summary
     Thirty short stories or vignettes of Cross and Allen('s body) for 30
     day OTP challenge. Enjoy.
***** Sweet Little Lies *****
Chapter Notes
     Ah oh um oops. Day one, naked cuddles. Also writing with Musical
     McCree and Athena!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Missions, missions, missions. The Order was fine letting Allen go back to work
if he was monitored, but an asset as precious as a crow need not be expended,
no, he would be watched by his peers. His trust was garnered with a white lie
by his master, the scoundrel, that they were fucking. How horrified the round
table looked then just thinking about it, the master and student, the playboy
and the introvert, the sinning father and the innocent sinner. The threats and
concerns were immediate. Lock them up? Seperate them? Keep them far away from
eachother, don't let their sinful corruption spread?
 
And then he smirked, oh, that demon Lvellie smirked. It was like watching satan
pricking up a grin, raising Allen's heckles and drawing goose bumps against his
skin. “If, these two lovers love each other so purely let them be unimpeded.
Move Walker to Marain's room.” The shock playing across Cross’ face twitching
from amazement to horror within a second before settling back into his default
lazy, handsome grin with his visible eye crinkling behind a lens with knowing
joy. He drew his legs off of the conference table where they usually lay,
disrespecting the authority of the Order and their God above and sauntered to
Allen, blowing in his ear and clasping a hand on his left shoulder before
departing, letting his hand trail slowly as if to show dominance and ownership
to the room while leaving a positively steaming red Allen in his wake.
Though the two had initially slept on opposite sides of the absolutely enormous
bed, fully clothed and over the covers, Allen still felt an all too familiar
feeling of heat and incredible shame lashing against his gut as he tried to
sleep, ruining his rest as he laid in a bed of shame and lies. By the third
night, Cross scoffed and took his apprentice by the scruff of his neck and none
too gently pushed him into the bed and crawled atop him, coming to rest cheek
to cheek with the pale boy. He whispered in his ear, smoky breath laced with
the familiar smell of wine, “you know they're watching. Learn to act, idiot
apprentice.”
 
And oh, did Allen act. He acted as best as he could, acted he didn't want that
that body over him, he didn't want to be pinned and ravished, treated like each
and every whore and woman his Master had ever taken into bed and pressed his
face into before filling them entirely. But acting would go only so far when
the offending Master hooks his hand into the loops of your pants and presses
your lower halves together. Allen's breath hitched as he felt the sweet
friction on his member. Cross looked at him questioningly, then scoffed,
tucking Allen's face into his shoulder before shamelessly undoing Allen's pants
and diving his hand down to cup his package and gently rub it with his thumb.
“Good little church boys don't masturbate, but with me you don't have to now,
do you?”
 
He pumped once, twice, thrice, and Allen positively shrieked as he clung to his
master and his pants were soiled embarrassingly. They slept on opposite sides
of the bed again that night, Allen's small frame tucked under heavy covers and
Cross’ bulky one laying on its back above them. The next night, his Master made
no attempt to coerce him closer before Allen slipped under the covers and into
a fitful sleep. Who died that night in his dreams? Mana? Someone he couldn't
save? Lenalee? He shot forward into cradling arms, shaking, tears holding their
place in his eyes. He was a man now, too old to cry over the demons of his past
that could never move again, never hurt him again, never call out again- he
choked as a large hand cradled his head into a broad chest of smoke and musk,
another hand tracing up and down his spine wordlessly. There they stayed, who
knows how many hours, until the beginnings of the Sun's violet and scarlet hues
danced in through a tinted window and played light across the floor.
 
The next night, the two slept together, calmly, wordlessly, under the covers
and in their clothes, still not touching but drawing closer. When Cross woke
that morning to the craving of nicotine and the hunger for alcohol to burn his
throat, his hair had found its way tangled into Allen's human hand and he
decided, just perhaps, he could remain there a bit longer.
 
That day, Allen was sent on a mission with Lavi, simple enough, in and out. He
fidgeted, unused to freedom again, Cross assured himself as Allen stepped
through the gate to fight, to protect. One day, to die. But today was not that
day, Cross told himself, helping himself to a liquid lunch as he went through
his daily interrogations. Still, the sweet burn and buzz permeating from the
base of his skull out to his heavy chest did nothing to alleviate his worry.
 
When his apprentice came home, smiling, safe, he'd never admit how it made his
chest flutter with pride or satisfaction. When Allen came into his, their, room
that evening, tired pools of silver dragging up to meet a sole burning amber
hidden behind glass, he didn't expect a well done. He didn't expect to be held,
nor peppered with kisses, nor undone. His body laid down, touched, tasted,
marked upon the scars and war wounds that marred his pale flesh, as his voice
rose up.
 
He awoke in the morning, ass pressed against his master's crotch, human hand
threaded into the ginger's behind him. He gasped a moment, realizing no length
was pressing against him, never had, that all of this was still a lie of
protection, a lie of convenience, a lie. He bit his lip before slipping into
the woods, working his routine before the sun came to greet him. His body
hadn't been worked to its maximum lately and it would surely leave hom
vulnerable. It wasn't tears spilling down his cheeks, rolling down his throat
and chest. No one could prove a thing.
 
