oh, what’s this- it’s some goddamn Descole/Layton, that’s what it bloody is
{read more break isn’t working - sorry, guys. Goddamn tumblr.}
The sword slipped down his torso, parried away the flutter of the academic’s hands and cut through the thread of every button on his shirt. And, although he had never been one to shirk the slightest amount of attention to detail, Descole’s gaze slid up with the plain intent of searching for fear in Hershel’s eyes.
There was none to be found.
Hershel simply wouldn’t allow it.
He wouldn’t have him rub those slender fingers through and into the hollow beneath his ribs where his anxiety twisted and tangled deep inside him. It had already formed a solid knot of twine within his stomach. It had already wrapped itself in nooses and snarls around his lungs, threatening to steal his breath away with a single, deliberate tug. He had already curled himself and his will around it, as though he was protecting a small child from the cold- and he wouldn’t let anybody in.
Descole coaxed him backwards in an undignified stumble-step with a soft tickle of his sword and flicked the remains of his shirt to pool around his shoulders. A gesture was all it took for Hershel to slowly shrug it off. Then the point rested at the waistband of his trousers. Those fell to the ground too. The blade edged him back to the bed and Hershel Layton, a man with one of the finest minds in the United Kingdom, sat as if he had a choice in the matter.
That was his first mistake.
A pinch of Layton/Luke, just for the road.
(Didn’t feel like tweaking this anymore, but I felt like posting my own work. So, here.
Professor Layton: Hershel/Legal!Luke.
Faggotry ensues. Also, filling in my bondage (wrist/ankle restraints) kink bingo box. Not really hardcore at all. Wasn’t feeling it.)
Hershel buries his face into Luke’s neck, feeling his pulse against his tongue as the younger man twitches and curls beneath his touch.
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