Cross was startled to awake alone. He bit his lip bitterly as he felt the cool
sheeting next to him. Was this emptiness what all those women felt as he
absconded through windows, out backdoors and down gutters? Of course not, he
assured himself. They loved him back, were willing to give their bodies, their
wealth, their everything to him, where his miserable lustful self was reduced
to manipulating and lying to his own student to make him bear to be in the same
room.
 
He didn't leave the room that day, draining bottle after bottle of contí,
tossing them carelessly out the window as he lit cigarette after cigarette,
breathing the heavy tar of slow death into his lungs. Over and over he
chastised himself for his foolishness, promising to end it that night. He
didn't expect, he couldn't, Allen to take his alcohol, to put him in the bed,
to place his tender lips upon Cross' cheek and kiss away the sole drop of salty
liquid making its way down the curve of his face. For that night, their roles
were reversed, Master beneath the covers in delerium as the student silently
watched, pitied, pined, and comforted.
 
There was no time for discussion come the dawning of the sun; espionage was
needed against the enemy. Of all the generals, Cross was known to be covert, to
be untraceable, almost as though he was a living ghost, leaving only a trail of
debts in his wake. So gently, Allen whispered to their tether, their shared
lifeline, a promise to Timcanpy. A promise to wait, to be true. They were
monitoring them, after all, and he had to put on a show just a bit more. For
both their sakes.
 
Months passed with no word of the ginger gunslinger, but far more troubling,
the months were silent, not even a single debt was found. Was he dead? Injured?
Incarcerated? Allen was inconsolable, on his knees in front of the wine cabinet
in their room each and every night, eyes screwed shut in prayer. Then, as
suddenly as he disappeared, he reappeared, looking the same as ever with just
the first fleck of silver beginning to grace his long mane.
 
When he came to their room early in the morning, exhausted from the briefing
and interrogating, Allen got his wish. His toes curled, fists clenched, mouth
agape with loud cries as his master took him, taught him, filled him, completed
him. And finally, Allen touched back, roaming over the broad expanse of his
thick muscled chest and down low, hand gripping in thick matted and red pubic
hair before running his fingertips down taut balls. He would always marvel
about how beautiful his master truly was, that day and forever on.
 
Now the days are spent together, to spy, to collect, to subvert, to stop
screaming all damn night and waking the entire west hall. Some nights Allen
would still scream, penetrated thick and deep and intimate as his master sucked
his sensitive red fingers in that sinful old mouth. Other nights, he was quiet
as his mouth and throat were full, taking the whole of his Master with ease and
smiling around his length, grazing with the slightest bit of teeth, clawing
with the right amount of force to break the skin and make him positively
shudder.
 
Still yet were Allen's favorite nights, stripping down per habit and sliding
over Cross' thickly red haired legs and onto his strong lap, momentarily toying
with the long limp member before him before being brought up close, touched
with skilled strong hands, kissed with old chapped lips. His master was old,
but loved him still in every way he could. The service wasn't his favorite, no,
what came after was. Being held close, their naked bodies touching in every way
they could, glistening sheen of Allen's sweat rubbing onto his Master, his
love's skin. What wonderful things could come from sweet little lies, he
thought, burrowing his face into the once bright red mane, now silvering with
age.
Chapter End Notes
     Typed on phone. Tell me of any errors. Tomorrow is a naked Kiss. And
     yes, I made old man Cross have ED, heh. His cock can't stay young
     forever.
***** Hungry Like the Wolf *****
Chapter Notes
     A/N Oh wow I pulled a Hoshino there for a solid month. I’m really
     sorry about the wait and to anyone still reading, here is day two,
     naked kisses.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The cafeteria cheered as Allen slurped down a final and hundredth bowl of
Jerry’s super duper amazing special spicy soup in an ungodly record time,
twelve minutes and thirty seven seconds. Allen smiled contentedly and wiped at
his mouth delicately with a napkin, basking in the attention and glory. He
stuck his tongue out at Link, that stuck up naysayer, and waved at Jerry as he
made his way into the twisting halls of the Order. He glanced annoyedly at
Link, motioning for him to leave.
“Walker, surely you don’t suggest that I leave you unattended as prize for
your…” he looked mildly disgusted as he searched for the words, thick forked
eyebrows making a clean crease below his dots and bangs, “victory in the
cafeteria?”
Allen simply met him with a smile as he walked into the changing room, shucking
his pale cotton overjacket and slipping off his shoes. “Well we’re both guys
here, you can always bathe with me when you want!” Ah, that did the trick,
Allen smirked through lazy half lidded eyes as his guardian turned bright red
and gaped like a fish before looking away and crossing his arms angrily as he
sat on the bench. ‘Poor Link,’ Allen thought as he finished stripping down and
putting a towel around his waist, ‘he really is a sweet guy.’ He entered the
baths and positively beamed as he saw a certain someone with slightly tan skin
flecked with the softest of freckles sticking out of the water. He padded up
quietly, putting his hands over his Master’s face, “Guess who!”
Cross smiled as he put his wet hands on Allen’s arms and dragged him smoothly
into the baths, pressing the younger to his chest, “Oh I could never guess.”
Playful sarcasm dripped from his tongue as he cupped Allen’s chin and brought
it up to look into his eyes. Still gleaming silver pools, still sweet, still
full of mischievous intent, and oh, how he loved to see them full of expectant
tears or squeezed shut in joy. He gently thumbed over Allen’s jaw and traced
around it with his callused fingers, scrutinizing every detail on his face
before leaning in and pressing his mouth to the side of Allen’s and sucking
lightly before disconnecting with a soft pop.
“Messy apprentice,” he chastised lightly, moving down to kiss lightly at his
collarbone, “what have you been doing without me, hmm?” He didn’t wait for an
answer before sucking the tender flesh so close to bone into his mouth, marking
it lightly with his teeth and laps of his thick tongue before releasing Allen
with a pant and the shallowest line of saliva. He wouldn’t bother to wipe it
off as a ghostly pale hand slipped a pair of fingers into his strong jaw
without hesitation as its onyx twin threaded itself into the bun keeping
Cross’s hair out of the water. He scrunched his nose and growled in warning
around the appendages as he ran his tongue over them, Allen knew how badly he
detested water getting into his hair, dampening and straightening it as it
added a thick curtain of weight atop his head. Allen grinned as he removed the
fingers, flicking his tongue against them like a snake tasting the air for its
prey.
“Oh, the same old same old. Making bets, paying debts,” he smirked, sliding on
top of Cross’s strong leg and sloshing the slightest bit of water over the
edges of the fountain-like bath, “sneaking around to see my man.” The both of
them fought to contain their respective chortles of laughter, lest they be
caught together. Allen let his long feathered lashes flutter closed against his
forbidden lover’s broad chest, tickling him slightly as he rubbed his forehead
on it affectionately and placed a kiss on the broad chest before him and
gripped tightly on Cross’s bright red hair, causing some loose strands to fall
and lay upon the water as if they were trails of streamers lazily blowing on a
windy day.
Allen smiled against him as he licked a line up his still slightly sweaty chest
and up his neck, nibbling behind his ear with a squeak as a large palm groped
his ass cheek. Allen returned the favor in kind with his human arm and relished
the gasp, feeling Cross’s strong jaw move into a smile against the side of his
head. For a time, they thought only of eachother, touched only eachother,
worried and wanted only for eachother before Cross shot up, pushing Allen into
his breast.
“Someone’s coming, hide,” he hissed, sprawling backwards and tipping his head
to the sky in a faux-relaxed daze. Allen gasped and splashed, looking around
wildly before hearing the door open and taking the largest gulp of air he could
and sinking down, hugging against Cross’s hips. Though warbled and muted
through the hot water, he could hear the deep rumble of his lover, and the soft
sound of… Bookman, perhaps? Allen mentally cursed, exactly who he needed
intruding on his private time with his master. He went to bang his head forward
in frustration and wound up rubbing his face against his Master’s flaccid cock,
hearing the gasp above him.
Cross clenched his teeth as Bookman arched an eyebrow at him questioningly. “Oh
come on, don’t pretend you never had a pretty young thing between your legs
when you were my age, Bookman.” He flashed his signature grin, now natural in
its tobacco tarnished state, with the slightest of cocks to it, chest heaving
once more for precious air as he felt his dick twitch under trained
ministrations of Allen’s pristine teeth and iron jaw. Bookman nodded curtly to
him with the faintest of smiles, perhaps remembering bygone days before
excusing himself quickly.
The moment the door closed behind the recorder, Cross hiked up a knee and
jammed a strong arm between his legs, pushing Allen’s head further down onto
his dick. If the kid had any trouble breathing he could use their safety signal
or activate his innocence, so Cross drove on with shallow bucks of his hips,
relishing the hot tight clench of Allen’s well trained and well worn throat,
fucking into it gently.
He let go and instead grabbed at his thigh and squeeze hard enough to bruise as
he came, feeling Allen slide back but not off of his penis entirely. He glared
down as Allen emerged from the water with the back of his black hand to his
mouth before they connected lips once more, Allen expertly spitting Cross’s own
seed into his mouth. The ginger was simply delirious from the bruising kiss and
the gift with it, the absolute heat of the baths, and the strong orgasm,
grinning like a fool as he laid back and Allen stood fully in front of him,
kissing his forehead once more for good measure.
“Gotta go,” he panted, slipping out and wrapping the towel around his slim and
slightly discolored waist, “or Link will worry.” He winked at Cross as he
disappeared through the door, energetically remarking something or other to
Link to elicit a shriek. Cross counted his blessings, how he loved that kinky
little bastard, and how he loved that the corrupted youth was his and his
faithfully. He ran his fingers over still tingling lips as the aftertaste of
his own seed began to marinate on his pallette, swearing that he would pleasure
Allen twofold the next time they met.
Chapter End Notes
     Written on cell phone, let me know any grammar mistakes you see! Next
     chapter is the boys' first time, TW for Allen's age, abuse, drunk
     ginger papa, and explicit sex. Maybe I can actually get it out
     tomorrow!
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